If ever there was a movie made from a book that got it right, it was Lonesome Dove.And if ever there was an actor who took on a role and made it flesh and blood, it was Robert Duvall when he played Gus McCrae.
I've just finished reading (with my ears- thank you, Miss May for that one) a recording of Lonesome Dove. All four million hours of it. Larry McMurtry's cowboys traveled from the Texas border to Montana while I weeded the garden and mucked out the chicken coop and walked my miles and made our suppers.
And Angelica Houston was the most incredibly perfect Clara- the woman Gus had been in love with his entire life.
Oh just let me tell you how much I love Robert Duvall and Angelica Houston.
Oh please let me tell you how much I love Gus McCrae and Clara.
The first book I ever read by McMurtry was a book called Moving On. It starts out with a scene where a woman is in her car, reading, in the parking lot of a rodeo when a drunk cowboy suddenly pulls out his pecker and pees on her car, not realizing she's in it.
Now find a way to put THAT book down.
The woman turned out to be named Patsy who, in Moving On, had her own entire book and who then showed up in Terms of Endearment as a best friend and McMurtry may not create fiction so much as he just taps into some parallel universe and watches the lives of the people who he writes about. He reports in on their doings, their thoughts, their joys and frustrations and births and deaths and travels and troubles. His women cry and yet, are so strong, his men don't know what they're doing but the best ones bumble on and fall in love with these strong women and they don't know what to do when the women cry and no one saves anyone but everyone is part of the salvation of everyone.
Sort of like life, I think.
McMurtry reminds me of the finest actors- the ones you never catch "acting." You never catch McMurtry "writing." There is only the story and the characters and the world he creates, whether it's a big world or a small one. Even the smallest ones are huge in and of themselves.
I read his book charming story, Desert Rose out loud to Mr. Moon when we were on our trip out west, as Mr. Moon drove and we crossed those crazy plains and the alien deserts with carved out red mountains and when we got to Las Vegas, where the main character in that book lived, we felt as if we would find her, sitting in a coffee shop, her chin in her elbow, thinking about her cruel, beautiful daughter. McMurtry wrote that one while he was trying to get his cowboys from Texas to Montana. Just took a break and wrote about a Las Vegas showgirl.
Well. Here we are. It's Friday. It's been raining forever. That's okay. I can't hang the clothes on the line, but the garden is happy. It will need sun eventually, though.
We're going to go see Fiddler On The Roof tonight in Monticello. This is a performance I've had absolutely nothing to do with for various reasons, not the least of which is that Lily's baby is coming and the timing was all wrong. Kathleen is in the play and I can't wait to see her play Yenta. It feels so strange to me to go to the Opera House for a performance I've not been involved in. I think the main feeling is how could they have done this without me? which is ridiculous but there you go. The world is a stage and WHY AREN'T I ON IT?
It's raining softly, the elephant ears have water beads shining like mercury and running off of them. Lily is still cradling Owen inside of her. Every time the phone rings I jump and so does Mr. Moon. I'm sure Hank and May and Jessie do too.
I've finished listening to Lonesome Dove but it's okay because I have Dead Man's Walk on tape to listen to now which is the story of Gus and his buddy Call meet up and are Texas Rangers in their youth. I am grateful to McMurtry for going back in time and finding those two boys and telling us their story.
It's Friday, y'all. Let me leave you with this one very important piece of wisdom:
You may say you'll never eat Chex Mix again, but you will.
Oh yes. You will.
Love...Ms. Moon
