Written Just For Me?

I've mentioned that I've been doing a ton of reading.  Reading is one of my favorite things to do and I'm not tiring of it at all  (The Kindle was money well spent).  There's been a couple of things that I have thoroughly enjoyed in my reading lately, and I've constantly thought back to them and smiled about them even later.

My Fake Mom (Trea) has set her sights on making me change my feelings about poetry and sent me here with a couple of poetry books- complete with an inspirational letter enclosed and her own personal notes in the margins.  I read the first poem (titled "West Wind #2) in the first book the first week we were here, and I don't think I will ever forget the words or the chord that it struck with me.  It says this (in part):

...When you hear, a mile
away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks-when you hear that unmistakable
pounding-when you feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
plunging and steaming- then row, row for your life
toward it.

That's exactly how I was feeling about this move.  We knew this undertaking was at least 50% craziness- just like rowing into a waterfall.  But we wanted the adventure and the experience and didn't want to think later, "We really should have done that."  Those few words encapsulated my feelings in that moment- I didn't know what was ahead, but I was going to row toward it.  Even now, those words come into my mind when things seem foreign or unsure, and I get brave again.

I also recently finished "Song of the Lark," by Willa Cather.  This one probably makes my top 10 favorite books of all time, although I'm not certain what will be displaced by it.  It's the story of a girl growing up in a prairie town who is determined and gutsy and driven and completely out of place.  The story follows her through her life as she chases her dream to become, first, a pianist, and later, a singer.  There were so many parts I loved, but my absolute favorite was this:  Thea had completely stressed herself out over her career.  She wondered what her path should be and mourned the loss of the life she was gradually leaving behind.  Sensing her troubles, a well-to-do friend made a way for her to spend a summer at his family's ranch in New Mexico.  There, Thea was free to relax and ponder.  Her friend came to visit her, and they had the following conversation:

Thea said, "I haven't thought about anything but having a good time with you.  I've just drifted." 

Fred blew a trail of smoke out into the breeze and looked knowing.   "Yes, you drift like a rifle ball, my dear."

(Dear Rose: please stop laughing.  If our positions were reversed you would be writing this post instead of me.)

Drifting like a rifle ball...it totally describes me.  I didn't get a personality transplant just because I moved here, so despite the fact that I'm living a leisurely life on a tropical island, I'm still wound pretty tight.  I find myself hurrying through my morning chores "so I can have my afternoons free."  Free to do what?  I don't know.  Just free.  Or this morning, I made tonight's soup for dinner "just in case."  In case of what, you ask?  I have no damn idea.  I know fewer than 10 people here and its doubtful I'm going to find myself indisposed when it comes time to make dinner.  I just can't help myself.  I need the beds made and the dishes done and teeth brushed.  Rifle ball, meet me.  Me, meet rifle ball.  See, you're good friends already.