I’ve made many friends over the decades, each filling a niche in my life in their own inimitable ways.

I have everyday friends, who share coffee and lunches, shopping trips and movies, and harmless gossip in driveways and across backyards.

I have professional friends. With them, I discuss my passion for writing, dread of deadlines and the wild, creative surges only they can appreciate, because they’ve gone through it themselves.

Then there’s family – my daughter, sisters and nieces, ties born in blood and forged through love and mutual liking. With our son’s marriage came my daughter-in-law and her mom and sisters, and they are no less dear. Even if we weren’t related, I would love them all.

Perhaps the rarest breed of friendship is the kind that blossoms across the decades, nourished only occasionally with face-to-face contact. I recently spent time with one of these special women in San Diego. As colleagues, our husbands are in touch almost daily, but she and I hadn’t seen each other for nearly two years

I met Lynne in the early 1990s when she was in town on business. Chuck had invited her to the house for Friday night pizza, and she instantly made herself at home. She was authentically nice to my kids and fussed over our little mutt Crystal (God rest her doggy soul), who always invited herself for take-out meals.

Even then, I was struck at the spontaneity of the situation. Lynne had kicked off her high heels and curled up on the couch, pantyhosed legs tucked under her. I still recall the lively, easy conversation as we ate dinner on paper plates at the living-room coffee table. We could have been childhood friends, we were that comfortable.

Over the years, Chuck and I, along with Lynne and her husband, George, have vacationed together, traveled on business, shared football weekends and attended our children’s weddings. Sometimes a few weeks, often months or more, pass between encounters. Each and every time, I marvel at how naturally we slip into our “old friend” roles, no matter how long it’s been.

In San Diego, we had barely hugged and done the kiss-kiss thing before we were mapping out the week. Our husbands had a conference to tend to and we were along strictly to play – a rare treat for us both.

One afternoon, over gooey enchiladas at an excellent Mexican restaurant in Old Town, we managed to catch up on two years of our kids’ lives – professional successes, personal hurts, “you won’t believe what they did” stories and our dreams for them all.

Another day, we dished about the grandchildren. Lynne is a veteran; her six grandbabies range in age from preschooler to teen. I, on the other hand, am a freshman grandma, with one beautiful grandson who’s just a year old.

I had always enjoyed Lynne’s stories about her little William, Martha-Scott and the others, but what a pleasure for me to finally be able to brag about my Grayson. As only a true friend would, she allowed me to go on and on, though even in my besotted grandmotherly state, I knew she couldn’t be that fascinated with Grayson’s talent for making monkey faces.

On that trip, Lynne also indulged my passion for creating necklaces, earrings and other shiny baubles. She spent a good hour or so with me at Lost Cities, my favorite bead shop in San Diego. While I ran feverishly among strand after strand of sparkling crystals, glistening silver and warm-hued gemstones, she tagged along, asking questions – which I was glad to answer at great length – and assuring me she wasn’t bored.

I returned the favor in a small way by going with her to a fabric store close to Lost Cities. I don’t sew, but her enthusiasm for the gorgeous silks and antique pieces made the visit fun for me, too. Friends are like that.

Lynne and I won’t see each other again until November, when we’ll travel with our husbands to India. On my part, I’m both thrilled and nervous. People who know the country tell me it’s like nowhere else on earth – a sensory assault of color and noise, smells and tastes, beauty and squalor. While both of us will spend time working, we’ll also have the opportunity to explore.

We leave in four months, and with our crazy schedules, Lynne and I probably won’t talk again until a couple days before we go. That doesn’t matter though. No matter how long between our meetings – four months, four years, four days – our friendship has a life of its own.

By Marita