I discovered 2 things that day:
1. I really enjoy good tools
2. I, too, want to await a wave
I was relishing the sound of the knife opening through the fibers of the sweet potato and then hitting the cutting board gently but firmly. The pattern thi sequence built into was the perfect soundtrack to the scene my hands were playing: one holding the weapon, the other grabbing the victim but exposing herself to colateral damage. My first thought was: “I enjoy tools” Then, trying to be more specific I silently added: “well, the good ones” Or is it suitability that I enjoy in all of its forms? As I recalled a funny and rich conversation with a friend who realised, in horror that I had an unusual preference for functional over aesthetic; questions were multiplying and my mind started rambling. “Which is a more general statement: the one I just made about tools or the one about suitability? Which feels more true to me?” I didn’t even try to answer these questions. It was time to mince Rosemary.
As soon as I got to Dominical, I started to try to learn how to surf. I already knew before leaving Buenos Aires that I would want to do that. It seemed like the perfect sport for me because I love landscape related physical activities (rowing, cycling, snowboarding, skiing, swimming, walking and I would love to take on climbing and sailing some day). On top of that I am extremely aquatic. As a child I would not get out of water unless I was forced to. Everytime my mom finally managed to get me out and wrap me in a towel, I would already be all wrinkly, my lips turned purple. I would be shivering but my water enthusiasm kept me from feeling the cold until after coming out. Even today, I am one of the least sensitive-to-cold people I’ve ever met. My surfing fantasy was made of a blurry picture of myself standing on a board under the relentless sun rays and a vague sensation of my feet perceiving the watter mattress below the board (that I probably transferred from my snowboarding experience) The very same day my board hit my nose and lips causing swelling, bruising and a little bleeding; my surfer friend whom I was borrowing it from went out surfing at dusk. Holding the ice wrap against my face and sitting on a log on the beach, I watched him surf. I quickly realised my surfing fantasy was quite wrong. I knew from watching his body that, sitting on the board, was beating with the tide. A surfer waits looking into the horizon, calm but vigilant, relaxed but aware. The same force swaying him will defy him any minute. Or is it the other way around? Sitting on my little log, enjoying the bucolic purple light of the sunset shining on the beating water, I knew it: I, too, want to await a wave.