Dara gave the impression of seldom pausing between words, as if it were a waste of time. Dara wasted no time, in a way that made it seem as if she must not sleep at night. How else could she get it all done? She casually waved at her pile of many dozens of jars of preserves in the next room as she rolled out home-made focaccia to go with dinner, chatting with me about entertaining her nephews last weekend. (She is also an advanced martial artist and has I believe a couple of scientific degrees.)
Dara said, as we were all heading upstairs for the night, “Honeywouldyoulikea lemonade for bed?”
“A lemonade – it’s our ritual. We each take one to bed with us.”
Mind, blown. New and amazing way to go to bed at night.
That’s why I’m here. Heading an hour farther north in Maine may seem lunacy for a girl who loathes the cold, but these two inspire me beyond all else. I wouldn’t have made the brave choices I have made without their influence on my life.
Gary looms large at the dining room table, a tall and soft spoken man. He fetches me a book on how to be your own booking agent and a photocopied packet on playing guitar. He is dressed entirely in cream, with cream snakeskin cowboy boots and a backwards-cocked black beret.
“It will find you,” he says. “It will find you and BLAM! You won’t miss it. I remember when mine found me: it was February 22.”
Goals, dreams, destiny. Preserves for the road. I hope when it finds me, it looks something like this life they lead.