
My dearest blue-jean baby--
First of all, sorry if I named you "Kelsey" in my earlier blogs.
I think the least I can do is to use your real name from now on.
Everyone else called you Koots, but I always called you by your real name Kathryn.
God, how I loved that name.
It drove me bonkers 30 years ago, madly in love with you.
I was so obsessed with you, I sketched you whenever I had the chance.
Remember this one, of you sleeping on the couch after an all-night trip?
I kidded you no end about that crummy lime-green T-shirt you wore.
You got mad at me for teasing you, so I got even by naming you Koots in that sketch.
And yeah, I'm still moved by the songs that bound our memories together for years.
Simon and Garfunkel's "America" and "Kathy's Song"... remember?
Your face and scent still flash in my mind whenever I hear these songs.
And that Elton John song that we always sang on the road...
It defined you and me back then, corny as it was.
You did study ballet, and the two of us did count headlights on the highway.
And you did almost marry this music man, haha.
Well, I hear you're now an L.A. lady.
No longer a tiny dancer in my hand.
And a doctor, hey!
Nothing to sneeze at... :-)
I was going to write a long blog about you today.
It was supposed to be the long-promised sequel to My Impossible Love for Michaela.
And a continuation too of my menage a trois blog from November 2006.
But my skeds got snagged somewhere today, so... you know me.
I hope you read this, blue-jean baby.
And when you hear Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" play on Youtube,
I'll know what you'll be thinking.
It's great to know you're doing okay.
Michaela and the rest of the old gang give you their tightest hugs.
With love,
"The Lakeside Visitor" from way back,
--PJ



