She'll Drink to That

One of her books, "Wasn't the Grass Greener?" was subtitled "A Curmudgeon's Fond Memories." Does she see herself as a curmudgeon?

"I guess so," she says.

What is a curmudgeon?

"Anybody over 60," she says.

Doesn't it mean you're kind of cranky?

"I don't know," she says. "I complain a lot about how various things were better in the olden days, but I don't feel particularly cranky." She smiles. "If you drink enough, you don't feel cranky."

By now, the wine glasses are empty again. So, alas, is the wine bottle. Both Holland and her interrogator are suffused with a mellow glow and the happy feeling that, despite all evidence to the contrary, the world is wonderful and life is a delightful lark in convivial company.

Holland starts reminiscing about the good old days, when bars didn't have TVs and so people actually talked to each other -- sometimes even burst into song.

"We sang in bars, we sang in cars," she says. "My mother always sang in the car. As soon as she turned the key in the ignition, she started to sing. Of course the songs nowadays are not anything that a person could sing -- at least not without a percussion instrument, and we never had those in the car."

Now, with her voice and spirit lubricated by the magic of fermented grapes, she begins to sing:

I had a little hen and she had a wooden leg,

And every time she cackled, she would lay a wooden egg.

She was the best little hen that we had on the farm,

And another little drink wouldn't do us any harm.

She bursts out laughing, and then starts coughing.