As soon as he saw the activity in our driveway, Alan, our neighbor on the left, came running. He fashioned himself a good-will ambassador, eager to introduce us to the rest of Kamuela Drive. He pounced on the occasion to introduce us to the residents on our right, Jim and Pat. Jim was career Navy and overseas much of the time. My husband was also often away, so Pat and I forged a friendship. Over the years both of us have done our share of moving around. I eventually ended up in the Yosemite area, while Pat now lives on Brookhurst, at the end of Kamuela Drive, just two blocks from where we first met.
When I moved to Huntington Beach, I was seven months pregnant with Farida, so Pat has known both of my children before their birth, and I've known hers. Her Kirk arrived nine months after Farida, and Carisa came along 
a year after Nasreen. They grew up together and, in a sense, so did Pat and I, as it became clear that our marriages were not destined to survive. We provided sounding boards for each other (much to the displeasure of our respective spouses) and moral support whenever needed.
Back in the days when women coaches were a rarity, Pat and I—along with our friend, Kathy—coached an AYSO girls' soccer team. Much to the chagrin and obvious displeasure of the men coaches in our division, our Mini Green Giants won the championship by a hair in the last 5 minutes of the game. To this day, we swear our success that season was due mainly to the talented girls on the team—including Carisa and Nasreen. But matching hair ribbons, cheerleading from the sidelines and our emphasis on positive teamwork helped, too. Those afternoon planning sessions floating in Pat's pool accompanied by lemonade spiked with vodka didn't hurt, either. Although my girls gave up soccer long ago, Carisa still plays and continues to be a mainstay of her adult team.
Pat and I were among the only working women in our neighborhood, and both of us held down full-time jobs while raising our families, a further bond between us.
She's far more cultured than I with musical tastes ranging from opera to classical to classic rock and a lot in between. I confess (sorry, JK) that I've never been able to develop a feel for the operatic, although I appreciate the other genres.
Pat discovered the availability of a Hollywood Bowl biweekly subscription, and for nearly ten years we spent every other Friday summer evening sipping wine, nibbling grapes and sampling cheese as we listened to a variety of musical treats. Our favorite, hands-down, was 
the annual Tchaikovsky Spectacular complete with the 1812 Overture, cannons, fireworks and the USC Trojan marching band.
We held the same Bowl seats each season and looked forward to seeing who else would return to the surrounding seats. Life got even easier as we discovered the convenience of Park-n-Ride to and from the Bowl. There were a number of evenings when we needed that buffer between the wine and the drive home.
Attempts to instill our love of fine music in our children failed as they resisted the urge to indulge in our version of cultural refinement. They considered our one mutual Hollywood Bowl episode akin to waterboarding.
Another contribution Pat made to our cultural awareness was an annual subscription to the American Ballet Theatre at the Shrine Auditorium. The ABT was in its prime in those years with superstars like Barishnikov and Bissett. Gelsey Kirkland's stellar performance in Swan Lake was a memory to last a lifetime. We managed to drag our daughters to The Nutcracker, and they claimed to enjoy it.
One of the more “esoteric” musical events Pat and I shared with our children was a Bee Gees concert at Dodger Stadium. Farida, Nas, Kirk and Carisa were less than enthusiastic, but we got them to agree to go. Although to this day they'd probably deny it, once the show started, all of them seemed to enjoy the talents of the Brothers Gibb.
At Pat's urging we both participated in a past-life regression. It was billed as an experiment conducted through the California School of Professional Psychology, which friends of ours attended. I didn't buy into the experience, especially when the hypnotist
I had the pleasure of introducing Pat to one of my favorite musicians: Elton John. She knew little about him when I coerced her to attend a concert at the Universal Amphitheater. That was in one of Elton's quieter phases (no feathers or platform shoes for this performance); just Elton on piano and Ray Cooper on percussion.
who conducted the session claimed to have contacted my father. His death, when I was 21, had haunted my memories. For many years each time I'd hear the song “Leader of the Band” by Dan Fogelberg I'd burst into tears because it would remind me of my dad. The hypnotist ordered my dad to leave my aura and continue his own journey. Despite my misgivings, following that past-life experience, I've never since been bothered by that song.
When I moved to Bass Lake, our friendship continued to flourish, although we didn't see each other as often. Pat would drive up for the weekend, and we'd take off to explore Yosemite. Many's the day we'd drive to the valley, park at Curry Village and walk all over the valley floor. We'd always end up at the Ahwahnee Hotel, where we'd park ourselves on the patio with an Irish Coffee or a Chip Shot or two. That tradition continues today and has been passed on to other friends and family through the years. She may not remember with such fondness the day I convinced her to hike the western loop of 
Yosemite Valley. She swore to me she could do the six-mile trail, but her knees—none too sturdy over many years—gave out on her as we rounded the bend where John Muir met with Teddy Roosevelt. I left her in the meadow while I hoofed it back to our car, parked by the Yosemite Chapel. When I came around to pick her up, I discovered she'd endured a brief shower. while a number of park visitors stopped to admire a black bear who shared the meadow with her. I don't remember her ever thanking me for that adventure.
With Pat I explored Tioga Road for the first time and discovered the most glorious parts of Yosemite. We'd take off early in the morning, drive to White Wolf, walk around there a bit and then continue on through the high country to Olmstead Point, Tuolumne Meadows and Dana Meadows. Together we marveled at the Sierra splendor displayed before us. Pat has photos where's she's venturing ankle-deep into the last snows of the season at the foot of Mt Dana. We recently reprised that episode on our way from my house in Coarsegold to Pat's condo in Lake Tahoe. We stopped at the same spot, where Pat waded into the snow-melt of the Tuolumne River.
We decided to take “the back way” home from Tahoe through Monitor Pass and eventually on through the 22 per cent grade of Sonora Pass, through some of the most beautiful mountains I've seen in California.
Though Pat and I have remained friends, our kids have gone their separate ways. They haven't seen each other since Carisa's wedding nearly 20 years ago. Kirk survived a stint in the Marine Corps and has moved all over the country as a result of his job with American Equipment. Carisa remains rooted in Orange County.
Pat's sense of adventure continues as she approaches her 70th decade, she's about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. Next June she expects to find herself en route to a French-speaking country in sub-Saharan Africa as a Peace Corps volunteer. She figures that as she winds down her career in Orange County, her vast computer and teaching experience will stand her in good stead as she assists third-world women strive to reach their entrepreneurial potential.
It's an incredibly brave undertaking to leave your home and family traveling halfway around the world to serve others in conditions less than ideal. I can't begin to tell you how much I admire and applaud you, my courageous friend.
Holy moly... I just came upon this posting this morning. I had forgotten some of the things we've experienced over our years of friendship. Again, altho it shouldn't, you've amazed me at your writing talents and how you can put so much into so few words. There are many things I'm thankful for in my life but the most important ones, aside from family, is the long-term friendships I have acquired. And you, my dear and long-know friend, are one of the most amazing parts of my life. On and forward to more and better adventures!
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