Hello friends,

We’ll get to my thoughts about some new stuff that’s out this week in a bit, but I don’t think I could start this letter—or that anyone could start any letter, maybe!—anywhere else but with the death of Dolly Parton, one of the greatest entertainers and celebrities there’s ever been. She was a dream: a warm wit, a golden voice, a vibrant actor, a do-gooder, a sage, a virtual friend and mentor and pastor to many millions of people. It was always nice knowing that she was out there in the world, doing her Dolly things all these years. 

I’d long loved her in movies, and adored “Jolene” and “9 to 5” and all those hits when I was a kid. But I developed a deeper, more meaningful affection for her when I was 19 and driving across the Southwest with my family in what would turn out to be our last road trip together. We had many hours to spend on dusty roads with only the faintest of radio signals, so we bought a Dolly Parton compilation, along with the latest records from Sheryl Crow and Elton John, at a rest stop and made those the soundtrack of our journey. 

We got a lot of use out of all three CDs, but the Dolly one was my favorite. I still can’t hear “Here You Come Again” without seeing the orange vastness of Arizona in my mind’s eye; “Coat of Memory Colors” evoked a green and misty holler as we gazed out at the barrenness rushing by in the window. Her songs were a comfort on lonely stretches of highway, and they helped soothe my teenage, just-got-done-with-freshman-year haughtiness, so eager was I to return to the freedom I’d only recently tasted for the first time. I was a bit of a shit on the early days of that trip, in a bratty snit about being in beautiful places with my family instead of, I dunno, bumming around some dorm room. But gradually the majesty of it all won me over, aided no doubt by the kindness emanating, in Dolly’s gorgeous twang, from the car stereo. 

I remember going outside one night at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon with my sister, gazing up at a jaw-dropping thicket of stars and in that humble moment almost feeling the spinning of the earth under my feet. It was, maybe, the closest I’d ever come to experiencing the divine, a sense of smallness and awe mixed with a strange kind of pride: for being a part of creation, for being able to bear witness to such wonder. It’s corny, maybe, but I found a little comfort yesterday thinking that Dolly Parton has simply returned to that wonder, to the great hurtle of time and energy that made her and everyone else she sang to and championed, amused and consoled. What a gift she was to the world, and though it is terribly sad that she’s gone, I’m mostly overcome with gratitude that she was ever here at all. 

Okay, let’s move on, as we must. It’s a funny week for new releases, because arguably the biggest new movie is kind of a dud. But I still want to write about it anyway. Just know that it is really not a recommendation; the movie is best avoided until you can watch it on a plane, maybe, dozing off as the engines carry you toward wherever you’re going. 

But first!

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