the first person I met, right off the train, was a somewhat frightening cab driver with a giant beard. and then the sweetest, dearest secretary bought me a soda and drove me and all my luggage to a little house at 15 Elm Street, where I tossed myself into bed and slept until 10 the next morning.
sunday, I missed church. but later I met Martin. and then Eve and Zipporah and David and Melissa and all these great people... I really should randomly move to foreign countries more often. you meet the greatest people that way. what on earth am I waiting for?
anyway: earlier this month, this september, this altogether not-quite-as-cool-as-the-one-in-2003 september, I was informed that one of my favourite people from that small slice of my life is celebrating a rather momentous birthday today. her family was putting together a book of memories for her, and asked me to contribute. the request threw me back into that slice of mashed up wonder and flaking dreams, that time when I was doing the one thing I knew I most wanted to be doing. this is what I wrote:
I was a perfect stranger to Clare. Just a silly American girl full of dreams and expectations about this beautiful and legendary country. In so many ways I was surprised--disappointed, almost--that not all of the things I'd thought I'd find in England were actually there for me. But Clare was--lovelier and more wonderful than anything I could have hoped for. She became a most dear friend that year. I never imagined that such a woman existed anywhere in the world, who did so much so willingly and flawlessly. Her example, her home, her family and her unfailing love will always be a part of my most precious memories.
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