Dolphin Address 15
April 8th 2005
As a student of ethnomethodology (a sort of anthropology of your own society) I formulated my 'tool theory': 'Problem solving strategies often spontaneously originate from instrumental methods and techniques on the work floor.' What you do day after day has its effects on your private life.
Seldom I felt this so basic as in the past two weeks. After days of hauling rock the keys of my laptop feel like a pile of shingle, irregular, rough and lumpy. Also the ground that I walk on has something apprehensive. There are indeed no sprain stones on the floor of Mick&Mary's shoplet, but my balance is addressed by the step and stumble stones around the Nest. It feels as if my body has motorially absorbed its environment and inertly releases this. Like, when you look into the sun, a light spot will remain on your retina for a while. Thus an experience is projected on your soul and becomes part of your sensory arsenal.
In my dialogue with this matter I have developed a specific expertise. When a stone is too heavy to lift I roll it in my fish tray and draw it over the grass by a rope. At the Nest I rotate it up over the other stones. In this way I only have to lift half its weight. I literally stand on the stability of my rocks. I must not think of whoever getting stoned all over. That is why I am extra alert to stones that have an elongated conical shape. They usually fit well between others and lock them in. Rounded stones are indeed more pleasing to the eye then the rough chunks, but they tend to roll and therefore I use them almost exclusively upon or near the floor. There is still a bit of a draught between the blocks that where piled up by the ocean, but I keep looking for tail pieces.
As long as I am happy with this bus I have wondered why the back doors are constructed in such a way that a forceful turbulence blows through the upper chinks when they are open. I am nearly being blown away though I always park the bus with the head against the wind. It could be such a sheltered seat.
Now I have glued on either side a sheet of rubber from the roll that is meant for sails for the waterwing between the bus and the door. This works perfect.
At the bottom of the doors is an opening for the rear lights and there too is a draught when the doors are opened. I could mount sliding plywood panels there, but first I want to have a look in the oceans treasure chest. It gives me more satisfaction to find the right solution for a problem than to buy it made to measure in a shop.
Another problem was that I had difficulties stepping into the rear of the bus when my table was folded out. There was little room between table and (sit)bed and as I am dressed rather obese on account of the cold it was hard to access it. It took a bit of table surface, but I narrowed the entrance part down into a fluent shape. Now I can get in a lot easier and once I am sitting I can easier slide to the original width.
A continuous interaction exists between problems and solutions. The funny thing is that a discomfort only becomes a problem when there seems to be a solution. I would not mind taking a walk on the sea, but that is simply impossible as you can't walk on water. Maybe this is for the better too because with these waves you would continually fall on your face.
Jan Ploeg, Fanore meadow, April 8th 2005
print version