That's my face this morning...smooth, slick, hairless. Other than my close cropped beard my cheeks glow.
I've thrown those silly little orange tipped plastic razors in the trash. I've gone old school. Say hello to my old friend, a vintage 1938 Gillette Safety Razor.
I recently found a ready supply of blades. Russian blades - sharp double edged, thin, wicked little suckers, and if handled improperly will skin the hide right off your face. But, if placed gently gives you a fine close shave.
I like Russians.
Anyway, back to my Gillette. When I take her to hand and glance into the morning mirror I like to think of the man that once owned her. Was he a man of the land or sea...I like to believe a farmer. A sturdy man that provided for his family during the dark years then signed on the dotted line when the war was brought to our shores. I like to think he survived the conflict and returned to his farm to walk the fields in peace. The old Gillette probably gave many years of service as his children grew into adults. I hope it was his grandchildren that finally took Papa's old razor, afterwards, and placed it in the estate sale.
Sometimes the old ways are best.