Black's not Beautiful

I hate, despise, abhor and every other negative term in existence having to drive at night on the streets and avenues and parkways of frum Brooklyn. These frum pedestrians, dressed in head to toe in unrelieved black, black gloves on their hands and black mufflers shading their faces, so that even what little light there is has no skin to reflect off of, have zero regard for the cars on these streets and whatever is less than zero regard for things like stoplights. And yes, they clearly have little regard for their own safety, and no knowledge of their own mortality.

On the highways and byways
That snake along and through
The Valley of the Dark Ghosts
I travel uneasily.
And yea though I travel through this Valley
of possible Death,
I shall fear that evil,
Feel it creep up along my spine
As I slowly inch forward
Through the spectres lurking.
There and yet not there,
black ghosts darting across streets
barely lit,
snaking in and around cars
parked and moving,
uncaring and unconcerned that death goes hunting
those of black garb,
in the murky shadows of darkest night.

Ebony ghosts that know not what they do,
that believe themselves above the fray,
oblivious to the turmoil left in their wake
as they pass at will,
not captives to red lights.

Yet once again I emerge out of that Valley,
and breath returns to lungs,
and hands lose their tension.
God has granted me safe passage,
and the Black Ghosts move on,
firm in their belief that they are invincible.

I beg of you God,
let me not be your instrument
to teach the folly of their ways
to the Black Ghosts.

Brevity--the Soul of Wit?

There have been over the years some comments that I tend to write my postings too long. Well, here's the thing: I don't do short, by choice; that doesn't mean that I cannot do so nor that I haven't done so on occasion. And I can prove it. Okay, it happened a while back, but it happened. In a graduate school writing seminar we were asked to write a streamlined piece based on the writing style of an author we admired.

So readers, if you want short, then short you shall get. (And how would you like to pay $150 a ticket for this on Broadway? Didn't think so.)

In the style of Hemingway by way of Elmore Leonard.
One Act Play: Working title—The Old Man and the She or Get Shortened.
(Stage directions: A man, a woman, a place.)

She: Surely . . .

He: Perhaps

She: And yet . . .

He: Not certain.

She: But what?

He. Your guess.

She: If only . . .

He: Again?

She: Not that!

He: Agreed

She: Then how?

He: No clue.

She: No wonder.

He: Don’t!

She: Too late.

He: Never!

She: Indeed?!

He: Oh god!

She: Exactly.

He: So...

She: So.

On Applying for a Job--a Boss's Lament

You stride in full of confidence,
And there's pride on your face too.
What boss in his right mind
Wouldn't jump to hire you?

You're sure the job is yours for the taking,
It's only a matter of money.
Well, bochur, I've got something to say,
And I don't think you'll find it funny.

The world of work is not waiting
With its arms opened wide.
It's going to take some effort on your part
If you want to get inside.


It's more than just sauntering in and saying,
"So when do I start?"
You're going to have to audition
If you expect to get the part.


There's lots more like you waiting.
What do you have to offer?
What are you bringing to me
That a job I should proffer?


I owe you nothing bochur,
But here's what you'll owe me:
A full day's skillful working
To earn a salary.


This isn't a tzedaka--
My business is my livelihood.
Why should I endanger my family
On a worker who's not good?


The only question you have for me is
"How much am I going to get?"
Back up a minute bochur,
We're not up to salary yet.

First send me in your resume,
'cuz first I have to read,
If you have anything of the qualities
That the job I'm offering needs.

I'm happy for you bochur
That gemorah you can learn
Now what are you going to do in addition
A living for your family to earn?

You're asking me for a job,
It's not the other way.
So just what can you bring me
That will persuade me you to pay?

This is my world that you're entering,
The rules aren't yours to make,
So I'm asking you now bochur,
Do you have what it's going to take?

I'm not being cruel here, son,
I'm being down to earth.
When you first start out working,
I'll pay you what you're worth.

And it will make me happy, son,
If your work I can praise,
Because then, son, and not before,
You just might get a raise.

But first, bochur, you need to go home
And ruminate oh so carefully,
About all the things you yet need to learn
Before you can work for me.

The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But The Truth

There are frequently times when two people are learning together and one says "This posuk means this" and the other says "No, it means this." The Gemorah is full of arguments about the "real" meaning of certain words and phrases. We follow the reasoning of the person who is "ranked" higher. Sometimes these rankings change. Generally, those of us on a lower madrega are told to accept one particular viewpoint or the other. Sometimes those viewpoints change position as the centuries move on. Sometimes a third or a fourth or a fifth interpretation comes to the forefront.

Much the same thing happens in the secular world. Great men of learning argue with each other about what is possible or probable about the world that we live in. And here, too, we are asked to follow the ideas of the "giants," men like Albert Einstein.

In graduate school I was required to take a course entitled "Biblical and Classical Literature." Youch. At least the instructor was sticking to the "old testament" for the biblical portion. I was truly having some difficulty hearing that Tanach was actually "literature," written by a person and credited to God because of "sociological imperatives extant at the time of the writing." "Says who?" I asked. "Biblical scholars," I was told. "Greats like Wellhausen," the instructor chimed in. One student asked me if I could prove that God had written the Bible. I fired back "Can you prove that He didn't?" The student then answered "Can you prove that there is a God?" to which I answered "Can you prove that there isn't?"

And then the "magical" name came out. "Well," the student began, "Einstein was a genius. Would you agree with that?" I could hardly say no. "Einstein didn't believe in God or that there was a God," the student threw out to me. For the paper that we were supposed to be writing about this "enlightening" idea I threw caution to the winds and wrote what follows below. I actually didn't care much about what the grade was going to be because I was frankly pissed off. Luckily for me the instructor believed that the paper actually met the requirements of the assignment to a t.


I offer it now as a warning of sorts against placing our "greats" on too high a pedestal, any of our "greats," of assuming that because they have a lot of knowledge they must have all knowledge, or of confusing their vast knowledge in one area with the idea that they must be knowledgeable in all areas. Human beings, by definition, are not infallible; the "greats" can make mistakes.

After his death, Albert Einstein found himself inexplicably in heaven, a heaven whose existence he had doubted for years. So profound was his puzzlement at finding himself in heaven that he wandered unseeing and unknowing through the clouds-that-are-not-clouds, breathing-but-not-breathing the air-that-was-not-air. His wanderings came to an end at last when he stumbled against the foot of the throne of the King of the Universe. He threw up his hands to shield his eyes from the unbearable intensity of the light-that-is-like-no-other-light. And Einstein was suddenly filled with immeasurable fear.

And there came a voice-like-no-other-voice: “Are you surprised, Einstein, to find yourself in Heaven?”

And Einstein’s fear abated somewhat—questions and answers he could deal with. “Actually yes, Sir, I am.”

“And why do you suppose, Einstein, that you have been allowed into heaven?”

Einstein, as befitted a man-god of science, wrestled with the problem in his mind, turning over one possibility after another, until he had extracted the most logical answer at his command. “I have heard, Sir, from those who believe, that men who do good deeds find themselves here.”

And G-d looked down upon the man whom He had wrought in His own image and sighed. “And what good deed have you done Einstein?”

At this, Einstein straightened his shoulders and put his head up and preened more than a little. “I suppose, Sir, that even in heaven You have heard of E=mc2?”

And the Lord sighed once more. “Actually, Albert, we need to talk.” And the Lord G-d caused there to be something out of the nothingness that was present, and boxes appeared, stacked higher than Einstein could measure the height of and stretching out to the horizon and beyond, a horizon that shifted and changed even as Einstein saw it. And once again Einstein was filled with fear and puzzlement.

And G-d ordered: “Go ahead, Einstein, take a peek.” But Einstein was rooted in place unable to move.

And Einstein timidly asked: “What is this that You have created, Lord?”

And G-d answered: “Some clarification of the E=mc2 problem.”

And Einstein was persuaded to look into the boxes nearest him, and he saw stacks and stacks of computer printouts, in 4 point type, single-spaced, and his heart grew heavy within him. “But Lord, it would take me all of eternity and beyond just to read all of this, never mind synthesize and understand it.”

And the Lord indicated the myriad of boxes and answered gently: “This is only the first paragraph of the re-write, Einstein.”

And Einstein heard the Lord’s words, and he was humbled and fell down prostrate, sobbing.

And the G-d of Mercy looked down upon the man and saw that he was humbled before Him. And G-d’s heart opened towards that which He had created. Like a Father towards a wayward son whom He still loves, the Lord spoke once more. “If you will open your ears and your mind and your heart, I will teach you what you need to know, Albert.”

And Einstein ceased his crying, sat up, and raised his face in recognition of He who was above all things. And there grew within him hope, that virtue that saves man even when his intellect leads him into folly. “If You please, G-d, I would like to learn.”

And G-d heard the man’s answer and was satisfied. And the boxes were once again nothing and in their place there appeared graven tablets, infused with the fire of Heaven. “We begin, Einstein, with Book One, Chapter One, Line One.”

And the Lord called out: “In the beginning of G-d’s creating the heavens and the earth—when the earth was astonishingly empty, with darkness upon the surface of the deep and the Divine Presence hovered upon the surface of the waters—G-d said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”

And Einstein took out a pad and pencil from his pocket and copied down all that he was told, word for word. And he was content and satisfied. And God looked down at His Creation and He saw that it was good.

A Not So Brave New World--Part VIII

And so in the eyes of the Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors life might have continued for millenia in New York, for they looked at nothing outside of their own fiefdoms, for they considered nothing of value but that they had constructed. And the medical schools were filled to overflowing. And hospitals were filled beyond capacity. And new diseases replaced old ones in the blink of an eye. And no one was healthy, for health was the great enemy of Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors.

And Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors saw nothing of the world outside their windows; shades were drawn tightly to omit the offending views. And safe behind their desks they chortled with glee that those whose names were on the plaques on the great buildings were now the parents of doctors, doctors who practiced only medicine and knew nothing else of anything else.

And such was the situation one morning in January in 2169, when the wind ceased its howling and the air was suddenly still. And this being reported to the Deans and Directors by their trusted flunkies, the powers that ruled in the great New York center beamed proudly and knew that they had finally won their battle. And they threw open their window shades widely to view that which they had created. And the lull before the storm ended suddenly.

And a fierce storm, fiercer than any storm every before seen by mankind, made its way up the East River and from there pounced upon the city. And wherever it touched it destroyed. And the great hospital centers were toppled like dominoes, for they had been built by doctors, not engineers, not architects. They had been built for show on a foundation of shifting sand. The only people left in the great New York center who had any money were Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors, and they hadn't spent a penny on infrastructure maintenance and repair.

Most within the hospitals perished immediately, for without the protection of the hospitals they had no way to survive on their own; their knowledge was not sufficient for the storm that attacked. Some few flung from the debris died on the streets, for they could not live outside of the rarified atmosphere of the hospitals. And one or two, who had been incarcerated in the hospitals mostly against their wills, found the courage within to face the storm and flee to safer territory.

And the storm blew for thirty days and thirty nights, and when at last it rested, there was nothing left standing in the great New York center of the vast world of Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors.

And on the hilltops of Staten Island, long ago banished from New York City, doctors gathered and viewed the destruction across the bay. And they pondered the lessons to be learned. And in the heartland of the country, and in the small cities and towns far from the perished great New York center, people gathered, and talked and vowed. They vowed that they would learn from the destruction that blind obedience left people unprepared for storms yet to come. They vowed never to forget that knowledge was power. They vowed that they would venerate medicine, in its place, and they vowed that they would restore balance to the life of the living.


In 3079, when the generation that had known the Great Storm of New York had all died out, there arrived in Chattanooga, Tennessee, a Medical School Dean with aspirations of greatness. And he announced to his followers that every great medical school should have its own hospital, even two or three hospitals. And the hospitals were built. And the hospitals were filled with people who were ill, as new diseases were being found every day. And outside of this great hospital center no one noticed that storms were forming. And the wind began to blow.

A Not So Brave New World--Part VII

In the wilds of Montana and the mountainous areas of Nevada and the Dakotas, and in the desolate areas of the great plains there existed doctors who practiced far from the hallowed hospitals of the the great New York center. Some of these doctors had trained in the great medical schools and hospitals of New York but had left, some niggling discontent driving them westward. Others had trained at schools and hospitals in the hinterland and were deemed unworthy to practice in the New York hospitals.

And in these areas there came to be communities, small in number, whose practices moved further and further from the practices in the great New York Center. For in these communities doctors and hospitals did not dominate but were rather two integral parts of the communities, not the only focus. In these communities there was no hierarchy that placed Medical School Deans and Hospital Directors far above other people. In these communities Deans and Directors were not infallible, not members of a super species related to mankind only by their physical forms. In these communities there existed harmony as all members of the community were valued for what they contributed. In these communities doctors remembered the ancient saying of "First, do no harm."

In these communities the women medical school graduates who had been written off in the great New York center found partners. And they shed their bitterness at being banished to the outer fringes as they discovered a heretofore new freedom to grow and develop. And they vowed that what had happened to them would not happen to their children. And these women formed lasting partnerships based on shared values and mutual esteem, and discovered that what Medical School they had attended had very little to do with how well they would be regarded as women, as wives and mothers and accountants and lawyers and teachers and engineers and every other field that was now open to them.

And these communities, knowing they were small, banished most envy and greed and acquisitiveness from their midst, knowing them to be destructive. And the members lived in communal harmony, even while developing close friendships with only a few in their group. And these communities welcomed the stranger into their midst, seeing no threat but only the possibility of enrichment to the community.

And where once the members of these communities had once considered themselves as connected by kinship to the communities in the great New York center, they came to see that the kinship was felt only on their part and did not flow both ways. And they shrugged their collective shoulders and went on with the business of living as they remembered that life was once lived, and that they believed should be how life should be lived. In these communities they lived by the Hippocratic Oath, not the Hypocritic Oath.

And there was no want in these communities. Family life prospered as fathers and mothers both were responsible for the well being of children, of other family members. Married life flourished. Creative thinking solved problems before they became ingrained. Vital services were provided as people worked in jobs that offered fulfillment and livelihood. And they did not forget the value of knowing about medicine, and came in the evenings and on weekends to keep their knowledge current, for medicine was the underpinning to all their activities.

And there was more than a little fear in these communities as they heard the whispers of what had become of the great New York center. And here and there in New York were a few individuals who lived on the fringes and who had gone underground and sent out on the forbidden Internet, that still functioned despite government's and Dean's and Director's desires to ban it, messages that told the great tale of woe. And there was fear that what had happened in the great New York center might spread wider, and these communities circled their wagons to protect themselves.

And more and more the great New York center was viewed as foreign.

A Not So Brave New World--Part VI

Late in the 1900s there had been a technological development that was eyed with mistrust by governments world-wide. This ancient technology had been called the Internet. Although developed by the government, its use had early been co-opted by the population at large. First thousands, then millions, then hundreds of millions of people connected easily and quickly to each other. News from one area traveled to another in the blink of an eye. And no longer were people silent about what they saw going on around them.

In the shadowy weblog world skepticism reigned. The myth and the lie were demolished with ease. No group was safe when information was so readily available. Discontent did not need to be fomented; it existed already in the nooks and crannies of the Internet.

And so it was that the Internet would come to be seen by those who dreamed of power above all else as a foe in need of vanquishing. And so it was that governments and Deans and Directors would form an uneasy alliance, united in their distrust of the Internet. And so it was that they conspired together to rid the world of this unholy menace.

And in their zeal they demolished the Internet, or so it seemed on the surface. And then they took on the television broadcasters and the radio stations and the newspapers and the publishing houses, evil purveyors of untruths all.

By 2157 the powers that be had managed to eradicate the Internet,television, radio, newspapers and books from the homes of the people, leaving them only in the hands of the government, where they surely belonged. At last, the powers thought, they had brought control back where it belonged. And they slept soundly in their beds at night, knowing that only that which was proper to be known would the people know.

And such was the situation in January of 2169.

To Be Continued

A Not So Brave New World--Part V

Soon enough a new problem came to the notice of the Deans and of the Directors. If you have doctors and if you have hospitals then you have to have patients. And for there to be patients there has to be illness. Oh, there were sniffles and minor stomach aches galore, but those could be treated by anyone with some medical knowledge, knowledge all men now had. You didn't need a hospital, you didn't need specialists, to take out a splinter.

So the Deans and Directors set about developing a new roster of illnesses, an alphabet-soup of disease. And in fairly short order no one was disease free. Everything that heretofore had seemed and been perfectly normal in a human being was now the possible forerunner of a dreaded disease. Soon enough people were running to the hospital almost as soon as they awoke in the mornings, and the doctors there always managed to find something. Soon enough some people, it seemed, were living more in the hospital then in the world outside. The outside world was poison; only in the hospital were the people safe. And with this idea born and spreading, more and more hospitals were built, until it seemed that people only lived in hospitals and nowhere else. They were armed fortresses, buttressed against the incursions of the evils of the world outside them.

There were, of course, rabid disagreements about how to treat the scourges of the outside world. Each hospital had its own methodology, its own philosophy. And if the philosophy sometimes didn't work, if the methodology sometimes made people more ill then they had been previously, well medicine wasn't magic. And there were some diseases that just couldn't be cured--they had to run their course and either the person would recover or they would die. That was just nature at work. And what of the whispers that some other hospital had a method that worked better? Nonsense!

Nor were the doctors exempt from the illnesses they had foisted onto others. Here and there they, too, succumbed. But they were doctors, and so they treated themselves. And no one remembered any more that piece of ancient advice that said, "A doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient."

To be continuted

To Be Continued

A Not So Brave New World--Part IV

The ancient writings would, at this point, conclude that all would live happily ever after. Perhaps theirs were simpler times. But in 2090 things were far more complex then anyone could have imagined.

To the horror of the Deans of medical schools and to the horror of the Directors of hospitals, not everyone who entered medical school would finish the program. Some were simply not doctor material. Instructors could poke and prod all they wanted but "doctorliness" would not descend on these students. At first the fiat remained firmly in place. Deans of medical schools were so sure of their methodology and philosophy that they refused to face facts; some students could not/would not learn in their schools. Since the competition was fierce among the various medical schools, sending a boy to different medical school was out of the question.

Some of these non-doctors remained in the medical schools, docilely following the others, but it was clear that they could not become medical practitioners. Others caused the Deans sleepless nights. These students were far from gentle and far from accepting. These students questioned why, if they clearly were not doctor material, they were being forced to become doctors before they could study to be something else. These students were rebellious.These students might, heaven forfend, foment rebellion in the general student body.

Still, nothing might have been done about the situation were it not for the debacle of the great conference of medical school Deans that was hastily called to address the situation. Dean__________, in a hurry to get to the conference, tore a button off his shirt. Having no knowledge of how to put the button back on, and his wife being engaged in outside work to support them, he looked in vain for someone to put the button on the shirt. Dimly in his memory he remembered that once upon a time there had been tailors, but they were all in medical school now. Dean___________came out of his house to find that his car had a flat tire. He would have called a mechanic, but they were all busily engaged in medical school studies. Dean _________ arrived at the venue for the conference only to find the lights off and the heating not working. He would have called a plumber or an electrician but, you guessed it, they were all in medical school. The meal that had been ordered to feed the participants would not arrive because all the caterers were in medical school. And so were the accountants, and the lawyers, and the financial advisers.

The medical school Deans huddled, cold and disgruntled, in the outside courtyard of the meeting venue. Only now was it clear that their original plan might have had a tiny flaw in it. By unanimous assent, the Deans voted that there would be exceptions to the Compulsory Medicine Education Act of 2049. Some few boys would be allowed to attend school for other studies at night while still studying medicine during the day. Some few boys would be allowed to study for a trade without completing advanced medical studies. Those boys of the Khazidiche medical schools, who had always been exempted from advanced medical studies, would continue to go out and work in the trades. And any boys whom a Dean labeled as a potential trouble maker would be peremptorily removed from the medical schools, regardless of their aptitude for the studies.

Thus it was that society was saved, if only for a little while, from total annihilation due to a lack of basic survival services. Man does not live by medicine alone, although some Deans still secretly harbored that idea deep inside of them.

But if the conference saved people from annihilation, it also changed the structure of society. The Deans may have been forced to deal with reality, at least somewhat, but they were not going to go down without a fight. It was decided at that fateful conference that society would henceforth be stratified: at the top would be Deans and Directors, followed by medical students. All others would occupy the lower strata of society, tolerated out of necessity, but neither admired nor venerated.

This idea would need to be tweaked further as one lawyer, taking umbrage, refused to write a check in support of his local medical school nor in support of his local hospital. The Deans and Directors hastily buckled--was there any doubt they would do so?--and declared that those who would offer sufficient monetary support would be rewarded with their names on buildings and with honors at the yearly dinners. The money men's ire subsided. And the Deans and Directors got their revenge when they made doctors out of the money men's sons.

To Be Continued

A Not So Brave New World--Part III

"If you build it, they will come." The new philosophy hatched by the medical schools took hold and spread like wild fire. The great urban centers became hotbeds of change, as first one and then another community fell under the spell of the unified hospital idea. "Join our community and have the benefit of the great _________ hospital center!" was the rallying cry. Larger communities found themselves split, as first one part declared undying devotion to their hospital, and other parts did the same for their hospitals. Maps were gerrymandered into strange configurations. Neighbors on the same block suddenly found themselves belonging to two different communities. Families sometimes found themselves split asunder as members in different geographic locations took up the defense of their own hospitals.

There arose a new power: the hospital Director. Working hand in glove with medical school Deans, they saw the benefit--certainly for themselves--of the new social order.

Walking the streets in the great urban centers became fraught with danger as each hospital, egged on by the Deans of the medical schools and the hospital Directors, sought for dominance. Soon the hospitals fielded groups of guards to patrol the streets of their neighborhoods; all those clearly not belonging there were told to leave--they would not be served by the local hospital. Those who did not publicly adhere to the philosophy of the hospital in any way were also publicly humiliated. Rarely were such humiliations overt; for the most part a whispering campaign was all that was needed to get community members to toe the line.

But what of the practice of medicine? Did the great hospitals that arose provide the best and most innovative of medical care to those in the community? Sometimes. Sometimes not. But medical care was no longer the issue--dominance and conformity was. "Our hospital uber alles!" was the rallying cry.

"So every community was healthy?" one could ask. Not hardly, but this news was suppressed and kept from the general community members. Only the medical school Deans, the hospital Directors and select members of the hospital board needed to know just how ill some users of the hospital were. Paternalism became the order of the day. Individuals were not encouraged to think for themselves; that was the job of medical school Deans and their puppet hospital Directors. And if a case truly confounded the doctors of one hospital, truly resisted any treatment that their philosophy could offer, the sufferers were dispatched under cover of darkness to another hospital, preferably far away. Let it be their problem.

A Not So Brave New World--Part II

So it came to be that the male juggernaut that had decreed compulsory medical education took the next logical step: more hospitals needed to be built. Hospitals, however, were a far more complicated undertaking then building medical schools. For one thing, they cost much more to build. Maintenance was more expensive. And hospitals required much more land then medical schools did; a medical school could locate itself inside of a basement or garage--a hospital needed room for expansion.

The first hospitals that were built looked at established communities and took over buildings in those communities that could be altered to be hospitals. Sometimes these hospitals fit into the communities where they were placed and sometimes they didn't fit comfortably. The powers that be merely shrugged their shoulders. "We are bringing medicine to the world," they postulated. "The neighbors will just have to adjust."

And at first there was peace surrounding the new hospitals, at least on the surface. All doctors were welcomed to practice within the hospital. Graduates of different medical schools found themselves rubbing shoulders within the four walls of the hospital. There was a sometimes uneasy alliance among the doctors, but they overcame the small irritations by remembering that they were, when all was said and done, all doctors. In many cases an easy camaraderie existed between the doctors, and between their families as well.

Because the doctors in any given hospital would arrive with the teachings and philosophy of their medical school as part of their mental makeup, there were some heavy disagreements as to what procedures and policies should be in affect in a community hospital. But because there was only one hospital to a neighborhood, the doctors were forced to come to a consensus on hospital policy. If doctors differed from hospital policy they were free to run their private practices as they wished, but hospital policy had to be inclusive. Yes, there was some grumbling, but outwardly the doctors presented a united front.

And so things would have continued forever, but the Deans of the various medical schools were not happy.Their influence over their graduates was slowly being diluted, a situation that was intolerable. How best to proceed? They tried proclamations to the neighborhoods where the hospitals were situated but had limited success; there were just too many proclamations, too many conflicting proclamations. People were free to pick and choose among the doctors in the community; no one doctor was dominant.

So, in 2087, an enterprising Dean of a medical school announced a unique solution. Far from the established communities with their egalitarian hospitals, his medical school was building its own hospital. Only those doctors graduating from his medical school would be allowed to practice in this hospital. Thus would be preserved the "right" philosophy that had been inculcated into his students. And it worked. Trained to see themselves as "the best and the brightest and the rightest," graduates of this medical school flocked to the new hospital.

In the great urban centers of the country this model quickly caught on. Where new land to build was not easily available, medical schools formed clandestine committees to take over existing hospitals. The medical school Deans, who were sometimes more politician than doctor, quickly found that exerting pressure on the children of the doctors in a community could achieve what putting pressure on the doctors directly could not: the children came home and preached conformity to their parents. And thus it came to be that a great schism was brought about in hospital care.

A Not So Brave New World--Part I

January, 2169

A cold wind howled up and down the East River of New York City, messenger of a fierce winter storm. They came often, these storms, buffeting the City for months on end. Once it had not been so, or at least the rare books still left over from the last century sometimes said so.Then, the books alleged, there had been four seasons. Then New York had had a more temperate climate. Mercifully the men of authority had banned the teaching of spring and fall as causing too much confusion in young children. There were only two seasons now, both punctuated by snarling winds, blowing first hot and then blowing cold.

The wind paused only briefly to pick up stray debris from the East Side Highway bordering the river, and tossed it mercilessly against the windows of the huge towers that stood sentinel over the highway as far as the eye could see. Hospitals. All of them hospitals. The structures were barely discernible one from the other, except for the huge nameplates that haughtily broadcast the hospitals' names and the names of those who had paid to have the buildings built. For this was what the East Side had become; a paean to medicine. To some medicine.

Across town, on the other side of the Great Wall that had been constructed to divide the City's enclaves, on the West Side there also stretched a phalanx of buildings, different in architecture, different in style, different in size, but united in that they, too, were hospitals. For this too was what the West Side had become; a paean to medicine.

As the storm ebbed and flowed, across the four boroughs of New York City, across the vastly populated expanse of Long Island to the East and across the teeming cities of Westchester County, it barely created a ripple of comment from those ensconced in the myriad hospitals it passed over. That's what hospitals did; they keep you safe from the elements outside.

It had not always been this way. The turn of the last century had seen a crisis looming. There had been a severe shortage of doctors then. Medical school had been too expensive to attend except for the wealthy. Even when the desire and means to go were there, admission requirements had been strenuous. The government had at last been brought to see that a solution was needed, and needed immediately. And so were born more medical schools.

At first there were only a few new schools that came into existence. But not everyone was prepared to laud these new schools. Some were excoriated for being too exclusive, for not accepting everyone who wanted to go there. Others were seen as too lax, too unstructured to satisfy all but a few.

And so more schools were built. And then more. And then still more. Anyone and everyone with an MD after their name was suddenly going into the medical school business. At first the schools were centered only around the large cities of the Northeast. But as the movement for more medical schools grew and prospered, the burgeoning wave spread outwards and blanketed the whole country. Soon there was not a city of note, and many a small town as well, that did not have its own medical school, if not more than one. For it was a strange phenomenon that where one medical school took root, another followed close on its heels.

But just because the government had decreed that medical schools should be built did not mean that the schools were well populated. Some had their fair share of students and some struggled to keep their doors open. And so the government acted once again. It created the Compulsory Medicine Education Act of 2049. All men over the age of 17 were compelled to attend medical school and at least one year of residency. Only after one had done so, and with special permission of the medical school dean, could a man leave medicine to practice a profession of a different kind. Even then, all men were required to stay current with medical issues, attending classes after their regular work day was over and on weekends.Yes, men. For the vast majority of medical schools were limited to male students only.

There were a few schools that were coed; the majority of them were far from the teeming center in New York. "Teaching men and women together violates all the principles of good medicine. Those who do so are charlatans at best and subverters of the natural laws."

At first there were no schools only for women students. "Women don't need to study medicine," it was scoffed. But some came to see that if women were to be acclimated to the new social realities they would need to be taught enough to enable them to be proper spouses for doctors and mothers of future doctors. Thus were born the specialized academies that gave women a compressed view of medicine; in one year they were taught enough to convince them that doctors made the best husbands, the only desireable husbands. They were taught that medicine trumps all other things. But there was still unease on the part of the Medical School Deans. Thus, they situated the schools for women far from the centers of male medical education. In a far corner of what had once been Transylvania, when there had been a continent called Europe, the girls' medical schools were established.

And the Deans of the Male Medical schools were finally brought to see that the female medical programs could be used to advantage. Try as they might they had been unable to breed out of the men a desire for spending time with women and in the pursuit of pleasures unrelated to medicine. In the girls' medical schools they had at last found the perfect tool to keep the men focused on medicine. Thus, the students in the male medical schools were inculcated with the idea that only a girl from a female medical school could be a proper wife.

Each year the graduates of the female medical academies were allowed to return to their home towns. And the rush began. Male medical students charged to find the best graduates of the academies. The Deans of the male medical schools chortled with glee. What they had been unable to legislate on their own the female medical school graduates were doing for them. The girls eyed each other with jealousy and with distrust. They jostled each other to constantly put themselves into the best position to be viewed.

And it worked, or at least for the most part. There were some females who did not find partners in the first mad rush. A few would find partners among the leftover male students. And a few would find themselves, at 20, as partnerless. The Deans of the male medical schools merely shrugged their shoulders and talked of "natural selection" and "survival of the fittest." These partnerless women would either spend the rest of their short lives as handmaidens to their married sisters or they would slink out of the central enclaves to the hinterland, where there were still partners possible for them. And they would be bitter when they thought of what they had not gotten for themselves, instead of looking at what they had gotten. Except for a very, very few.

Thus things would have remained except for one thing: Where there were doctors there had to be hospitals, for where else could doctors gather to practice their craft? And there were not enough hospitals to accommodate the doctors that were now graduating in droves.

A New Serialized Tale

Thanks to those who read The Tale of HindaElla many postings ago and asked for more. This time, however, I'm going to take a stab at some science fiction writing. Thinking about kosher for Pesach hechshers on toilet paper led me to wonder "What else is next?" For those who are fans of the genre, you know that the best of the science fiction writers were also social commentators. Buried in each of their stories were kernels of truth, not only about the worlds the authors created, but about the worlds of the readers. In this tradition I present to you A Not So Brave New World.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance between the events and people depicted in the story and those still living is absolutely intentional.

Purim Torah, Psychologist Style

To: Dr. Yehudi Everyjew, Director, Shushan Family and Child Services
From: Yenta Intheknow, MSW
Date: Purim, 2004
Subject: Home Inspection, Esther HaMalka

This report will cover the home inspection done for one Esther HaMalka, residing in the city of Shushan, Persia.

Domicile Status: The client seems to be living in the lap of luxury. Home is a palace. Client has servants, one for each day. Despite all the money that seems readily available, client does not appear to be happy, satisfied or fulfilled.

Marital Status: Client is married to King Achashverosh. She is his second wife. There are still unresolved issues from client’s husband’s first marriage. Apparently husband and wife do not share the same quarters—clear indication of some marital discord. There is some evidence that needs corroborating that Esther HaMalka was kidnapped from the home of her uncle and forced into marriage with the King. Unsubstantiated rumor that “Uncle” was really her first husband. Could explain her failure to adjust to marriage with the King.

Physical Appearance Observations: Esther HaMalka is a beautiful woman despite her lack of makeup and fancy ornamentation. She is physically fit, refusing to sit back and do nothing. Obviously all the work she does agrees with her. No evidence that she has had any kind of plastic surgery.

Observations of Mental Condition: Esther HaMalka is fairly friendly, although this observer noticed that she exhibits extreme reticence in discussing anything that pertains to her family background prior to coming to the palace. This could mean that she is protecting someone else, although who that could be is not known.. Although she was an orphan at an early age, she was raised by an uncle who provided a stable home environment. Most women would give everything they own to be queen, but Esther seems ambivalent at best about the honor. This could be because her predecessor met an untimely death at the hands of the King, her husband.

General Observations Pertinent to Home Inspection: While Esther HaMalka is not usually a forceful, assertive person, she will react appropriately when presented with circumstances warranting such behavior. This observer noticed that when the fate of the Jewish people was at issue, the Queen, after fasting for three days, approached the King unbidden. It should be noted that such behavior carries with it the risk of death, but Esther is able to look beyond her own needs and respond exceptionally for the greater good.

In addition, she has exhibited extreme tolerance for the King’s unusual relationship with Haman HaRosho. It was going to be my recommendation to her that she nip this friendship in the bud, as the relationship has had a deleterious affect, both on the kingdom and on the marital relationships of the King, but Esther was proactive on her own behalf, and managed to eliminate Haman, secure the King’s approbation for her plans for the Jews, and return her marriage to secure footing. Frankly, a lesser woman would have failed, but Esther HaMalka is clearly a woman secure in her ability to rise to the occasion.

Recommendations: It is clear that Esther and her Uncle Mordechai have things in hand. With the ouster of Haman, thus ending his unsavory influence on the King, I believe that Esther’s future is such that she should be much happier. My only concern at this point is not with Esther HaMalka per se but with the King. Peripheral to my observation of the Queen it was impossible not to notice that her husband drinks far more than is acceptable or healthy. This could account for any anomalies in Esther’s behavior pattern, as it is known that the families of alcoholics can suffer feelings of displacement and anomie, not unsimilar to those noticed in Esther. Therefore, I am recommending that
1. Esther and Mordechai be given increasing responsibility for the affairs in Persia
2. King Achashverosh be persuaded to attend AA meetings
3. Jews the world over should celebrate the festival of Purim throughout the ages to remember the events that transpired in Persia
4. You have a freilachin Purim, from our house to your house

Some Purim Reading to Lighten (perhaps) Your Day

Every year for Purim I write a poem or Purim spiel to send with our shalach monos. Many times the container I purchase to hold the shalach monos gives me the idea for the poem. In 2003 the containers were purple and thus was born what follows.

Purim 2003

In the spirit of Purim, we offer you a Birdseye view of what would happen if Hollywood ever met the Megillah.

Setting: The Hollywood office of Mr. Steven Playhill, noted film director. Mr. Playhill, the son of Jewish immigrants to America, displays a unique sensitivity to works of a minority nature. (Hey Stevie baby—ethnic is in. Looks like your parents changed their name when they arrived here. Why not change it back? We think Spielberg sounds more in keeping with the times. Try it on, baby.)

Maidel Aidel and Michael Yousner, talent spotters extraordinaire, have come to pitch a new movie to Mr. Playhill to be based on an original work entitled “Megillas Esther.” Present at the meeting are Aidel, Yousner, Playhill, Marvin “Anything-you-say-boss” Gofer, and Oolala Winphray, public personality.

Playhill: (pointedly looking at his watch). All right people, time is money. What have you got? (Pointing at one of the others present) Are you Aidel?

Aidel: (Suddenly beaming). Oh yes sir, I am Aidel. Maidel Aidel at your service.

Marvin: Shouldn’t that be Aidel Maidel? I could swear it was Aidel Maidel.

Aidel: (Sighing and rolling her eyes). I should know if I’m a Maidel Aidel or Aidel Maidel! (Pauses for a moment) Actually I may be an aidel maidel. Does that make me aidel maidel Maidel Aidel?

Marvin: Whatever.

Playhill: (Points at his watch again) The idea, people, the idea.

Yousner: Stevie, we have a realllllll winner here. (He points to the book on the table in front of him) This book has everything—action, adventure, intrigue, mystery, romance, mayhem—you name it, it has it.

Oolala: Yes, but will it play in Peoria?

(Aidel and Yousner confer)

Aidel: What’s a Peoria?

Playhill: (Rolling his eyes and sighing) Just tell me the basics, people.

Aidel: Well, see, there is this King…

Playhill: (Interrupts Aidel) Kingpin? Nawww, it’s been done already.

Yousner: No, Steve, a real King. The kind who rules over 127 provinces.

Marvin: (Making furious notes) If we do the king, he has to be wearing purple, all purple. (Everyone stares at Marvin) What? Purple is for kings; everyone knows that. (Turns to Oolala) You want Michael Trans-Jordan in this picture—he would look great in all purple.

Oolala: (Sarcastically). Sure, and at his size everyone is going to end up calling him the Purple Mountain Majesty.

Marvin: (Again writing furiously). Oh my gosh, that line is great! We’re going to sell that line to someone!

Oolala: (Stares at Marvin). Oh geesh, Marvin. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that the movie should be called “The Color Purple.” (Marvin begins to think about that possibility.)

Playhill: (Once again trying to get everyone to concentrate on business) So, is this king a real absolute monarch type of person or what?

Yousner: Yup, he has absolute control of everything and everybody.

Aidel: Wellllll, not exactly. He thinks he has absolute control, but someone else is pulling the strings that make him jump.

Oolala: (Her interest is up) A woman? There is always a woman behind every man.

Aidel: No, not a woman. A man, a guy named Haman.

Playhill: (Looks upset) I don’t do that kind of picture.

(Aidel and Yousner look puzzled. They confer. They suddenly get it)

Aidel: (Blushing) No no. Not that kind of pulling the strings. This guy Haman is the King’s trusted advisor. Actually, he works himself up to be second in command.

Marvin: Hmmm, that could work. People are really into this whole manipulation thing.

Oolala: (Huffing and puffing) You can’t do that male role only kind of film anymore. It’s not PC.

Aidel: (Rushes to assure her) Hey, there are two really great roles for women in this. I mean, this king has not one but two queens. (Thinks for a quick second) You know, the queen that is the woman married to the King?

Yousner: See, the first queen is really this vain, shallow type—a real Rodeo Drive, into herself person. She doesn’t really have a great marriage—she’s kind of a trophy wife. And things come to head when her husband wants her to come to a party he is giving.

Oolala: (Sniffs haughtily) Women today have their own obligations. A man can’t expect that a woman will drop everything just to entertain his friends.

Yousner: Yah, well it wasn’t just a regular invitation. (His collar is suddenly too tight. He leans forward and lowers his voice) He wanted her to come before his guests wearing nothing but her crown.

(There is a pause while everyone digests this)

Playhill: That’s going to be a problem with the Movie Rating people.

Oolala: (She finally gets it) I don’t do naked roles!

Aidel: Yah, well neither did Queen Vashti. Of course, refusing was kind of the final straw. Haman advised her husband to get rid of her—permanently.

Yousner: So that leaves the King with a real dilemma—he has no queen.

Aidel: And then the King finds himself a better, younger wife to be Queen.

Playhill: What, he just happens to meet the perfect woman. You trying to tell me he met her at a single’s function?

(Aidel and Yousner look at each other)

Yousner: Actually, he had her kidnapped from her uncle’s house.

(Playhill, Marvin and Oolala suddenly perk up)

Playhill: So what’s this damsel-in-distress’s name?

Aidel: Her uncle calls her Hadassah….

Playhill: (shakes his head vigorously) Are you trying to tell me that someone named a girl after that old-ladies-wearing-white-gloves charity organization? (Shakes his head again) It won’t work. Marvin!!!!! (Marvin jumps into the air nervously) We need a new name Marvin. It’s got to be a one-worder, something exotic, something unique, something different….(turns to Aidel) Where did you say this girl was from?

Aidel: I didn’t, but the story takes place in Persia. (Notices the puzzled looks of Playhill, Marvin and Oolala). You know, in the Middle East?

(Yousner starts to talk but is interrupted by Marvin)

Marvin: Okay, something really easterny…Yasmin maybe? (Playhill shakes his head “no”) Yasira? (Again Playhill shakes his head “no”)

Yousner: (rushes to speak before Marvin can interrupt him again) The King actually called her Esther.

Playhill: (thinks for a long moment) Okay, I like it. So then what? Just give me the action in a nutshell.

Aidel: (Takes a deep breath and speaks at 90 miles an hour). So the queen doesn’t want anyone to know who she really is—she is incognito—and figures that she will be able to help her people, but the wicked Haman is against her people and gets really ticked off at Esther’s Uncle Mordechai and decides that he will eliminate all of Mordechai’s people—he’s Jewish, you know, so there is the anti-semitism angle—you like that angle Mr. Playhill—and he gets the king drunk, which the king is all the time anyway, and the king gives Haman permission to kill all the Jews, but Mordechai finds out about the plot and he and Esther come up with a plan to save the Jews, so Esther gives a party and invites the King and Haman to it, and instead of appetizers and grilled chicken she serves up Haman on a platter and gets the King ticked off with him and the King has Haman killed and the Jews fight their enemies and win and Mordechai gets to be Prime Minister instead of Haman and everyone more or less gets to live happily ever after.

(Playhill, Marvin and Oolala stare at Aidel in admiration)

Playhill: (Looks pensive) This could work. It could work.

Marvin: Oh man boss, think of the battle scenes. It’s going to cost a fortune in extras.

Oolala: You know, maybe we could have Esther, this young girl, leading the armies into battle against religious persecution.

(Everyone stares at her)

Marvin: It’s been done before Oolala. (Oolala looks puzzled). You know, the Maid of New Orleans?

Oolala: Where is the animal in the story?

Yousner: Animal?

Marvin: That’s right, animal stories are hot now.

Aidel: (Doubtfully) Well, there is a horse.

Marvin and Oolala: No horses. Horses have been done to death.

Marvin: Maybe a chinchilla. No one has ever done a chinchilla before. (Makes a note in his notebook) I’ll have to get a focus group and see how they feel about chinchillas.

Oolala: (Looks indignant) And where are the minorities? You think you can tell history and leave out the obvious contributions that minorities have made? You think that anyone is going to go see a movie about old, dead, white men?

Yousner: (Stares at Aidel and mouths the words “engantzen meshugeh”) Errrr, Oolala, Esther and Mordechai are Jewish. That’s not enough minority for you? And Haman and Achasueros are Persian. (Marvin still looks puzzled) You know, Persian, sort of like Iranian?

Marvin: (Looks horrified) You want us to make a movie about Iranians when we have been trying to decide to go to war with them now for the last two years? Are you crazy?!

Aidel: But Marvin, the Iranians are the bad guys in this story! It should work perfectly. You know, we can show how they have been the aggressors for centuries.

Marvin: (Brightens for a moment but then his face falls) Yeah, it would be great, but we can’t do it. (Notices the puzzlement on Aidel’s and Yousner’s faces). I gotta think of the foreign distribution rights, and the French won’t go for it.

Playhill: (Musing) There have to be some changes made.

Aidel and Yousner: (Speak in unison) What kinds of changes?

Playhill: Don’t sweat it. Just a few cosmetic things. Written stories don’t always translate to the screen that well. (He pauses for a moment) You know Oolala, you may have something there with that “The Color Purple” idea.

Oolala: (Her face brightening). Yeah, and we change the main character to an African. I mean, Africa is near Persia so what’s the difference. (She thinks for a moment). We gotta ditch the king, make the woman the focus. That’s going to give us more credibility.

Marvin: We have to lose the Uncle bit too—sounds too much like Uncle Tom.

Playhill: We have to move the story to America—gotta show our patriotism and have the thing made in America.

Oolala: And let’s lose the young girl thing. It’s time to make everyone realize again that age brings wisdom.

Marvin: (muttering under his breath) She can’t play a girl when she is the very wrong side of thirty.

Playhill: (Musing) I think we need at least one kid. Kids attract a younger audience. We have to think of the numbers.

(Aidel and Yousner quietly leave the room as Playhill, Marvin and Oolala put their heads together excitedly.)


NIGHTMAREWORKS PRESENTS

THE COLOR PURPLE
Starring
Oolala Winphray

I Shot An Arrow

I've been thinking about blogs and wondering about the affect of blogs on the people "out there." Just what happens to those words we pen? What might they do to others? I was reminded of the Longfellow poem below:

I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth,
I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)

I began to have my own "Longfellow" thoughts as regards blogging.

I shot some words out into space

At a fast and furious pace.

They hit some person in some place--

I know not name nor know the face.

Then words came flying back to me,

Some slow, some with alacrity.

No clue had I what would ensue

When I sent out my words to you.

I sing my song, in tune or not,

And find returned another's thought.

A choir singing different parts,

Yet all united through their hearts.

I flex my bow, an arrow fit.

I loose the string then ponder it.

Where is it that my words will go,

Now that I've shot them with my bow?

If you've an answer, please let me know.

The Frog's Story

She's nowhere near the keyboard, but I'll have to make it quick. You would think that a princess would sleep in more often, but since the kids came she wanders in to the computer at strange hours.

So you think that happily ever after worked for everyone huh? Well maybe for Ethelred and HindaElla, but I'm still waiting for my happily ever after. Don't think it's coming so fast. And do they care? Not likely!

Oh they make the funny public noises still, you know, where they treat me like some honored guest. But when the Prince screws up some anniversary he is supposed to have remembered, like the first time they ate quail eggs together, then it's never his fault--it's always mine. And when she washes his suit that is clearly marked dry clean only, is it her fault? Nope, mine yet again.

The Princie gets his favorite breakfast all the time. For me? Freeze dried flies, on sale at Shoprite. "Make our home your home" they promised. Yeah, right. You ever have to sleep on a guest room bed? Maybe one night you could make it, but 1000? Fuhgetaboutit.

Yesterday I heard her complaining to him that they never seem to have any privacy any more and perhaps there are too many residents in residence. Sure, blame it on me. I told them and told them that a small palace was just not going to make for the long haul, but did they listen?

And the babysitting! Just how many legs do they think I have?! And how much strength? I'm not a tadpole any longer you know!

I can read the signs and I'm not waiting to be uninvited. There's a great new pond development that just opened a day's ride from here. Individual lily pads with all the amenities. Fresh gourmet meals to gladden an insectivore's heart. Organized activities and trips. And humans can only visit but are forbidden to crash at your pad. And who knows, maybe I'll find my own happily ever after. It sure won't happen when the only people I meet are humans.

Oh darn, the baby is crying. And the school cart will be here in 5 minutes and who knows where those parents are off to, and no, Antoine you cannot wear the purple pants with the red shirt, and Belinda, princesses don't dress in outfits like that, and Hermione stop trying to climb up into the fireplace; it's what got your mother in trouble. Robilard, put down that knife!

Sorry, but it's time to log off. Apparently all the things I don't do need doing. Maybe next week I can dream about lily pads and trips to the South of France--frog heaven. Or maybe not. I think I heard her say that the painters are coming in next week and how is she going to pack up everything and get ready. A frog's work is never done.

On Endings

We like to think of June as graduation month, but for college students those graduations can also happen in January.

One of my students summed it up this way: "I AM DONE WITH COLLEGE, YAAAY!!

I offered him the following, and I reprint it for those who are indeed graduating this month or who are wishing that they would be.

The author wrote finis at last
Relieved to place all in the past.
Faced forward to the beckoning dawn,
No backward glance, and he was gone.

Yet hearken son, for one time more-
Disparage not what came before.
There'll come a time, as you will see,
You'll yearn for what's now memory
And learn the truth of reality--
That life's a multi-stranded tapestry,
With all threads a necessity
In the weaver's recipe.

So forward go, begin to travel,
But let not older threads unravel.
There's much of value left behind,
Let your thoughts of the past be kind.
Wind those threads throughout your heart,
For of who you are they are a part.

Mother Goosed: The Tale of HindaElla--Part XV

There's many a slip 'tween cup and lip dear reader, and so it was for HindaElla and the Prince. Despite their desires they learned about compromising. The wedding was held two months later. The chair covers did match the tablecloths but since HindaElla and the Prince had eyes for only each other they never noticed.

HindaElla's gown was indeed custom made. Once again the magic platinum card was waved and worked wonders. And even HindaElla could appreciate the dress, for when the Prince first saw her in it he was rendered speechless, except for the fire burning in his eyes as he called himself the luckiest man in the world.

And if HindaElla was no longer seen in public with soot on her face, credit could be given to the Prince who gently told her that black was so not her color--she was definitely a spring colors person.

And the prince never again turned green, although it was noted that sometimes he turned red when he gazed at his beloved Princess.

After a while no one commented any more about the frog that took up permanent residence with the Prince and HindaElla, except perhaps when they could swear they heard the frog whispering.

In short order HindaElla managed to introduce her step sisters to some visiting royalty. The sisters got their princes and HindaElla got some peace when they settled in foreign lands.

HindaElla's step mother was induced to try matrimony for the third time. Mrs. Gottenmuter knew of a gentleman of means who was rather near sighted. He never actually could see how his new bride looked, which suited her just fine, but he fell in love with the sound of her voice and with the good deeds she did.

Mrs. Gottenmuter sent the Prince a private wedding present. When he opened the box he found in it the match to the glass slipper that HindaElla had lost at the ball. She had kept it all this time. The note in the box read: "Someday your son will be looking for his princess. You might want to tell him about how glass slippers are ephemeral and not the best way to find true love."

And yes, dear readers, they all lived happily ever after.

Mother Goosed: The Tale of HindaElla--Part XIV

Young girls, as young girls are wont to do, so often dream of that moment when their Prince will recognize them as their true heart's mate. And often the dreams have sweetly playing violins, and soft candle light. There are whispered words of endearment. And there are anxiously proffered rings, rings that sparkle in the candle light and send out a rainbow of color.

Most of the dreams don't have half the Kingdom crowded into your stepmother's parlor. They certainly don't have your step mother and your future mother in law in attendance, nor your future father in law either. They certainly didn't include a little green frog that was frantically whispering in her ear: "I could only do so much sweety. The rest you are going to have to handle. And good luck to you!"

HindaElla raised her sparkling eyes to the Prince's. "Yes, oh yes..." What else she might have said was lost as she saw bearing down upon them, arms linked, the Queen, Mrs. Gottenmuter and her step mother. Firmly HindaElla trod down the remainder of the steps and stood in front of the Prince, her arms crossed and a militant look in her eyes.

The trio stopped in front of HindaElla. The Queen led off. "We will of course need to discuss the wedding plans, I insist that the wedding be in the Castle." Mrs. Gottenmuter chimed in. "You will need at least 6 months until the wedding. No designer can turn out the proper dress in less time than that." Her step mother was next. "No, at least 8 months. There are the showers to be planned and all the household goods to be purchased." She shook her head. "Better make that 10 months."

HindaElla asked with feigned sweetness: "Are you done ladies? Because here is what is really going to happen." Behind her HindaElla could hear the Prince trying to breath. She half turned and noticed that he was getting patches of green here and there on his complexion again.

"We will be married two weeks from today. Two...weeks." HindaElla emphasized each word. "The Prince and I don't care about all the fol De rol that people have at weddings. Heaven help any of you who think we care about matching chair covers to the tablecloths!"

HindaElla looked pointedly at Mrs. Gottenmuter. "Off the rack is just fine for the dress. I don't give a rats..." The little frog hurriedly covered HindaElla's mouth with his leg. He whispered frantically in her ear. Nearby one person could swear he heard the frog mutter "They deserve each other. They really do!"

To her step mother she offered: "You and the girls go shopping. They'll love it and I sure won't." There was an excited look on her step sisters' faces and HindaElla knew she had done the right thing.

She reached behind her and tugged the Prince so that he was standing next to her. She noticed that his color had gotten better and he was staring in delight at his new bride to be. "While you all do whatever you have to do, the Prince and I are going for a walk." And with that HindaElla tugged her Prince towards the door. It was noticed that he followed quite willingly.

As they went through the doorway bits and pieces of their conversation wafted into the room. "I can't keep calling you Prince, Prince. What is your real name?" There was a pause and then was heard: "Oh come on, it can't be worse than HindaElla." And then "Ethelred the Unready? You have to be kidding." And then, "Um Prince, I think you can drop the Unready part."

And the three women beamed at each other and said in unison: "She'll do!"