"They got my father."

Or, “Not cry one tear for my daddy. I stole it off a crocodile.”

(First tattoo possibilites, aka Watching Cold Mountain.)

In all seriousness, I’ve never been a tattoo girl, I just like peeps who are. It’s just, I always said I’d get one when it meant something.

At 31 years old, I unfortunately have a “something.”

His name was Tom. Thomas John Horton. He was my Dad. He was my hero, and he died two years ago. I miss him everyday in a way I will never be able to explain. He shaped my life and watching him die changed everything.

So, that’s my “something.” I just want his initials, his Oklahoma initials, that is. Back where he was born, they called him TJ. I love that. I’m a city girl, born & raised, but what always fascinated me about my father was that he grew up in an environment that is the total opposite of the one he chose to raise me in. And yet, I turned out just like him.

But of all his awesome qualities I do call my own, it’s his fearlessness that I didn’t inherit. He just went for it, and at such a young age. He dug dtches at 15, literally. He was the one who did whatever it would take to get the hell out of dodge. He made people pay attention. He saw the world. He wrote about it and people PAID him to keep doing so. He met and married an equally (if not not more) incredible person. And they had a child. One. A daughter. Me.

I realize now, I was their world. And you know what? They were mine.

So there it is.

I fear I will never live the kind of life my parents did. Actually, I already know I won’t. Mine is a different journey, I know this. And it’s been awesome so far. But…

That said, I can’t help but feel envious because when that Okie From Muskogee was my age, 31, he had already seen so much life. I’ve barely left this continent.

(BTW, I’m fairly certain my Dad hated that particular song, but I do know he loved him some Merle Haggard.)

This I know: the fact that I am hungry for more life? That, my friends (or whomever is still reading this), is my father’s legacy.

So yeah, TJ. He’s the “something” I was waiting for.

p.s. My Dad would lose his shit if he knew that I was grooving to Merle Haggard just now. Trust me, Dad, it’s flipping me out, too.

Ghost Writer

This blog is a graveyard. Literally.

Today Was A Good Day

Dear Dad,

You always said, "Write if you get work."

Well, I got work today.

Wish you were here to celebrate with me. I know you'd give me a huge bear hug, say something like, "Good going kiddo," mess up my hair & then remind me to give it my all.

I hope I'll make you proud.

All my love,

Kate

Mama Said There'll Be Days Like This

You know what's the worst part of a wedding? When the bride dances with her dad. I am so overcome with jealous rage & crippling sadness that I must immediately exit, usually to a quiet place, like a bathroom stall, where I cry & cry. And cry.

Having your dad die sucks, bottom line. Having him die WAY before his time? Worse. Watching him get sick & die?? Simply awful.

But that dance, that special tug-at-your-heart-strings glorious moment?

THE WORST.

So for future reference, if we're ever at a wedding together and the bride and her father start to dance, you'll know where to find me.

Do me a solid and buy me a drink when I emerge from the ladies room, ok?

For Mr. Pink

I lost an old friend last week.

And that's putting it lightly.

Needless to say, this has done a number on me, but more importantly, to people in my life that I treasure. Months ago I watched as my dearest friend tried to save this lost soul, as she is inclined to do, and I now watch as she struggles to forgive herself for not doing so. I can only hope she will realize, as I did, that no one can save someone who is already gone.

I dug up the ol' high school yearbooks the other night while in a maudlin mood, but knowing better, I then proceeded to "hide" them from myself...under my COFFEE TABLE...in my LIVING ROOM...where I spend 90% of my time when HOME. Yep, I'm a genius.

So here I am, one week & some change later, and I feel my toe nudge something under the coffee table, and I know; It's now or never...look through those yearbooks, cry, and WRITE ABOUT IT, because I know why I dug them out and I especially know why I hid them.

Hurts. Too. MUCH.

Time. Sucks.

I've waited to write about this because I wanted to do it it right. I'm 31, and depending on which day you ask me, that's shockingly old or terribly young. Either way, old crushes die hard & memories are forever.


So this is for Max Leavitt, a rockstar in the truest sense of the term. He lived fast, hard, full, and sadly, as so many truly tortured artists do, died far too young.


From my high school senior year yearbook page...truer words never rang so uncomfortably loud:

"In the long, long trip of growing, there are stops along the way. For thoughts of all the softs things and a look at yesterday, for a chance to fill our feelings with comfort and with ease, and then tell the new tomorrow, you can come now when you please."

Goodbye, Max. To know you really was to adore you. To share a stage with you was an honor. To share this life with you was a joy. To miss you will be forever.

Farewell & good luck. I hope you found peace. Rest easy, sweet friend.

And most importantly, in the words of your idol Billy Joe, whom you dragged us to see all those years ago at Gilman Street:

I hope you had the time of your life.

I have a sneaking suspicion you did.

Back in the Day

I miss the days when I used to know an album from inside & out, like the back of my hand, from front to back.

I miss holding a new cd with my own two hands, struggling to release its surely life-altering beats from their shrink-wrapped catacomb.

I miss the sweet whispers of promise that shiny silver disc would sing as I held it between my expectant fingers, the reassurance of a journey to come, the comfort of an inevitable destiny; Happiness.

Those were the days.

These Are My Thoughts. Let Me Show Them To You

Yes, the rumors are true. Kate is blogging. Finally.

I have started a blog because what the world needs now is another masturbatory exercise in narcissism. Also, the voices in my head kept telling me to and they seem to be the ones who call the shots around here.

This has been a long time coming, but things have always seemed to get in the way, like an epic ability to procrastinate and a crippling lack of focus. But more about what ever I was just talking about later...maybe.

So sit back, strap in, and enjoy. These are my thoughts. Let me show them to you.