Rebound Has a Dream About Being a Puppy Again

Bawling My Eyes Out

So I just finished reading Molly Ivins: A Rebel Life and last night I saw the play about Molly at Zach starring Barbara Chisholm and on top of all that it's the eve of the four-year anniversary of Molly's death and probably I should wait to offer commentary. But I won't.

While I will recuse myself from an official review of the play, I do want to say that Barbara does such a stunning job of capturing She Who is Most Uncapturable. I'm too overwhelmed with emotion to say more. Before the show, Dave Steakley, who heads up ZACH and who is one of my favorite Austinites,  handed me a gift, a keychain that flashes the name MOLLY on one side, and features a picture of the Texas State Capitol on the other. This, Dave noted, was to give me something upon which to carry the keys to Molly's house, a reference to a dream I had. It is one of the most touching gifts I have ever received and instantly moved me to tears.

Reading the book-- finishing the book- and seeing the play was, as I anticipated, very rough. I love Molly so much. I understood that she was not interested in sharing her emotions. I get the fact that for as much as I knew her, I didn't really know her at all. I had so many lunches with her, attended so many Final Friday parties at her house, even sat with her through chemo and still, Molly was, in the end, incredibly private.

And yet, I have memories. I remember first encountering her, when I was a waitress at Magnolia back in '92 and she a regular patron. One time, she spilled her iced tea and the waitstaff joked among ourselves, "Molly Ivins can't spill that, can she?" But whenever she came in, we always left her alone-- an unspoken policy we had, one extended to all celebs. Another night, she was in supping with her aging mom. I pointed them out to a host, Lindsey, who was from Australia.. He was a journalism student and beside himself at the news. Later, I went by to check on Moll and her mother and-- noting that their plates had been cleared, which was unheard of at the Mag but which Lindsey had done in an effort to approach them-- I got into a conversation with them. Molly said she had just been talking to her mom about how apparently no one recognized her (this was at the height of her fame). I assured her we most certainly did, but that it was our policy to leave the famous in peace.

Years later, at the invitation of my then-roomate Genevieve, who'd known Molly since she (Gen) was a child, I began attending Moll's Final Friday Parties. I must've gone to 80 of these gatherings over the years, parties that always included a session dedicated to reading poetry and offering commentary. How well I remember one night, when the crowd demanded I read, and I demurred, claiming I'd brought nothing with me to share. Molly excused herself momentarily, and returned with a copy of the unbound manuscript for my first book, which my publisher had submitted seeking a blurb from her. She insisted I read from it. I was floored.

So many other memories rush in, prompted by the endless tales of generosity detailed in her bio. Literally, as she was dying, Molly had her assistant Betsy call me to send to her the requisite materials to secure a nomination by Molly for me to be accepted as a member of the Texas Institute of Letters. As if Molly had all the time in the world to endeavor to such trite tasks.

I remember her inviting my son over to help decorate her Christmas tree. So fond was she of children, and os fond were they of her, that long after my son grew weary of attending other events with me, he and his friends always so eagerly looked forward to Final Friday. and piled in the car to join me. When Molly was in the hospital for the final time, just days from dying, Henry and his friend Marcio, who'd been to so many of those parties, were adamant about going to tell her goodbye. I hesitated-- it is such torture to see someone on the final throes of cancer-- but eventually brought them along. They brought Molly a blueberry milkshake. I watched two boys that day, then 16, transformed by the sight of this once vibrant woman ruined by her disease. On the elevator down they were different people, forever changed by the farewell.

I have so many other memories of Molly. and reading the bio just reinforces for me how too busy she was and how, nevertheless, she always made time for lunch with me, to tell me her stories. Oh, her stories. I remember so many of them at Final Fridays. I remember having lunch with her, not long after surgery-- Molly always picked up the check which wasn't just nice but necessary, considering how broke I was. One time at a very chi-chi Ladies Who Lunch place, it dawned on her that her wallet was mostly empty. At the hospital they'd insisted she empty it of all but a twenty dollar bill. We scraped together what we had to cover lunch, including a very large pile of nickels and dimes from the bottom of my purse. The young and humorless waitress, upon retrieving that little leatherette thingy they use to present the bill and collect payment, said-- noting the nickels spilling out-- "Do you need change?"

Moll and I giggled, one of us announcing. "Oh no, KEEP the change!"

So many more stories rush in, but I will end with just one more. After Molly's memorial, we all gathered at Scholz's Beer Garden, one of her favorite places in the world. I was so wracked with grief, so doubled over in the pain of it, that a TV news reporter approached me-- you know how they're always looking for the most dramatic angle, the most distraught quote? Noting my distress, they figured I'd be good for a quote. For the first time in my life, I eschewed a microphone, and felt gratitude that my "date"-- Sarah, who'd been to so many Moll lunches with me-- chased them away. But I did get up at the open mike and I think this is the story I told:

One of the times I took Molly for chemo, I was sitting in the back, beside her, as chemicals were shot through her shunt. Most folks had visitors who had to wait in the waiting room but Molly was different, a celeb, who was allowed to bring someone with her. I figured my job was to just hang out quietly, to feed her maybe, to mostly just BE there for her. At some point, a medical personnel came by-- a nurse? a doctor? I wasn't sure. Before I could get my bearings and realize what was going on, this woman said, "Molly, I was at your signing the other night. I love your work! Could I get you to sign a few books?

Molly nodded and I was mortified. Wasn't it my job, as chemo sitter, to shelter her from this very thing? As the nurse/doctor  scurried off to get her books for signing, I-- feeling like a failure and also appalled at the request-- turned to Molly and said, "You are so much more gracious than I would be. I can't believe you agreed!"

She then flashed me her enormous smile, and in her exaggerated Texas accent assured me, "I ALWAYS have time to sign!"

I so miss Miss Molly. I miss her enthusiasm. I miss her dedication to friends. She was a mentor to me in more ways than I can possibly list. I am humbled by her life and by her death. I am humbled that she took the time to care for me-- at all, but most especially in the light of her pressing illness and her fame.

Rebound Expresses Herself and Gets Laid!

I guess I should say that if talking about canine anal glands is not your cup of tea, you have two choices : a) you can exit now or b) you can grow a pair and read on. Maybe you'll learn something. I certainly did.

So our beloved Rebound, who more than makes up with cuteness what she lacks in intellect, has a way of falling prey to more physical challenges than the other dogs. So yeah, she's mentally and physically challenged. And it's even possible that sometimes one thing leads to another, though it can be chicken-and-egg to try to figure it out. Example-- she might decide she wants to hop up on the futon. (I mean, as much as she is able to "decide" anything.) Being a Boston, she can do a vertical leap of maybe 3 feet, straight up, except she never remembers this. One option for futon conquering is the very simple Plan A-- stand in front of the futon couch and hop up. Super easy. Plan B, her preferred choice 99% of the time, is to go around to the arm of the couch-frame and attempt to clear it. At which point she smashes her head, falls back, and then repeats this, usually getting it right on the second or third try.

Well, okay then-- is the head banging further depleting her "intelligence"? Or is her "intelligence" the reason she keeps banging her head? I have no idea.

Other health matters have nothing to do with the ways she chooses to conduct herself. For example, I must take the blame for the heart worm she suffered this summer. She wasn't on preventative. She tested positive. This necessitated $1000 of painful shots and also the need to keep her almost perfectly still for two months. I bought her the best crate money could buy, and boarded her at a great facility when I went to Israel. And her Uncle Big Red visited her there everyday. Still, I felt like shit. And she ballooned up, doubling her weight due to the steroids. Then, when she was allowed to walk again, I took her out and her little pads had gotten so soft that they blistered. Poor Rebound!

All that was behind us for many months, and things were exotically calm over here. Then, the other night, I noticed a very bad ass smell coming from Rebound. Not as in she's a Bad Ass. As in, her butt really stank. I tried to ignore it. But it was bad. I mentioned this to a friend who had brought her adopted dog back from the edge of death. "Anal glands," she said. "You need to express her anal glands."

I'd heard of this before and instantly blocked the idea, the way I've tried to block certain traumatic childhood events. But oh, the stink. So I used my medical assistant, Google, sucked in my breath, and started surfing for YouTube help on how to attempt this intervention at home. (Since my office job ended, we're back to cutting corners over here as much as possible.) I found a perfectly nice video, watched closely, wondered if the dog in the video was actually taxidermied (he stood so still-- I would never stand like that if someone grabbed the 5 o'clock and 7 o'clock periphery of my sphincter and pushed in and up and squeezed).

Then I loaded little Rebound into the bathtub, a place for which she holds much suspicion. I positioned my paper towel, did a quick "time check" around her asshole, got my fingers in there at precisely 25 til 5 (or was it 25 past 7?)---and puuuuush and squeeeze-- and fully expected a major Hershey squirt to sail past the paper towel and right into my new bionic eye. But when I looked at the paper towel, it was clean. (Okay not "clean" as in you could eat off of it, and it did smell a little, but it was absent of butt juice.)

I figured I was doing it wrong. For her part, Rebound just seemed a little confused and a little excited, like she wasn't sure what this new game was but maybe it wasn't a bad thing. I released her from her bathtub prison and sent her on her way.

Later, in the bedroom, as I decided some sheet changing was in order to clear out the residual smells from the night before, I spotted them. Two perfect little brown parentheses on my formerly pristine white pillow case. Had I not watched the anal gland expression video, I might never have suspected it, but with my knew knowledge I quickly understood-- before I'd even gotten to the task REBOUND HAD EXPRESSED HERSELF! Forget about that dog that knows 1200 words. My dog knows how to express her own anal glands.

GOOD GIRL REBOUND!

Now, about getting laid. The day after this miraculous feat, Uncle Ross showed up, still jet lagged from his trip to New Zealand, Australia and Hawaii. He came bearing a fresh lei from Hawaii, and if you've never whiffed one of those floral garlands up close, let me tell you they are PUNGENT. I quickly bedecked Rebound in this glorious gift leaving at least one end of her smelling much, much better.

SWEET REBOUND!

My Boy On Tour!

A couple of weeks ago Henry called with the awesome news that he'd been hired as a drummer in the band Air Waves, which is fronted by the amazing Nicole Schneit. Nicole is a kick ass songwriter and she has a gorgeous groovy voice. Her previous drummer was working for a number of other bands and so when there came an opening, Hen auditioned and got the gig to tour with the band to support their new CD Dungeon Dots which is getting great reviews in Indie Rock Land.

Their tour-- West Coast, East Coast and Canada-- started last week in Austin, at Emo's. Good lord I hadn't been in Emo's in a very long time. I actually remember when it opened-- hell I remember before it opened, when I waited on Dave the manager about a week before SXSW 1992, and he told me he was "opening a club in time for SXSW" and I thought, "Yeah, and the monkeys are gonna fly out of my ass and bring your pancakes to you." But Dave wasn't shitting and he did it, and the rest as we know, is history. Holy crap have I been drunk in that bar. No more, of course. So it was interesting to be the sober old lady at the show last week, hoping Air Waves would wrap their set by midnight because, you know, I need my beauty sleep.

We had such a good time. Hen's first instrument is guitar, but he's a great drummer, too. I worked hard not to be a stage mom, I did not throw any article of clothing on the stage, nor did I press up against the stage. I did help lug equipment inside, which maybe was a little dorky but wow oh wow-- live music has been such a part of my life for so long. And I've been taking Henry to shows since he was in utero-- I remember being 8.5 months pregnant at a Poi Dog Pondering show in St. Louis and dancing my ass off. I thought the bouncers were going to have a collective heart attack. We've gone together to see Jonathan Richman at Liberty Lunch (and lots of other places), Steve Forbert at the Cactus, Modest Mouse at ACL Studios, Don Walser (many many times) at Jovita's, The Polyphonic Spree at ACL Fest and Stubb's (where he once sang onstage with them), and the list goes on and on and on.

I have so loved watching Henry grow into himself as a musician. Back in the day I used to organize Teen Rock events at Stubb's, Emo's, and any other venue that would have us. He was in the band Max & Henry for ages and they even released a CD. He sometimes plays in Horses with Horns and Best Fwends. But right now, the focus is 100% Air Waves. I'm posting the tour schedule below. If you have friends in any of these places, please do tell them to get their asses out and check out the band. And if you can't see them live, please buy a CD or Vinyl LP. Thanks.

AIR WAVES TOUR 2011

January 26

Hi Dive

Denver, Colorado

January 27

Urban Lounge w/ Tennis

Salt Lake City, Utah

January 28

Neurolux Lounge w/ Tennis

Boise, ID

January 29

Mississippi Studios w/ Tennis

Portland, Oregon

January 31

Media Club w/Tennis

Vancouver, BC, CAN

February 1

The Crocodile w/ Lord Huron & Tennis

Seattle, WA

February 3

Bottom of the Hill w/ Lord Huron & Tennis

San Francisco, California

February 4

The Echo w/ Lord Huron & Tennis

Los Angeles, CA

February 7

Club Congress w/ Tennis

Tucson, AZ

February 8

Rhythm Room w/ Tennis

Phoenix, AZ

February 10

University of New Mexico

February 13

Fitzgeralds

Houston, Texas

February 16

Farm 255

Athens, GA

February 18

House Show  @ 2702 Lawndale Ave.

Durham, NC

February 20

Bruar Falls

Brooklyn, NY

February 22

Glasslands w/ Amy Klein (Titus Andronicus)

Brooklyn, NY

Rebound Turns Her Back on Breakfast

and pretends she is a hippie bus...

and helps me type...

GOOD GIRL, REBOUND!

Not Exactly a Vacation But Awesome Nonetheless

I ran away for a few days to Lake Austin Spa. If you have never been here, let me tell you-- it is SO worth the trip. Even if you don't stay overnight, you can spend a long day unwinding.

This was my birthday treat to me-- to run away to a beautiful place where every single detail is tended to, the meals are incredible, and if you want to just wear a bathrobe the entire time, that is more than okay.

I'm fortunate enough to teach out here sometimes, so I actually get to visit the property a few times each year. It is gorgeous regardless of season. Right now the lake is way down (due to purposeful human action-- Dam Humans!) which has brought in all sorts of birds, including seagulls that prefer fresh water to salty. I LOVE SEAGULLS. There is this tree with red berries that is so eye-poppingly brilliant I stood staring at it for a long time. Yesterday I took a class in breathing which sounds silly but then...
well let's just say it wasn't.
                            
I do hope you get to visit here sometime. I have been so happy, holed up in a warm room, away from the chill, toiling away at writing I really wanted to work on after several weeks of hustling to knock out some work stuff that kept me from what I most hoped to focus on.

So thank you, Lake Austin Spa, for existing, and for existing so very close to home. People, remember: it really is not a dress rehearsal. If you have to take a class in breathing to remember this, by all means go for it.

                                                

Ooolala! La Patisserie is O-P-E-N. Fasten zee seatbelt!

I met Soraiya Nagree a few years back, when I interviewed her about The Kitchen Space, a commercial kitchen on the East side that she and her husband Azim own and rent out to local chefs. Soraiya also operates her own business, Luxe Sweets, out of the location, selling her amazing baked goods to coffee houses all over town. But as legend has it, her true dream, since she was a little girl on a big trip to Paris, had always been to open a French bakery.

On November 30, 2010, just as I was preparing to hide under the covers for a month, Soraiya realized her dream, opening La Pâtisserie by Luxe Sweets in South Austin, at 602 West Annie Street. She had no idea at the time that she was also making my dream come true by saving me airfare to France which, much as I'd love to go there every other weekend, in this economy?!! Sheesh-- it's more like every THIRD week, you know? Fortunately, now when I am jonesing for a chouquette or a brioche, or when I wish to fill my claw foot bathtub with macarons or pile delicate chocolat petit fours upon my throne, or simply feel an urge to inhale an eclair and chase it down with chocolat chaud or espresso so thick and strong that it will put (or remove-- depending on your current follicle situation) hair on various body parts-- well Soraiya's got me covered. She also provides croissants, almond croissants, pain au chocolat AND-- Get thee behind my ever-expanding derriere, Satan!!-- chocolat pistachio raspberry cake.

Even though I missed the November opening, the good news is that Soraiya held off on the media party until after the holidays. So last week, a few days after my birthday, as if IN HONOR of my birthday (please say it's so, Soraiya), Warren and Em and Bug and me headed on down to taste pretty much everything. Plus we brought some home. The shop is SO CUTE!! Mon Petit Cherie! Soraiya and Azim's son is SO CUTE!! My sugar buzz NOT SO CUTE!! But it did seem to amuse Warren to watch me attempt to speak the language, by which I do not mean French but my own native (allegedly) English. I mean buzzity-buzz-buzz-buzz....

I am not kidding when I say that I wake up now, every day, and imagine that I'll just run down and get "a few things" from La Pâtisserie. Seriously, thoughts of its beauty-- the place itself, and all those confection jewels in the shiny case, the lovely barristas in their lovely aprons-- cause me to drool anew. Deux pouce up! Waaaaay Up!

Okay, more pics, including a shot of their KIDS' area! Seeing a little place designated for the children, WELCOMING them even-- how this made my heart soar. Anybody remember the old Martin Brothers and that little play area they had for kids? I took Henry there all the time when he was tiny. So, yeah, LP has a nice little area for smaller pastry connoisseurs, replete with kids' books en Francais. Yay ouiiiiiiiiii!