Wasn't the Grass Greener?: Thirty-three Reasons Why Life Isn't as Good as It Used to Be

WASN'T THE GRASS GREENER? by Barbara Holland is a ruefully nostalgic lament on the passing of things, activities, and states of mind that older generations grew up with during a period that can now perhaps be perceived as a simpler time: things such as pianos, liquor cabinets, sneakers, porches, desks (as opposed to computer stations), clotheslines, windows (that actually open), radiators, grand urban department stores, playing cards, and telegrams; activities such as ice-skating, election night, idleness, pranks, picnics, and star-gazing; and states of mind such as childhood, worries, and falling in love. I can't find a birth date for the author on the Internet. At 57, I suspect I'm 10-15 years younger than she. Certainly anyone younger than, say, 45, won't find this book relevant and may wonder what Barbara is grumbling about. The volume itself, published in 1999, is dated, as revealed in the chapter entitled "War", in which Holland misses the good vs. evil simplicity of the Second World War and, to a lesser degree, the Cold War. According to her, what with the demise of the Evil Empire, there's nothing to provide a rousing martial diversion other than a spirited soccer match or grueling computer game. One wonders what she thinks post-9/11 about the current us vs. them confrontation likely to last decades, i.e. Western culture vs. the kamikaze acolytes of jihadist mullahs. It doesn't have the drama of D-Day, but it's all we've got, and could conceivably result in the nuclear holocaust avoided with the Soviets. My favorite chapter, because it's so deliciously politically incorrect, is "Homogeneity", in which Holland takes a swipe at our society's cultural diversity, otherwise so hailed by liberals, in which the various ethnic and national elements, if they had their druthers, would just as soon live in their own isolated enclaves. As Holland (facetiously?) points out, the "American" traditions stemming from the country's Anglo-Western European roots will soon only be found in the towns and small cities of places like Idaho and Montana. Holland writes with a wry humor that I, at least, found appealing. In her chapter on "Worries", she bemoans the loss of those less anxiety-prone times that've given way to an angst-laden society subject to legislative and regulatory nanny-ism. The following is illustrative of both the author's humor in general and this chapter's point in particular: "Lighting a candle the other day, I considered the box of kitchen matches. In the usual large red capitals it warned me, 'CAUTION! DO NOT DROP.' Satan tempted me, and I fell. Looking around to make sure I was unobserved, I let go of the box. The matches rattled slightly and lay still. I had called their bluff." Anybody who reads WASN'T THE GRASS GREENER? with an appreciative nodding of the head could perhaps add to Barbara's list. Several that come to mind include: glamorous stewardesses that serve full-course in-flight meals instead of pretzels, ice-cold Coca-

As an aging rock star named "Bruce" once sang (famously in his ode to a "Pink Cadillac") -- "Love is bigger than a Honda . . . it's bigger than a Subaru." How much bigger is captured perfectly by Barbara Holland. (Please see end of this review.) Ms Holland is miles ahead of anyone else in reminding us what "true love" once meant. This book, "Wasn't the Grass Greener? - 33 reasons why life isn't as good as it used to be," provides (I believe) the finest essay ever written on the subject of "Falling in Love." Deservedly, it is twice the length of any other chapter here (14 pages) -- and parked, like a stretch limo, between a little Subaru-of-a-chapter called "Radiators" and a sort of `Civic' titled "Election Night." Honestly, I can't remember the last time I read a book of essays where each is funnier (and simultaneously more poignant) than the last. My favorites so far (I'm only midway through the book!) include "Suntans," "Old Things," and "Clotheslines." The latter two, read aloud to my wife, left me laughing and crying simultaneously. After scanning the contents page, I opened the book to "Suntans" (I'm trying to get one, for the same reasons Barbara sings their praises,) Then, I skipped ahead to "Taverns," "Pianos," "Poetry," and "Porches" (not the car -- the house feature that Barbara's grandmother's Washington home had three of). Moments ago, I read "Falling in Love" -- and I simply couldn't wait to finish the book before writing a review. I believe if Mark Twain were still with us, he would declare Barbara Holland his favorite writer - and agree she is the best "iconoclastic essayist" of the last hundred years. As an incentive . . . to your purchasing this book (and I'll buy your copy if you don't enjoy it, and give to a loved one for Christmas) . . . some snippets from "Falling in Love." ---- "Last spring the Washington Post sent a reporter to cover the prom of my old high school. They found that tuxedos are still rented, dresses agonized over, bow ties still assembled, and expensive products applied to the hair and skin for the grand occasion, just as in the olden days. "The news was that fully half of the celebrants came with friends and groups of friends of their own gender. Those with dates were offhand about them; they'd been chosen at the last minute from a pool of classmate possibilities. "One girl had asked a boy who said yes then changed his mind, claiming that he wanted to be fresh and rested for his SATs the next day. Another girl said she was relieved to have no date because, `You don't have any pressure with friends' . . . "I graduated from that school. I went to the prom with orchids pinned to my chest, little cream-colored orchids with purple edging. My date was madly, helplessly, desperately in love with me. I too was in love, though with someone else, who loved another. We were all in love. "The whole school. In love or in recovery, bruised but brave, still carrying a torch, still writing terribl

"Wasn't The Grass Greener?" (aka "A Curmudgeon's Fond Memories") is Barbara Holland's evocative, wistful essay collection enjoyable for its lack of pretense, emphasizing effect over cause. She assembles 33 missing social puzzle pieces, enjoyable independently, into a picture of how society now views personal comfort, leisure time, and social interaction.Holland drew her vignettes for "Wasn't The Grass Greener?" living everywhere from Washington, DC (where she grew up and from which she writes a disturbing glorification of national wartime attitude) to Denmark (where she lived as a young adult, developing a fondness for homogeneity that mirrors Pat Buchanan's similar views on multiculturalism) to Philadelphia (where she raised her family and fondly remembers frozen ponds for skating and the old John Wanamaker department store). She recalls the decline of such mundane activities as card playing ("just another of those things...that caused us to visit our neighbors and invite them into our houses") and ice skating ("nobody won or lost, which is not the American way and probably a bad influence on the young"). She writes of home furnishings plain as a liquor cabinet or radiator (It was clean and it smoked not...(they) moderately (were) dispensing their measured flow of comfort, like grandmothers"). She eventually rises to abstracts like worrying, idleness ("Work stole our days, but entertainment took everything left over")or falling in love. As she does, you realize Ms. Holland misses how things felt, not always how they were. The telegram's tangibility bests e-mail's cold type. The tavern's social jape and comfort, songs from parlor pianos, even old clothes hung from clotheslines show natural, tactile interaction American life now lacks. Her essays prefer older, more personal entertainments to those from passive, antiseptic, solitary electronics. She prefers organic, commodious warmth over the constant chase for mechanized, articifically magnetized fads and fashions. She trusts people ("When I was young, the doctor was God") over machines. She misses what united us, decries the cynicism and nihilism that divided and partially conquered us.Holland frets about our needing protection from fear (of lawsuit and loss), at all costs from seen, unseen, and manufactured dangers. This insulation became isolation keeping temperatures steady, freeing us from harmless pranks, suntans and bugs at picnics. It kept children organized and supervised rather than left to their creative endeavors (this chapter, too, appears to advocate irresponsibility). It even kept our most intimate communications, love and sex, at virtual (reality) arm's length rather than forward to vulnerably falling in love. Holland writes in refreshing, near-diary style, neither persuading nor entertaining objection. But fond memories, however curmudgeonly and well-written, do not excuse facts. Her otherwise humorous chapter on pianos hits a sour note when she writes, "Imagine the Beatles car

Ever suspect life isn't as good as in the 'good old days'? Maybe you're right! Holland outlines over thirty reasons why life isn't as good as it used to be; from the disappearance of simple pleasures such as home pianos and liquor cabinets and clotheslines to the transformation of a unifying single cultural worry to thousands of daily concerns.

Surely Barbara Holland is a national treasure. WASN'T THE GRASS GREENER?, subtitled "A Curmudgeon's Fond Memories", is a marvelous collection of essays on subjects ranging from Doctors to Poetry to Radiators and thirty others of varying stripes, all encased in a book bright with wisdom, wryness, nostalgia, irony - gentle and not-so - and an enchanting sense of humor. For the last mentioned, see "Art" and "Sneakers" for starters. Surely neither of these subjects, disparate as they are, will ever be the same again. I've been a Holland fan for years and never has her intelligence and style been more in evidence than in this truly stunning collection.