Goodbye Dolly

Well, no doubt about it. God picked the wrong 80-year-old.

I was sitting at a counter having lunch yesterday when I read Dolly Parton had died. I’m not gonna lie - I was gutted. I literally couldn’t hold back the tears. It felt like one of the brightest lights, and one of the few unambiguously good things in a world that desperately needs them, had suddenly gone dark.

Dolly was a country music legend, having written songs so enduring you only need to hear the title and the music starts playing in your head.

I Will Always Love You.

Jolene.

9 to 5.

Here You Come Again.

But what I loved even more than her music was her as a human being.

First, and perhaps the thing that says the most about her character, she refused the Presidential Medal of Freedom from Trump. Twice (Full disclosure: she also refused it once from Biden. She said she felt she didn’t deserve it, although I’m guessing there were very different reasons for turning down the two presidents).

There was her sense of humor. She always knew how she looked and appeared to other people, and she was perfectly happy having some fun at her own expense. Here's a sample:

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Against all odds and naysayers, she displayed shrewd business instincts and acumen, building her theme park Dollywood n the Great Smokey Mountains in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee into an internationally popular vacation destinatioin.

Despite it not being a popular point of view with many of her southern and country fans, Dolly was a vocal and valued supporter of the gay and trans communitiies, and she was never shy about speaking out on their behalf. Once on the Larry King show, she called herself the poster child for those communities, always giving them credit for supporting her and making her the star she was.

And of course, the philanthropy.

In April 2020, she donated $1 million to Vanderbilt University Medical Center, helping fund early-stage research that contributed to the development of the Moderna COVID-19 vaccine.

Through her Dolly Foundation, her Imagination Library, which the Orange Jabba cancelled federal funding for, has given more than 300 million books to children in the U.S. and around the world.

Her philanthropy has reached hospitals, libraries, schools and countless other causes. There's no shortage of lists of her generosity all over the interwebs. And they are long.

There are literally thousands of great performances from Dolly. One of my favorites is this haunting, ethereal and beautiful one with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris.

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In a time increasingly defined by division, ugliness and greed, Dolly seemed determined to choose something else. Generosity. Optimism. Kindness. Hope.

She reminded us that being enormously successful doesn’t require becoming enormously self-important. That you can be famous without losing your humanity. And that sometimes, simply being a good person is its own kind of greatness.

I’ll miss Dolly Parton. .

Apologies for the cliché, but there really will never be another one like her. .

Maybe that’s why losing her hurts so much. We didn’t just lose a remarkable singer or songwriter. We lost one of those rare people who made the world feel a little warmer simply by being in it.

God got the wrong 80-year-old. And the rest of us got a beautiful gift, and beautifully gifted person, for 80 years.

The angels have a new member of the choir, and tonight they're singing a little sweeter.

Rest in peace Dolly.

Ashes to ashes

Goodbyes are never easy. Especially when the time comes to say one to our pets.

For some reason, pet goodbyes often land harder than people goodbyes. Maybe it’s because our pets, unlike people, never ask to borrow money. Never send it back to the kitchen. Never say, “We need to talk.”

People suck. I’ll save the rest of that rant for another post.

A while ago, a few years apart, we lost two of the world’s greatest German Shepherds-Max and Ace. They’ve been gone for years, but for the longest time we kept their remains in the beautiful wooden boxes they were returned to us in. There was something comforting about having them still with us, even if “with us” had become a couple of boxes on a shelf.

Somehow, we just weren’t ready to fully let them go. Until recently.

I’m not exactly sure what went into the decision, but one day we decided it was time for a final goodbye. The only question was where.

The ocean was immediately ruled out. Max hated water. Our big, 85-pound boy was absolutely terrified of sprinklers, which is not an especially attractive fear for a German Shepherd. Ace was more easygoing. He probably would have been fine wherever we took him. Max, on the other hand, would have filed a formal complaint.

So we chose the one place where they had both been happiest. Home.

We said a few words, then spread their ashes and remains in the garden in the backyard. The same yard where they played, slept in the sun on the hot brick, kept watch over absolutely nothing and launched themselves into full-scale zoomies for reasons known only to German Shepherds.

It felt right. It also felt strangely peaceful.

We did, however macabre as it might seem to some, keep a little bit of both of them. They liked being in the house. And honestly it seemed only fair. They had spent years following us from room to room, supervising our every move, staring at us while we ate, standing guard for us when were in the bathroom and making sure no suspicious squirrels crossed the property line.

The least we could do was let them keep a small place here.

Maybe that’s the thing about saying goodbye to a pet. You never really do.

You let go of the part you can’t hold, but you keep the rest. In the stories. In the photographs. In the habits you still expect to see out of the corner of your eye. In the empty spot on the floor where they used to sleep. And sometimes, in a little wooden box tucked away somewhere in the house.

Max and Ace may be in the garden now, but they’re still home.

And I think, in one way or another, that’s where the ones we love are always supposed to be.

Seein' Cena

I’ve never been much of a wrestling fan. And I never wrestled in high school. In fact, the only wrestling I’ve ever done has been with tough steaks and bad life decisions.

The last time I paid any attention to wrestling was as a kid, watching Bobo Brazil on TV from the Olympic Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles. Look it up.

So I was more than a little surprised to find myself becoming a fan of one of wrestling’s biggest stars and best ambassadors: John Cena.

I honestly don’t remember when I first came across Cena, but it wasn’t in the ring. It was as an actor, and he was genuinely good. Not only does he have real acting chops, he also has terrific comic timing, as anyone who watched him play Sammy Fak on The Bear can tell you.

Whenever I saw him on late-night talk shows, he also came across as refreshingly humble. No oversized ego. No "look at me" energy. Just a guy comfortable enough in his own skin to laugh at himself.

But what impressed me most, and I think it’s because it’s in such short supply these days, was his heart.

Cena has granted more wishes through the Make-A-Wish Foundation than anyone in history: more than 650 for critically and terminally ill children. Watch a few clips online and you'll see he always makes time for fans, especially kids. He's built like a superhero, but he's never been afraid to show vulnerability or admit he's still a work in progress.

What really sealed it for me was a video from a fan convention. A cancer survivor told Cena his "Never Give Up" mantra is what helped him through the darkest days of treatment, then asked if he could have a hug. Cena didn't hesitate for a second.

It wasn't staged. It wasn't performative. It was just a genuinely kind human moment.

At a time when the loudest voices like Pete Kegsbreath (please pass the testosterone), alledged alpha males and dipshits in the manosphere are selling toxic masculinity and seem to think compassion is a character flaw, it's refreshing, bordering on revolutionary, to see someone like Cena set a different example. Strength doesn't have to mean arrogance. Confidence doesn't require cruelty. Young men could do a whole lot worse than looking up to someone who treats kindness as a strength instead of a weakness.

Of course, if I'm being completely honest, there are still a few people in Washington, D.C. I'd happily pay to see him body slam.