I never did really post about our delightful visit from the Uborkites, or Karen and Pete as they’re known in the real-and-more-important-world. And seeing Pete’s recent pictures on flickr of Karen’s hair in their back garden made me realize that I had things to say that I never did say. Isn’t that life, the things you have to say that sometimes you never get around to saying?
I was nervous, I think, because our earlier meeting had been so brief and they’re both so cunningly good at being guarded on their blog so I didn’t know them like perhaps I know other people whose blogs I’ve been reading for an equally long amount of time. I was nervous that’d I’d be too flighty or loud, that our apartment would seem too cluttered or domestic, that New York would seem dirty and annoying in comparison to their beautiful and charming England. I think I was also nervous because lacking that outspoken affection that a lot of bloggers have and claim to have for their blog-friends, I really wanted them both to, well, like me. I felt very aware that I was the wife of the blogger they knew first, and felt the corresponding need to impress and the corresponding tummy-sinking feeling that I’d fail to do so.
Anything I could possibly have been nervous about is ridiculous in hindsight. I adored them both and it was one of the most singularly pleasant houseguest stays I’ve ever had the honor to enjoy, and I’ve had a lot of fantastic houseguests. At the end of Pete’s first day, arriving at the cafe with Kate in tow, he sat down and said, “I love this city!” and it just warmed every possible cockle of my heart. He also did the most amazing thing – he helped me figure out the surprise slideshow for my Mother’s Day gift that was giving me the biggest headache. Also he is SO TALL and I’m enormously fond of people that are that tall, just because they’re unique and so different from me. Pete also has the easiest laugh ever. These are really qualities you should be looking for in the people around you.
My favourite thing about Karen was sitting in our two window armchairs in the living room with her, while the boys played endless rounds of Midnight Club on the nearby couch. I was tinkering with photos on my laptop and Karen sat in the immense leather armchair, dainty feet tucked under her and a few strands of hair routinely slipping out from behind her ear, writing calmly in a journal. No, that’s not true, that wasn’t my favourite thing. My favourite thing was how every time Pete would say something, even if it was just to the game or to Stuart or “gah!”, she’d look over at him even if briefly, just to connect her eyes with his face and it was belovedness defined. My other favourite thing about Karen, though, is how intensely sharp and aware she is of the world around her. This self-assurance, which people normally think is obvious in louder, more attention-grabbing people, may not immediately come across from her gracefully quiet first impression – but damn if the woman doesn’t have a mind like a steel trap.
On their last night in town, I caught them hugging, for no apparent reason other than adoration, when I met them at Lincoln Center. Pete has his long arms around Karen’s shoulders and they were staring at each other in that way that you expect people to do in the first week they meet but there they were. Adoring, you know, to the exclusion of everything else around them. Even several years into their relationship, they still truly adore each other. This is something to be cherished, and I felt bad even noticing something as private as that, as secret as a letter.
It’s funny how friendships form, how ease slides between people as quickly as offering a bite of a sandwich or laughing about a TV show. I never did thank them for that, and something about Pete’s photos of his true love’s hair made me want to, made me imagine them so poignantly standing in their lovely garden, and it made me actually miss them. So here it is. Thanks, Karen and Pete, for coming to visit the city and us. It was a beautiful week, we’ll always have this lovely memory of your visit. And there will, I know, be other visits – just as easy, just as worthwhile, just as serendipitous.