Pat even came to visit when Marty and I moved to England. She and her cousin Pam and I were a triple dose of trouble when we were teenagers. Pat's little brother Jimmy was a good friend of my younger brother Thom. And Pat's older brother Howie and I were pen pals of a sort when he was stationed in the Pacific.
Jimmy is an artist extraordinaire and a fabulous banjo player. Pam is also an artist - one of her paintings hangs on the wall next to my desk. Pat's talent is dancing, and I'll never forget her 16th (?) birthday, when her mom gave her a big dancing ballerina doll to celebrate her accomplishments in Orchesis.
As teenagers, Pat and I knew each others' houses as well as we knew our own. She could stroll into my house at any time and be sure of a welcome - well, apart from That Night. I must have slept soundly that night, because when I woke up, every bra I owned was frozen solid in the freezer, I'd been pummeled with silver dragees (cake decorations) and every picture in the house was ever-so-slightly crooked. I don't remember how I got back at Pat, but I'm sure I did eventually. And then there was the mystery of the fried chicken under the bed, but that's another story.
I could drop in on her at any time, and I often did. I'll never forget the time Jimmy let me in and said, "She's in her bedroom." I followed the sound of typing, but couldn't find Pat. I finally figured out she was in the closet. Pat was the fastest typist I knew, but I don't think I ever did discover the attraction of typing in a small, enclosed space.
We've met up occasionally - in New York, Fort Lauderdale, Orlando, Chicago, London and Las Vegas. No matter how much time has passed, we always have a blast.
*Pat and Jimmy took a bunch of pictures yesterday. I don't like getting my picture taken, but these will have historical value. I'll share some of the pictures later.