Yesterday after work Nick and I headed down to Brooklyn to meet up with a dear old friend and his wife, neither of whom I'd seen in almost a year.
I'd forgotten how much I enjoy their company, the ease with which they always welcome me back into their world. It was particularly pleasing to see them so happy and healthy and gorgeous after going through some horrifyingly difficult times.
They are both at the top of their game these days (he a hot commodity soundman for ABC News, being flown to LA for the Oscars and London for last week's ridiculous royal wedding coverage; she a conservator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, being flown to Paris to personally deliver pastels for exhibition at the Grand Palais), and it was a singular pleasure to bask in their obvious contentment: with each other, with their lives, with a simple evening out with friends.
We went to a delicious tapas bar near their apartment followed by a lovely evening stroll and eventually ice cream cones a few blocks from there. I found myself grinning for much of the train ride home, warmed by the ambiance (and perhaps by the glass of wine) at the restaurant but more by the innate comfort one finds in seeing such dear people doing so damned well.