She was a Person of the world. A personal goodbye to Dolly Parton and the joy she brought into my life.
This isn't my normal post. No paint colors, tile, before-and-afters, or design advice today.
Today I want to talk about Dolly. I always knew who Dolly Parton was. My Aunt Ann loved her music, and I remember her Dolly 8-tracks playing as I grew up. I knew the songs. I knew the hair. I knew the rhinestones.
But I don't think I really got Dolly until 2008. I had just gotten married. Kent and I had returned from our mini-moon, with our big honeymoon planned for the following year. One of Kent's lifelong friends is a through-and-through Dolly lover. She had fourth-row seats to Dolly's show and asked if I wanted to go with her. Of course I knew Dolly's music, but I wasn't what you would call a huge fan, yet.
I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. When I say I was literally crying halfway through the show, I am not exaggerating. Maybe I was already on a high from our wedding and mini-moon, but this was a whole different level. Dolly had an undeniable connection with the audience. Yes, she was funny. Yes, she was incredibly talented. Yes, the show was a spectacle. But it was more than that. There was something about her.
She could be standing on a stage in front of thousands of people and somehow make you feel connected to her. I was done for. There was an intermission/costume change, and I immediately made a beeline for the merchandise table. I bought one of everything.
And I mean everything. Apparently all it took was half of one Dolly Parton concert, and I was ready to hand over my credit card and become a lifelong member of whatever club I had just joined.
From that day forward, I was hooked. I went back and listened to her old catalog. I learned more about her childhood and her history. I learned about her generosity.
That's when my appreciation for Dolly became about so much more than the music.
She was smart. Really smart. She was funny and completely in on the joke. She knew exactly what people saw when they looked at her—the hair, the boobs, the nails, the rhinestones—and she had usually made the joke about it before anyone else could.
But underneath it all was a woman who worked incredibly hard and gave back an extraordinary amount, and I loved her for it.
Over the years, Dolly somehow became part of our family.
I talked Kent into letting me create an entire cottage in Ocean Shores, Washington, called Dolly Shores. Because apparently buying the entire merchandise table wasn't enough.
But the best Dolly-related thing I did was talk my family into spending a week at Dollywood. It was amazing. The rides were amazing. The people were amazing. The place was amazing. The spectacle was amazing. (hahaha)
Here's the best part: it is STILL one of my kids' favorite trips we've ever taken.
I may have dragged everyone to Tennessee because of my love for Dolly, but Dolly delivered. Of course she did. When I look back on all of this, I think the word that keeps coming to me is joy. Dolly brought me joy. She brought my Aunt Ann joy. She brought my kids joy, and she brought an incredible amount of joy to the world.
A few weeks ago, I was working. I was actually having one of those days where I felt like I was accomplishing something and getting shit done.
Kent called me.
"Did you hear the news?"
"What news?"
"It's bad."
I don't know why, but I immediately said:
"Is it Dolly?"
It was.
And I sobbed. I mean, sobbed. Yes, I know I didn't actually know Dolly Parton, but this felt personal. It felt like we had just lost one of the last people who brought joy to the entire world. Then I started seeing the reaction. The tributes. The buildings. The bridges lit up for her. Her music being played all over the world. Buckingham Palace, for Christ's sake, played "9 to 5."
For a woman born in a one-room cabin in Tennessee. That's when it really hit me. Dolly wasn't just a country music star. She wasn't just Tennessee's Dolly.
She wasn't even America's Dolly. She was a person of the world.
People loved her, all kinds of people. Different ages. Different backgrounds. Different beliefs. People who loved country music and people who probably couldn't name five country songs- they loved Dolly.
I think part of that was because she never seemed to ask anyone for permission to be exactly who she was. She could wear the biggest wig, the highest heels, and enough rhinestones to be seen from space—and then turn around and do something incredibly generous without needing everyone to know about it. She was completely over the top and somehow completely genuine at the same time. How many people can pull that off?
I keep thinking about my Aunt Ann and those 8-tracks. She introduced Dolly into my life without either of us knowing it. Then came that fourth-row seat in 2008.
Then the merchandise table. Then all the music. Then Dolly Shores. Then Dollywood.
Somewhere along the way, something my aunt loved became something I loved—and then became part of my own kids' childhood memories. I really love that.
The world feels a little less joyful to me without Dolly in it. But God, did she leave us with a lot. The music. The laughter. The generosity. The ridiculousness. The rhinestones. Dollywood. All a reminder that you can be smart and kind and ambitious and completely, unapologetically yourself all at the same time.
So thank you, Dolly. I'm really going to miss knowing you were out there. I hope the world always has a little bit of Dolly left in it. I know my world will.
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