Instead of buying dust collecting surf gear my fella closed my laptop and instructed me rent some gear and give it an afternoon try. So that's what I'm gonna do. Tomorrow I will make my way to Lawrencetown Beach and see if the waves are (insert surf lingo meaning incredible here). Then I will head to the surf shop and not even pretend to act like I know what I'm doing.
Something tells me deep in the primitive part of my brain, you know the part, the area that tells you not to touch that hot stove or walk over that cliff, that I should not do this alone. But I can't ask my feller to join me. He doesn't know how to swim and that would be just too much to heap on my plate. Imagine it. The riptide sending us towards Sable Island as his grip lets go and he floats down to his watery grave not unlike Jack in Titanic because Rose just couldn't make room for him on that raft. No, not unlike lovemaking, this must be done by myself.
So on Canada Day, that's where you'll find me. Tussling on the ocean looking for the perfect wave. I must summon the courage my surfing brethren so often have done and paddle out. Because in the end, for all of us, it will come down to just you. You, the board, the wave, and your will. Oh who am I kidding. I'll be the amorphous blob in the wetsuit on the shore's edge squealing that something touched my foot.
Yeah, this looks about right.![]()
