Hola, Beetches. I’m Kate, a 50-something wannabe hippy, curious about the world and eager for adventure. I love silly & youthful mixed-media art projects. I’m prone to picking up second-hand throw aways for my creative pursuits, adding my own flair to discarded paintings or decorating and repurposing a bust of a Roman General as a holder for my headphones & glasses. The better part of these creations built upon creations are not meant for keeping, just for doing – for feeling – and I typically send them right back to the Goodwill.

By way of heredity, I cry at pretty much the drop of a hat – like that one time I cried watching an ice skater tear up the rink – a beautiful and inspired streak of sequined green skipping and twirling and dancing across the ice; Or the other time I gushed over my daughter’s cats cuddling- arms flung over each other’s shoulders like besties, although they didn’t care for one another; And then there’s when I sobbed as Kermit and Miss Piggy reconciled their love in 2011’s The Muppets – tear jerker!

Adverse to my sensitive side, I talk like a Trucker, or a Sailor, or whichever one uses the F-word more frequently. A good curse word can taste pretty good on the ol’ tongue when it’s called for – and when it’s not, for that matter. But, in the interest of my readers, I’ll try not to overwhelm you guys too fucking much.

“Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.”
—Mark Twain

Word, Twain.