Slightly burnt

My dad was a bit of a pyromaniac. Perhaps not in the true meaning of the word, but he wouldn’t need much of an excuse to set something on fire. His idea of tending the fairway he was responsible for at the golf course was to set it alight and then spend days raking honky nuts up into little volcanoes. I have inherited the pyromania gene, and although there has been some dilution I still love a cheery fire. He knew it too. When he had his flower farm he would stack the dead bushes up into a big heap and wait until I came to visit before setting it alight so we could share it together. I was thinking about how much he would have enjoyed this fire as I raked the coals over this morning, separating the coals from the ash and piling them high in the middle so they would keep burning throughout the day. Noah loved the fire last night too – good memories for kids. He has a special bonfire whacking stick that he uses to… well, whack bonfires with, sending sparks up into the air. We had jaffles for breakfast, baked beans and cheese – hot, stringy and slightly burnt.


I’m getting the straight razor that Em bought me professionally honed by a guy in Sydney. He takes extreme close-up photos of the blade and sends them to me, explaining the work that needs to be done. At one stage he wrote describing how it is one of the few vintage razors he’s cleaned up that didn’t chip, finishing with “Judging by the steel's behaviour I'm expecting quite a shaver to result.” Mmmmm. It’s on its way now.


To maintain the razor's edge I’m getting a strop made by a guy in Queensland. He was recommended by the guy doing the honing, and I’ve been really enjoying the exchange of emails between us determining price, materials, time. I’m getting a basic strop made from roo hide which is apparently more delicate than cow hide giving a finer, smoother edge but also easier to damage. I’m really happy that I’m getting something made especially for me using local materials, by a craftsman who knows what he’s doing.


Tonight being the first Friday of the month we went to Happy Hour at the local hall. Noah disappeared into the night, absorbed into the large tribe of kids running around, reappearing later with a glow stick, disappearing again. Our valley is getting bigger, and more engaging. We stay late talking and drinking, having fun until Noah appears again and begs us to go home, the last kid left standing and ready for bed.