In my ongoing project of audiobooking Troll Valley this morning (I’m about 80% through it now), I came on a mention of a spittoon, and it got me thinking…

But first, let me tell you about my day job. I’ve already declared that I won’t describe exactly what I’m doing (temporarily), but let me speak in general terms.

Imagine you’re a teacher. In Middle School, say. (The horror! The horror!)

And imagine you’re grading English essays. (I suppose some of you may have experienced this trauma in real life.)

And imagine (implausible as it may sound) that those essays aren’t very good. That the same mistakes are made over and over. You’re not even getting original mistakes.

And imagine the pile of essays is about ten feet high. And it never seems to diminish.

That’s what my temporary, online job is like.

Thank you. Now that’s off my chest.

So, there was a brief appearance by a spittoon in today’s chapter of Troll Valley. And that reminded me of something.

A while back, a pastor I know, who at one time served my home congregation, asked me, “Do you remember anything about spittoons in the back of Hauge Church? Somebody told me they used to have spittoons back there. The ladies let them have them, just in that section, but the men who used them had to clean them out themselves.”

And it seemed to ring a bell (no doubt a brass bell). This would be part of my very earliest memories – and with memories that old, I’ve learned that I’m highly suggestible. So I’m not at all sure here. But I have an idea I may have seen the spittoons back there, in the rear alcove of our church, next to the entryway, where my family always sat when I was little. There were warm air registers in the floor, I’m pretty sure, and I think I recall a spittoon sitting on top of one. I may have asked about it when they disappeared, too.

Or maybe not.

We Haugean Lutherans had a weird (I was tempted to say “fraught,” but I hate the way people use that word these days) relationship with tobacco in the old days. I remember discussing sin with my saintly grandmother one day, confidently asserting that drinking and smoking were both sins, but drinking was worse.

A pastor I knew years ago always used to link Haugeans to cigars. Somebody had told him that all the Haugeans back home had smoked big cigars, and that was all he knew about us, or cared to know. (I suppose it had something to do with the prosperity of some of the Haugean merchants back in Norway.)

Dad recalled how his grandfather was forced, by the two unmarried daughters who kept house for him in his old age, to always go out on the porch to smoke his pipe. (I incorporated this into Troll Valley.) Dad felt that was demeaning to the old man.

I saw a short video recently – think it was by Rory Sutherland – in which he was asked what secret, heretical views he held. And he said he thought tobacco was good for you, and will make a social comeback in time.

I’d almost welcome it. I know, there are lots of people who find the smell revolting, and some even get sick from it.

But I grew up in a world of ubiquitous tobacco smoke. I always kind of liked the smell, myself.

And it is an appetite suppressant. We were all a lot thinner back when we were lighting up rather than munching on chips all the time.

I think my rooting in secret for tobacco, though, mostly rises from my instinctive dislike for everything that’s fashionable.

Just don’t chew it. Spittoons are nasty.