"Art" is a play about three very good friends. It does for friendship much of what Chekhov's "Three Sisters" did for sisters. It was very funny and somewhat tragic at the same time. I'm not sure what the title of the play one might write about me and my best friend would be called. It could be either "Stamps" or "One Husband."

London is lovely. London has history. London has shops and excitement and theatre. This week, it's even had good weather. Yet it's really been a mere backdrop for an intense and wonderful exporation of frindship--my friendship with Mr. Philately.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. Even if we are best friends (and we are), we have almost every day together at home. That's true--and good friendships are meant to last through the flotsam and jetsam of daily pulls and children's needs. Sometimes those little daily details and the shared journey even strengthen the friendship.

But every friendship needs play time. Most of this week has consisted of long days where he's come to play with me or I with him. We've had long talks over coffe (or did until I pretty much gave up on the strong glop the British call coffee and wisely opted for tea instead.) We've bantered among Roman ruins. We've run after a running tour guide (who was supposed to walk) while playing an urgent and impromptu game of "Follow that Ridiculous Hat Because We Don't Know Where We Are Without Him."

Friendship, unfortunately, also consists of shared sorrows both large and small. From the shock of the terroist events in the states to the thousand times more trifling homesickness I indulged in last night, we've shared. We've gauged reactions, supported, and comforted.

Today our circle widens as we join Bev and her husband (for more than Tuesday's lovely, quick dinner), Mary and her mother, and our British friend diane (not to be confused with capital "D" Diane who lives in Texas). They are all very good frinds and I appreciate their love and support too. (diane's quick call to check on me yesterday was particularly appreciated.) I look forward to the fun we have together.

Yet, to portray the intensity of the relationships I saw on stage yesterday one must write not about Mary, Bev, diane, and others but about my best friend, Mr. Philately--my one and only husband.

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