Fish Gotta Swim

We spent Saturday at "Myskit" Seaport's annual Sea Music Festival, enjoying the nice weather and the lively singing. Sis especially liked riding the horse, or specifically, the carriage the horse pulls. She gets so serious, though, and doesn't seem to be having fun, until she gets off and practically dances around the sidewalk. We had all been watching a chantey performer and she got bored during an instrumental. They left but then she came back--for money. For the horse ride. So, for the very first time, but not the last, I forked over cash to my daughter. You should have seen her look of pride--and the knowing smirks of those around me--as she walked that $20 bill back to Mama (no, it didn't cost that much; it was all I had).

Buddy and I stayed to listen to the music, including his now favorite song "Strike the Bell." He's been asking for Mystic Seaport music--we bought two CDs--ever since. He loved seeing all the instruments--the accordion, harmonica, guitar, flute, fife, concertina, and the one he likes but never remembers by name, the hurdy-gurdy (the love child of the bagpipe and the accordion). He even insisted we follow the spoons and "bones" player (who had vegetarian bones, among others!) to his next performance. I'd better lock up the silverware.

We also played in the children's museum, on the wooden boat playsets, made wooden boats for arts and crafts, and ate. And here, in the museum that records American history and the sea, where whaling lore takes precedence, most spectacularly in the existing whaler the Charles W. Morgan, I didn't even eat fish. I'd been thinking about the fish. I like fish and chips, but really could do without almost all other seafood. Just don't like it, it being mussels, clams, scallops, lobster, crab, anything "fishy"-er than cod, even seaweed. So, I've been okay not eating fish. Especially because, as I see it, if I'm an animal-rights vegetarian, it makes no difference which animal has to die. If I only refuse to eat the "cute" animals (i.e. lamb, deer, cows, rabbit), but will eat ugly ones (fish are funny looking, so are chicken), I'm embracing a kind of looks-ism I can't abide when applied to people, especially women. It offends the feminist in me.

(I know, I know, plants have feelings too. Even relatives, as described in a recent NYTimes article. But a girl has to eat.)

I'm sure the 19th-century sailors would not have understood me at all, nor would they have rejected meat for meals. Though, if my understanding of the life they led is accurate--and after many trips to Mystic Seaport, I think it is--they could have probably used some more fruits and vegetables themselves!