Saint Paisley of Austin

Every once in a while I'm pleasantly reminded of the exalted state of iconoclasticism some of my friends have reached. One such is Paisley Robertson, long-time fixture in the Austin music and social culture. Paisley was born and raised in Denton, Texas, spent time in Brattleboro, VT, Mexico, and goddess knows which points between, but has spent most of her life here in Austin, Texas as a rock 'n roll singer and waitperson to the rich and famous. Paisley is also a member of the Lady Diana Garden Club, those ubiquitous women who swim in tiaras every New Year's Day at Barton Springs, among other social (ad)ventures.

Paisley supports a bevy of artists and musicians in a number of ways, and has introduced me to some of the more eclectic members of Austin society, both high, medium, low, and fringe. It was at Westwinds, her renovated barn/estate in central Austin, for a Texas Independence Day celebration, when I first met Molly Ivins, one of my sheroes.

I've known Paisley since I was nineteen and she was seventeen, back in 1965, Denton Texas. So I don't think she'll mind if I share an e-mail post she sent this morning. I'll just add my own fervent "Amen."

Subject: Ste. Paisley's Prayer,

Not much is known about Saint Paisley.

We know that she is/was the patron saint of napping and road trips (and some believe of aging gracefully and comfort food). A rare small iconic picture of her in rapture has surfaced .

Recently (on ebay) I bought an old menu from the Juicy Pig Restaurant in Denton Texas. The Juicy Pig was torn down in 1969. On the back written in pencil (next to the description of 'susie-q' fries) was the following prayer: (stand up and put your hands on the radio and say I BELIEVE!)

A PRAYER
LORD, THOU KNOWEST BETTER THAN I KNOW MYSELF, THAT I AM GROWING OLDER AND WILL SOMEDAY BE OLD.

KEEP ME FROM GETTING TALKATIVE, AND THINKING I MUST SAY SOMETHING ON EVERY SUBJECT AND ON EVERY OCCASION.

RELEASE ME FROM CRAVING TO STRAIGHTEN OUT EVERYBODY'S AFFAIRS. MAKE ME THOUGHTFUL BUT NOT MOODY, HELPFUL BUT NOT BOSSY.

WITH MY VAST STORE OF WISDOM, IT SEEMS A PITY NOT TO USE IT ALL........ BUT THOU KNOWEST, LORD, THAT I WANT A FEW FRIENDS AT THE END.

KEEP MY MIND FREE FROM THE RECITAL OF ENDLESS DETAILS. GIVE ME WINGS TO GET TO THE POINT.

SEAL MY LIPS ON MY MANY ACHES AND PAINS.......THEY ARE INCREASING....AND MY LOVE OF REHEARSING THEM IS BECOMING SWEETER AS THE YEARS GO BY. I ASK FOR GRACE ENOUGH TO LISTEN TO THE TALES OF OTHERS PAINS. HELP ME TO ENDURE THEM WITH PATIENCE.

TEACH ME THE GLORIOUS LESSON THAT OCCASIONALLY IT IS POSSIBLE THAT I MAY BE MISTAKEN.

KEEP ME REASONABLY SWEET. I DO NOT WANT TO BE A SAINT, SOME OF THEM ARE SO HARD TO LIVE WITH, BUT A SOUR OLD PERSON IS ONE OF THE CROWNING WORKS OF THE DEVIL.

HELP ME TO EXTRACT ALL POSSIBLE FUN OUT OF LIFE. THERE ARE SO MANY FUNNY THINGS AROUND US.....AND I DON'T WANT TO MISS ANY OF THEM.

AMEN
STE. Paisley

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

You study music for years and years. Practice makes possible. This photo, taken in April of 1993, is of me, my mom, and my daughter. It's under the placque by the front door of Carnegie Hall, following a performance of "Mazeppa," by P.I. Tchaikovsky in which my daughter and I sang with Princeton Pro Musica and the Opera Orchestra of New York. My mom flew in from Chicago for the performance, and she and I remained in the city that night and the next day before returning to our home in Princeton for a week's visit. That was the last time I saw my mom alive and functioning.

I had sung at Carnegie several times before, but this year, Ms. E had auditioned for and was accepted by Princeton Pro Musica, under the direction of Frances Slade, a wonderful person, friend, and musician, who still leads the group in making fabulous music. Each year, PPM collaborates with the Opera Orchestra of New York, led by the equally wonderful Eve Queller, in two concert performances of a major opera rarely mounted because of monster casts, staging, or other costs associated with a full production. One production takes place in Princeton in Alexander Hall and features a cast of young up-and-coming opera stars, which is notable for its passion and energy.

The second expands into the venerable Carnegie Hall, with a cast that includes the creme de la creme of the opera world, and while the youthful passion may not be present, the gravitas and brilliance of both the luminaries on stage and the audience were certainly sufficient to warm the cockles of this old heart. Especially when I got to share the stage with my beautiful and talented daughter and watch her comport herself so professionally, singing flawlessly in Russian, no less. And espying my mom and family and friends in the balcony, waving like a madwoman--not so professionally, but I spent decades being straight-laced and professional on stage, and I THUMB my NOSE at being a stick in the mud anymore, and well-behaved women rarely make history, anyway, so there, and it didn't stop me from getting to perform on stage at the Sydney Opera House later in life, so wotthehell.

At any rate, with the Valley Forge Military Institute marching band, the American Boy Choir, our group, the Opera Orchestra, the soloists, and various and sundry superluminaries, it was a splendid production, and our little fan club presented us with roses afterwards and got to meet some of the principals in the green room afterwards, and we got this lovely photo that I will cherish always.

The next morning, mother and I made the Red Grooms exhibit at Grand Central Station and ate the obvious at the Oyster Bar and then took the NJ Transit train down to Princeton where she visited for a week before flying back to Chicago. Two weeks later, we got a call that she had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and was in the Northwestern U. hospital ICU. My sisters and I met there, and spent the next 24 hours with her, celebrating, weeping, watching the Bulls, ordering good Chicago pizza for the ICU staff, missing a Little Feat performance, where she would have been had she been conscious, saying goodbye, and finally, disconnecting the breathing machine that was the only thing keeping her alive.

A couple of years ago, after my stepfather passed away, my sisters and I were going through my mom's belongings and I came across the necklace she was wearing in the picture in front of Carnegie Hall. I hung onto it for a while, and when I noticed it was the same necklace, had the idea to make a shadow box with the necklace and the photo together and give it to my daughter for a Christmas or birthday gift. I got as far as gathering all the components, but never put it together. I gave it all to her anyway. I wonder if she has put it together. If she hasn't, maybe the next time I visit her, I will.

I miss singing at Carnegie Hall. I miss singing with my daughter. I miss my mom. I miss a lot about my life in Princeton. But I'm finding neat things to do in Austin. Like writing a blog. And singing with Austin Vocal Arts Ensemble. And other things I'll be writing about, so stay tuned...

Freaking HOT!

Like every other place on this planet. And it's getting hotter. Sitting in the auto service center this afternoon, waiting for a new tire to be put on my car, got into a conversation with the only other person in the joint, a young woman, lives in the country outside Luling. She was concerned about the fire hazard, just a spark, and her whole place could go up in this drought.

We got off on the subject of all the current ills of the country, the world, and somehow we seemed to agree on most everything--the oil companies have the world in a strangle-hold, we need to take care of our own problems, etc., etc. Then she said "we should bring home all our troops from every country and close all our borders, even though I know we're in Iraq for a good reason, they came over here and killed 6,000 of our people, so we needed to go in there." I said, "What do you mean?" She said, "Well, the Taliban, they came over here and flew airplanes into the World Trade Center."

I just couldn't let it go. I said, bluntly, with all the certainty in my body, "oh, no, the Taliban was in Afghanistan at that time, they were supported by our country against the Soviet Union, we armed them, they came into Iraq AFTER we invaded it. The folks who flew into the WTC were Saudis, not Iraqis. We only invaded Iraq because Cheney and the PNAC wanted to get rid of Hussein and get the oil for themselves."

She blinked once, and changed the subject.

We continued to chat for a few minutes, then she got up and went outside to sit. It was over 100 degrees, but there was a stiff breeze blowing. I guess it was more comfortable out there than it was inside with me...