A simple comb

I have a comb - a beautiful hand-sized comb that was made by this old hippie from the backwoods of California - lovingly carved and polished in pale birds-eye maple and red-stained cherry wood. I acquired it at one of the wars - Estrella War, though I can't remember the year. It has my name, my nick, carved on one side, a shadow of a name dipped into the smooth surface of the wood, all but invisible until you look closely, fondling the smooth wood and tracing the little bubbles in the wood grain that give birdseye maple its name.

I brought it to work today, with the beeswax and lemon oil polish I'd gotten with the comb originally. I wanted to polish it, and the lint-free cloth we have here at work is perfect for that. It's soothing - working the wax into the wood, making sure each tooth is covered adequately, renewing the wood and watching it gleam under the florescent light in my cubicle.

I love this little comb. It's simple and elegant, with wide teeth that don't grab my hair, but make the particular grooming ritual of combing my hair into something soothing. My hair, straight and thin as it is, rarely tangles, but running a comb through it is calming. I've vanity enough, but combing my hair? That's as much comfort to me as curling up with a good book.