"What Are Little Girls Made Of?"

My folks used to sing and perform mountain music when I was a little girl. In fact, I was in a family band for about 10 years. We were pretty popular on "the circuit." The songs were very old. We didn't do bluegrass (although we could). We did mainly ballads and old songs some of which can be traced into the 1600s. The same stuff my mother's grandmothers used to sing. I'm going to try to link a site that has some of those tunes on it, because it'll play the music for you too. It's called the contemplator, but it isn't mine.

So anyway, I've always made it a point to sing them to Dante. Just so he knows them. Plus, they're full of murder, darkness and excitement most of the time, so he's fascinated. One of his favorites is called "What Are Old Women Made Of?" And it's kind of like the nursery rhyme. The basic lilt is something like this:

What are old women made of, made of?
What are old women made of?
Gigs and reels and old spinning wheels,
That's what old women are made of.

The format is the same, only for old men it's 'backer (tobacco) and brandy and peppermint candy. For little boys it's pidgins and pails and puppy dog tails, which Dante likes very much. For little girls it should go sugar and spice and all things nice. I usually keep making things up for other pets or babies because he doesn't want the song to end.

Right before he left, he wanted lots of songs and it was so hard to do, because music is such an emotional experience. Especially if you're the one who has to sing about babies being lost in the woods and laying down and dying, or mothers who lose their children to sickness when the children go away. Oh, and my personal favorite starts, "Hush little baby don't you cry, you know your mother was born to die." Did not go over well with either of us.

I sang to him as much as I could, but we cried a lot when I did it. I'd get halfway through and remember how he used to look at me in my arms when he was an infant and I sang the same song, those big eyes widening, sucking on his bottle ferociously at the most exciting parts. I remember when he was about 4 years old and would stop me after every single line (ARRGHH) to ask "What's that mean? Why'd he do that? What's this word mean?" And legitmate questions they were, but come on, when you're singing you do NOT like to be interrupted. Maybe it was the child diva in me. It would go something like "Hush little baby--" "Why??" "--don't you cry--" "Why? What made it cry? What's it crying over?" "You know your mama--" "Do we know the mama? Who's the mama?" "--was born to die--" "What's that mean? Why'd she die? How was she born if the baby is there?" And that's a song that doesn't have ancient words he didn't understand in it.

Still, it was a moment of pride when he belted out all the verses to "Henry Martin", a rousing (and long) ballad about a pirate who sinks a ship, in front of one of my professors during a conference.

Well, now he wants songs over the phone. Which is still kind of hard on me, but if I don't have to look at him, it's easier to get through it. We-ell. Apparently the words to "What Are Old Women Made Of?" have changed with the experience of living day to day with a little 5 year old step sister. We were going along at a good clip with the song, and I began "What are little girls made of, made of? What are little girls made of?" And he cuts in still in tune, "Aggrevation and irritation and taking all your stuff, and stealing your books and bothering you and everything else bad. No sugar or spice. And they ain't nice." I nearly fell over laughing.

Welcome to the real world, son. Sisters can be a circle of hell I can't really get you through! (Sorry, Sister, LOL!)

--Virgil