For Kurt
I met Kurt in the summer of 1983 in Berkeley. He had on a T-shirt that said, “Tibetan Puppy Moon Fungus.” I loved him right away. Not the ‘jump your bones’ kind of love, but the kind where it was like we’d been waiting our whole lives to meet.
I was still pretty much a Connecticut based hippie chick (even though I went to 23 shows in my first calendar year!) which meant that after every tour and every New Year’s run, I’d go home to Connecticut until the next tour. The freakin’ Dead kept playing “Keep Your Day Job” and I treated that like some sort of divine message. <insert eyeroll here>
Kurt became a part of me. He lit up my life and became one of my favorite people on the planet. After every tour, Kurt would say, “Come on, come with us. Don’t go back to Connecticut. That’s no fun.”
I always shined him on. Treated the suggestion as if it was nothing but a joke. As if such a thing wasn’t actually possible for the likes of me.
For some reason, giving him a ride to the airport at the end of Spring Tour 1986 (Hartford – a home show for me) sticks in my mind. He practically begged me to park my van in the long term parking and get on the plane with him and his crew. As usual, I laughed. “Thanks Beautiful, it’s just not realistic.” He tried harder than he’d ever tried before to entice me to leave Connecticut behind and really live free.
When he died, at Chief Hosa Campground during the 1987 Red Rocks Shows, I was thoroughly devastated.
And yet, I did Fall Tour like usual, and then I went home to Connecticut, like usual.
And I flew out for 1987-1988 New Year’s, like usual. And I flew home to Connecticut after New Year’s, like usual.
And it was zero degrees for a week (or at least that’s how it is in my memory) and I hated EVERYTHING.
I was mad at the weather. I was mad at the world because I’d never get to party with Kurt again. I spent a week stomping around the house being a completely miserable bitch.
None of this was fair!
All the things I’d lost!
All of the time I would not get to spend with my beloved Kurt…
And here I was, stuck in Connecticut.
And then.
Almost like an actual lightbulb.
It occurred to me that while it was entirely too late for time spent with Kurt, it was absolutely not too late to grab ahold of time with the many other people I’d come to love through my years on Dead Tour.
Fuck this staying in Connecticut shit!
Kurt was right!
All this time he was right! I was not stuck here.
I can go on tour!
By January 23, 1988 with Kurt’s voice in my ear and his sparkly eyes in my heart, I was on a plane back to California, back to my people, back to where I belonged.
Kurt got what he wanted in that respect. He finally got me to go on tour full time.
I love you so much Kurt. I have literally never stopped thinking of you. You changed my life, and I wish I could hug you again.