Cleopatra reportedly killed herself with a cobra. I prefer steaks rare and single-malt scotch.
Either venom will work fine — one quickly, the other over time. I will admit that the cobra is far more dramatic, almost romantic.
That’s Cleopatra for you, right?
By all accounts, she was pretty insufferable, always losing her marbles over petty stuff.
We’re all a bit of a poetry book; some couplets are happy, some angry, some sad.
My coffee always tastes like the salty finger I stir it with. Or faintly of my own tears.
As you may know, I’m still recovering from Gordon Lightfoot’s death three years ago….anger, denial, bargaining, sorrow. And how could the Cubs let Kyle Schwarber go?
I’m hoping that, as we pivot towards fall, we can soon put all that behind us.
Equally upsetting, of course, is the departure of Dolly Parton, by most accounts America’s most-popular person, a chicken-fried angel/saint in an industrial-strength bra (40DD by some accounts).
“We should all be more like Dolly,” was the overriding public sentiment.
Did you see the cringy clip of her being interviewed by Barbara Walters, her polar opposite in regards to kindness and class?
In the interview, Walters called her a joke, telling Dolly she didn’t need to rely on all the embellishments she was famous for. Walters bore down, then bore down some more. But she couldn’t cut through the singer’s sequined charm.
PR note to selves: Should you ever face unsolicited advice from a brassy New York chatterbox, just smile modestly. Then, during the commercial break, drop a cobra in her purse.
I once postulated that every delicious thing in the cosmos seems conical or elliptic: Easter eggs, pizzas, Dolly Parton.
I’ll stand by that.
Yet, Dolly’s true appeal wasn’t her outsized persona, her hourglass dresses. It was how sly and sneaky smart she was.
It was like she teed us up, smacked us in the head with the judgments we quickly formed about her — that she was some wiggy Harlequin hussy, a hootenanny scamp.
The joke was on us though. And Dolly always got the last delicious laugh.
I love people who can light up a room — or a country — without being unctuous about it.
That she was generous beyond reason added to her allure. She seems to have sent all of Tennessee off to college.
Her songwriting, meanwhile, on pieces like “Jolene” or “The Bridge,” gave her range and wistfulness that filled our hearts.
Hearing Dolly was always like hearing the first Christmas carol of the season.
I noted last week how some deaths kick us in the gut: Robin Williams, Betty White. Diane Keaton.
And now Dolly.
What do they have that we crave? Why did we latch on to them above all others?
With Dolly, I think it was maternal. Like a good mom, she loved us even more than we loved her.
Dolly Parton was fierce but fragile, a tenderness conveyed by that tight trill, that trademark vibrato she borrowed from chickadees.
What a lovely person she was. What a national treasure.
And what an unlikely American hero.
So long, Dolly.
Soft pillows. Safe flight.
Coming next: Cakes heads off to kindergarten, can you believe it?
My own kindergarten teacher smelled like crayons and potted paste. And Aqua Net, the super-hold hair spray, an adhesive that defined the ‘60s.
I think only us oldsters get the references Harlequinn and Hootnenanny :)
Uh-oh! Will Angie be jealous over your gushing about Dolly? Beautifully said, sir! We've lost an angel.