House Guest Heroism
I think it takes a fair amount of the ordinary daily kind of boldness to be or to host a house guest.
Not everyone feels that way, I know. (My office partner, for one, is ever keeping visiting actors or musicians or exchange students for weeks and months at a time without even thinking to mention it at lunch.)
But for those several of us who retain any shred of worry about being fully known or (worse for me) the possibility of imposing on someone, the house guest business does take some gathering of nerve.
The last couple of days, Husband Bob‘s best buddy from his youth has been visiting from Wenham, Mass. A painter, George Wingate has an art show at nearby Guilford College. Hanging with George has been delightful. Imagine if the hyper-articulate and thoughtful Wm. Buckley had been liberal and better-looking. George is fascinating to talk with. I was very sorry to see him go.
At the same time, I always feel that I, and anyone faced with the state of my towels and Bob’s insistence on reusing tea leaves, deserve some sort of human relations merit badge. It’s good practice for larger negotiations.