The road to a friend's house is never long - Danish proverb
Gail and I first met around 12 years ago when we were both broke single parents. We found each other when her toddler son pulled my ponytail at a school assembly. Gail was embarrassed, I thought it was funny. Gail and her two children had just moved to the area and her daughter was in my son's class.
Over the years we have shared meals, listened to each other's woes (Gail has heard a lot of mine: she calls me Eeyore) and watched our children grow up. My son and Gail's daughter are now 19, and her son will be 16 in December. We were young mothers at the school gates: now we are (gasp) approaching middle age, if we are not in it already.
This summer Gail took the courageous decision to move back 'up North'. She found a house there, gave her notice at work, without a new job lined up (brave girl!), and went for it. I am pleased to say things have worked out fantastically well. The house is great, with beautiful views. She has found a job, bought a great little car, reconnected with old friends. She is living the country life I dream of, and I am so pleased for her.
Last weekend was the first time we had seen each other in over three months. She came over on Sunday for breakfast. Over smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels (Neither of us could have afforded that when we first knew each other!), we caught up on all the news. It was like she'd never been away.