This small round tin reminds me of my tin with an enameled rainbow lid where I used to keep my pot. Just now, when I chose this from the grab bag, I had to open it and see what it smelled like. Expecting that luscious Maui-wowie marijuana scent, it had a vague, powdery smell and I could never guess what this was used for. I still have my tin rainbow box. It's unused these days. I don't know if it's empty or if a few stale leaves or buds remain, lying in wait.

I loved my pot days. It was such a great ritual. I used a shoebox lid to roll a joint (who didn't?). I remember pinching the fragrant stems between my fingers, allowing the leaves and seeds to fall onto the cardboard. My fingers smelled fragrant and I could get the hint of a high breathing in the pungency and feeling the resin on my skin. Taking the folder of papers with the cardboard edge, I sifted out the seeds and tiny twigs to make a pile of fine, uniform marijuana leaves to sprinkle across the thin, opaque paper. Roll from the middle to the edge, I was taught. Lick across the sticky edge of the paper and form the joint. Twist the ends. Viola!
   

I never produced one of those just perfect rolled cylinders. Mine were lumpy and too loosely packed. But they worked. Light the joint, take it deeply into your lungs and hold your breath for as long as you can before you choke and cough and expel the scented smoke. Pass the joint to the person next to you, sitting on the floor around the large wooden spool we use as a coffee table. Someone pours a glass of wine. Someone moves a backgammon pip across the board. Someone fiddles with the stereo, trying to decide between Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young, and Paul McCartney's Band on the Run.
   

Slowing…winding down. Giggling. Laughing at nothing. At life and the moment. Loose and easy, sensual and unfettered.

Why in the world is pot not fun like that anymore?