Wherein I ponder the fall of American civilization

Okay, I still haven't vented enough spleen, so here goes again. (If you want some heartwarming gratitude, try The Mama Bird Diaries. It's not here. If you want bile and bitterness, you've come to the right place.)

Here, for your amusement, is a list of things that I love and have been wrecked by my kids. Okay, some of them have been wrecked by time and fortune, but the kids get most of the blame tonight because I'm feeling bitter and slighted.

1. Singing in a church choir.

I have sung in church choirs since I turned eight. Oh sure, I took off a few years for college, but I have seriously sung second soprano ("All notes must touch a line, and don't even think of slipping in a G-sharp.") mostly in Episcopalian church choirs for probably 30 years. I adore music written by men wearing tights: Tallis, Byrd, Handel, Mendelssohn, all those dudes. (Okay, I think Mendelssohn may not have worn tights; I'm not sure.) I like hymns written in the 1800's. I like English carols, ancient motets, German requiems. Men in tights. And Fanny Mendelssohn.

I did sing some, after my kids were born, but not the whole enchilada. Then we moved to Florida, the church changed music directors, and they now sing only songs written since the year 2000. Can you hear the creaking sound? That's my voice becoming rustier by the year from lack of training and lack of practice. And from yelling at the kids.

Oh, and as for the kids singing in a choir, fuggetaboutit. I've tried. The Boy won't even let me sign him up for drum lessons.

2. Folk Music

I love cheesy folk music. I adore men unafraid to sing The Mary Ellen Carter. I like early Mary Chapin Carpenter, Uilleann pipes, sea chanteys, bluegrass -- authentic, organic, acoustic music. I like clogging, polka, English Morris dancing. I even like bagpipes and men throwing phone poles, I mean caber toss.

Florida, my kids, and my lack of talent share the blame for this one. It's just to freaking hot for bagpipes. There is no folk music scene in a Nascar town. There is authentic bluegrass to be had, but it's hard to come by. And my kids hate outdoor music, so it's an exercise in futility. Plus, while I am musical, I don't have a lot of talent.

3. Historical Reenactments

I just love any kind of historical reenactment, as long as it has Europeans in it. It doesn't matter the era -- French and Indian, Revolutionary, Civil War, Medieval, you name it. I love it all. (I also like reading historical fiction, but try to stay to reputable authors like Ellis Peters.) I also like the smell of wood smoke, so that may have something to do with it.

If you combine this with the previous one, you get living anthropology through music, which is a two-fer, if you ask me. I adore fife and drum corps. When I lived in New England, I came close to becoming a camp follower or at least making their clothes.

4. Ethnic food.

When I go out to eat, I want to see something that I can't make at home. I want something made of spices that I can't find a the Piggly Wiggly. I want to eat goat. I want the flavors and textures of places that I'll never see. I want paella from the Spanish Costa del Sol, stew from Province, curry from India and Thailand, barbecue from Afghanistan. Again, this is a Nascar town, and I do not want pork chops from Applebees.

I could cook this kind of food, I suppose, but I've lost the heart for it. My kids were supposed to be omnivores. I always believed that they'd eat anything, just like my sister and I did. I ate curry while breastfeeding. I did it all right. But no. They've crushed my spirit, and I no longer try.

5. Good manners and culture

Yes, my mother raised me to be a lady. Hard to tell now, but I was. By nine years old, I could disassemble a Cornish hen without touching it with my fingers -- while wearing velveteen. To this day, I cannot bring myself to say that I "don't like" something. "No, thank you, I don't care for any aspic, but I'm sure it's lovely." I do not say, "What?!" I was raised to say, "Pardon?" I just can't imagine how I've produced children that have to be endlessly prompted to say, "Excuse me" or "Bless you." Seriously, I have blessed every sneeze they have ever produced, and they cannot be trained to say it without being prompted. Drives me crazy.

It has been said that, "A gentlemen is one who never unintentionally hurts another person's feelings." I was raised to be one of those people. My kids can't be badgered into it under pain of death.

6. Nice clothes.

Ahh. Wool suits, brocade skirts, linen dresses. I wore all of these in the 1980's. If I could have fit into clothes off the rack, I would have driven myself to the poorhouse. Even as a child, I loved patent leather shoes and party dresses. I blame the 1990's, grunge music, and "casual Fridays" for the demise of the American clothing empire. Now, all I wear are jeans.

Partial blame goes to my lack of money and ridiculous height, partial blame goes to my kids who won't go anywhere respectable enough to require socks, and partial blame goes to the Sunshine State, where we wear capris to funerals.

7. Bicyling and camping

Bicycling was the only sport that I was ever any good at. And my kids can't be bothered to learn. They do not feel the need for speed, and tend to stare at the scenery instead of steering, resulting in massive injuries.

While in New England, I also got a taste for fall camping in Vermont. If you've ever been camping in Vermont the first week of October, you don't need an explanation. If you haven't, an explanation won't help. It's gorgeous.

Again, Florida and my kids share this one. My kids are all, "Eew, bugs, dirt, and walking? NO!" Florida, for its part, is eight parts sand, one part muck, and one part bugs. The kids are right -- too many bugs.


Here's the point in the blog where I wrap this one up and send it home. But I'm still figuring out what my point is here. I do know that reviewing my favorite things (raindrops on yellow rugosas, the smell of moss on a half-wild cat) I do feel better. I guess it's comforting to know that it's still out there. I can't go to it, but it's still out there, and the world hasn't gone totally doo-lally and abandoned it all for a bucket of chicken wings, a Bike Week t-shirt, and contemporary Christian music. Culture, adventure, flavor, and sophistication are still out there, like some elusive Luna moth, lurking on the edges of the darkness.

Maybe if I just make a little more effort to get a sitter and get The Husband and me out there, we can find it, especially during This Most Wonderful Time of the Year when there's good music out there for cheap. I just can't shake the feeling that it's a crying shame that my kids can't be sold on any of it. How does one live without at least the memory of Tallis, Spanish Mediterranean food, and tailored wool? HOW?!