My best friend since 5th grade is moving back to Chicago, or at least, plans to be a part-time resident back in a 606 zip code soon.

She moved to Sonoma, California about thirteen years ago because her husband wanted to work on the left coast to be closer to his brother.

Despite having her home situated amid the picturesque rolling hills of wine country, where the temperature never dips below 40°, after droughts, floods and a couple fires (one breathed its orange-colored calamity only two miles from her door), she is more than ready to return to the city on the lake.

She and her husband just closed on a property so different from their white ranch home on one acre one hour north of San Francisco; so different from previous addresses she claimed when she lived in Chit-town as a working girl and so very different from the suburban subdivision of cookie-cutter homes where we grew up.

She said that she was up for something different…but I like to think that some of her desire to move back has to do with the opportunity to hang out with me more.

The property she and her husband just acquired does not occupy a top floor.  Perhaps, having come so close to a devastating fire just a couple years ago, the idea of being able to run down a few flights of stairs to get out of the building if necessary has some appeal.

I think she also likes the view from her floor, too.  The series of floor to ceiling windows in her new living room, featuring south and east exposures, provides a great view.

After watching the mesmerizing flow of traffic along the Drive, and the giant Ferris wheel in the middle of Navy Pier, you can see Lake Michigan blending into the horizon.  Not too far away from the action, you can appreciate the panorama while still feeling connected to life on the ground.

When her family moved to Melrose Park at the age of ten, and she spent her first day at Jane Adams Elementary School, I sensed that she was little different than my other classmates.

A not very popular kid, I wanted to claim her friendship before she might be co-opted by cliques or classmates that occupied higher status.

Even though I was very sensitive and moody as a kid, she liked my quirky observations and ironic sense of humor.

For the duration of our grammar school years, we did everything together.  We ran grocery errands for her mother and regularly joined each other for after school snacks (usually a box of Kraft mac and cheese, a bargain at about 20 cents per box).

We also spent many lazy days during July and August sunbathing in her back yard while we listened to WLS on the radio; an AM station I haven’t thought about in years.

We didn’t end up in the same classes in high school and went to different colleges.

We have different styles and approaches to things. It seemed to me, she would often stick with something way too long and I would give up on something far too easily.

Throughout ups and downs in our work lives and love lives, through re-locations and artistic disappointments, each of us served as a sounding board and safe space for the other.

We shared a Thelma & Louise road trip (sans the end when they drove off the cliff) when we drove her dog and husband’s BMW out to Sonoma over a decade ago.  We managed to remain besties despite 2100 miles between us, frequently sharing happy hour martinis over Friday afternoon phone calls when we were ready to call an end to our week.

Now, in our early 60s, it would be easy to think about losses. My memory and flexibility aren’t what they used to be.  It’s harder than ever to lose weight.  But, these days, I put more attention on what I want to do and am much less concerned with whether people like me.

With my partner in crime back in town, I feel the incredible freedom of being a kid with a credit card.

Like looking out the window of her new building, I guess the view from the top can be great, but the view from the middle is fine, too.

Enjoying the reality of having a few more years behind you than you have ahead of you but being comfortable with the person you’ve grown into – and having the same best friend for over 50 years living nearby — is no small thing.