I may have mentioned in some previous post that I was born in Chicago. I was a Chicagoan for twenty-some years (I’m not being vague, I honestly don’t remember how long I lived there). I still have family there. I love my family, and I loved Chicago. For a long time, I had the intention in the back of my mind to move back there some day. Definitely.

But gradually, as the charms of Oklahoma waxed, those of Chicago waned. Definitely became probably. Probably became possibly. Possibly became… mayhaps not.

The thing is, I’ve gone back for visits a few times, and the old place refuses to stay the way I left it. My first hit was when I took Phoebe on a subway ride to my favorite hot dog stand at North and Clybourn, only to find it gone, with a Crate & Barrel in its place. It was a shame — and an embarrassment for me, to look lost in my own hometown — but not a deal-breaker. I still got to show her the Art Institute; we shopped at Marshall Field’s, and we dined at the Berghoff. We toured neighborhoods where we might like to settle (Rogers Park and Ukranian Village were contenders).

But now, there will be no Marshall Field’s, and I just learned, no Berghoff, either. The Art Institute will be there, but I’m just sure they’ll have moved everything around and put all my favorite paintings in storage to make room for elephant-dung sculptures.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that my life ever revolved around Field’s and the Berghoff. I’ve no doubt that whatever replaces them will be at least as good. But they used to be landmarks, and now they’ll be strange. And if they’re strange, the whole town will be. Now if I visit (and I hope I do), I will not be picturing what I will see there; I will be wondering what I will see there, like the other tourists.

Chicago is beautiful, and as great as any American city; but it is no more or less my home town than any other American city, save one.

My home town, finally, is Oklahoma City.