SMELLS

Canadian Christmas Candy 🍁🍬

The reigning queen of a certain galactic alliance in my universe, known only as Her Majesty, has retired to her royal winter storage quarters. She shall remain there for as long as outside temperatures are low enough to cause body parts to shrivel and bong water to freeze. Behold, a photographic portrait of Her Majesty, vested in her royal bubblewrap winter gown…

Her royal bowl is bubblewrapped separately.

I do not smoke at all during the three months out the year that Her Majesty is in recess. The lungs definitely appreciate having the time off. So this would be edible season for me. One of the great things about living in a country where legal cannabis shops are almost as common as liquor stores is that holiday-themed edibles are an actual thing. Like eggnog-flavoured chocolate…

I also got this candy cane-tinged number…

Mmm…sprinkles!

The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Her Majesty Is In The House

I typically don’t smoke during the dead of winter. Smoking etiquette of the current day and age mandates going outside prior to lighting up. Or simply opening a window, if it’s not a public place and one can get away with it. I’m reluctant to do such a thing during that time of year when it’s forty below outside and the high winds sting at least as painfully as spider’s venom. It is then when I switch to edibles. Her Majesty spends that time in her winter palace (i.e. in storage), wrapped in her royal bubblewrap for the annual three-month recess of her official duties.


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This is Her Majesty’s first official royal portrait.

Don’t get me wrong, edibles are great. There’s just no ceremony and ritual in their use. Digestion is one of the most mundane biological functions there is. That piece of wacky granola I would typically have on a January morning for my wake n’ bake is merely part of a complete breakfast. But no winter ever lasts forever (remember that, kids) and nothing says “spring has sprung” to me quite like that moment I bring Her Majesty out of storage to spark her up for the first time in three months. The wake n’ bake instantly becomes an occasion again. An occasion I almost forgot it was. One that sees songs of migratory birds returning from down south easily mistaken for chattering monkeys once I completely forget what continent I’m on.


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This is a picture of Her Majesty taken at a friend’s house last summer. She’ll go on another one of her royal tours once the world is no longer in the throes of pestilence and death.