Razor Sharp

After a lovely morning walk to Bubby's Nosherie, a local coffee shop, I sat down to a delicious Breakfast Salm-wich (salmon not ham!). Feeling much better this morning, out my window I saw clear blue skies. There was no wind and temperatures were barely crisp. A bit of cabin fever had set in over the last few days, so I decided to take my writing for an outing. Despite the lovely morning and cheery hello’s along the way, the creativity muse was still being shy, even though pen and paper were at the ready. Using the same technique as yesterday, I pulled up <www.writingexercises.co.uk> on my iPhone for some inspiration. This time on the menu, I used ‘Random Dialogue’ to get some momentum going. After perusing several, I chose: “I’m too old to start again.” I could certainly relate to that, but the story? Quite a bit different that my own,

Razor Sharp

“I’m too old to start again.”

Cliff stared at himself in the mirror, the three bladed razor in his right hand in mid air looking for all the world like it had no place to go. His face was lathered up with the same Old Spice that his dad had used, but from a pump can. He remembered the shaving lesson his dad had given him when he had started sprouting the first stubble of being ‘manly’. Manly ~ that’s what his mom called it. Neither of his parents really were aware that he had secretly been watching his dad every morning when he shaved.  His dad would lay everything out with precision. The old shaving mug with the shave brush placed beside the hot water tap. ‘You can’t beat hot water for making a good lather!’ If his dad said that once, he said it a thousand times. Then it was the razor. Not a fancy one like Cliff's but a straight razor that got sharpened every day. It had to be clean and sharp. Cliff’s dad kept his old leather strop in the medicine cabinet above the sink and each morning it would be placed on a folded washcloth beside the cold water tap. While water was boiling on the stove, (the hot water from the tap was never hot enough) he sharpened his razor. Pouring the boiling water in the special basin he used, he was ready to shave. ‘You can’t let any of that hot water drain away, son. You’re going to need it before and after you shave.’ A second washcloth was dipped in the steaming water, and waved over the basin to cool it just a bit and placed ever so gently against the shadowy beard that was soon to be cleared away. Lathering up his face, little blobs of lather clung to his earlobes. Every millimetre of his dad’s lower face and moustache area was covered generously. So generously that, as a little child, Cliff was sure his dad had magically grown a white beard! Once his dad was clean shaven and smooth 'as the back of a baby's sweet hand', the hot towel came out again. It was to open his pores so the Old Spice aftershave could keep his skin clean and smelling brisk. At least that's what his dad had told him.

All of these memories had first come flooding back when he was at a second hand store. He had found an old shaving mug complete with a new bar of soap and, what looked like, a brand new shave brush. He couldn’t fathom why the soap and shave brush were so new and the mug was so obviously old. There was a fine hairline crack on one side on the outside of the mug and a tiny chip at the base of the old mug’s handle. Not exactly like his dad’s but close nought to unlock that cupboard in his mind that he thought was sealed shut with age. 

“Of course, I can start over again! I’ve done it many times since I was that boy and can do it again.”  He dipped his razor in the basin of now quite tepid water.

“What are you muttering on about, Clifford?” Myra, putting some laundry away, had just passed the bathroom door, saw him staring in the mirror and caught his last words.

“Well. I’ve made a decision. Do you remember that barber course I took last year? When I just wanted to learn how to shave ‘the old way’?”

“Yes, what about it?”

Well, there’s a barber shop for sale. One of the old fashioned kind and it’s just downtown. You know on the corner of Remington and Main. I’m going to buy it and set up my own shop. I’ll hire some young fellows to……”

“You don’t know anything about running that kind of a business, Cliff.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to learn, won’t I?”

Both Myra and Cliff were smiling. Cliff, because he was excited about his new venture that hadn’t even started yet. Myra was smiling with just a tiny bit of relief. Cliff was a great guy, but a retired Cliff was just about on her last nerve. Cliff went on shaving and Myra finished putting her laundry away. 

“I’ll be out most of the day, Myra, but do you want to join me for lunch this afternoon?”

“I’ll keep working on the painting I’m doing of the coffee shop on the corner. By lunch, I’ll be ready for a break. I’ll walk down and meet you at that new restaurant. What’s it called? The Cinnamon Cafe?”

Cliff’s day, had started out slowly and without much oomph, now had potential. He wasn’t certain he could pull this Barber shop thing off, but he was going to give it one helluva try. He even had a name for it already:  “Dad’s Barber Shop”

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream and new dream.”

 ~ C.S.Lewis