I had a cool story to share, but I forgot it somewhere between driving three laps through a festive country-home yard’s Christmas lights, reminding myself to order more dog food from Chewy, and comparing airport parking rates. Whoops,
First, a special and necessary apology to anyone who interacts with me at the tail end of my reading a book. I get—shall we say—immersed.
The Godfather had me all about honor and family, saying “whacked” and absentmindedly stroking my chin like a man with a plan. Lonesome Dove turned me into a well-seasoned, Captain McCrae/Call hybrid, muttering “dern” under my breath and believing I could outlast any enemy.
Sadly, my time with Lonesome Dove ended at 1 a.m. last night. Not to fret! Over Facetime, my Dad consented, which, with a 6.5-hour undertaking, consent must be given, to watch the TV series with me.
And if you’re at all still on the fence about hopping into this raging river of the Missouri that ushers you into the cattle drive’s end in Montana, Rotten Tomatoes has Lonesome Dove at a nearly perfect rating with quotes calling it “masterful”.
Masterful. Sigh, a word I know all too well. Daily, people flood my ears with feedback about how in awe they are of me. I try to stop them—really, I do—but they insist. I hear there’s already a tombstone prepared with the epitaph: “One masterful woman.”
Okay, enough of being a weirdo. It’s time to gear up for my last session of the day and then start Slaughterhouse-Five, a book Dave and I are reading together.
Peace, love, and hoping for a masterful evening.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 