Like most little girls, I loved nursery rhymes and fairy tales. I was sure that there was really a gingerbread man, that the tooth fairy crept into my room at night and took the little tooth - exchanging pocket change. Santa was as real as the cookies that I left for him, and happily I checked the next morning to see that he ate them all.
As I aged a little, I advanced to The Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, and Pinocchio. As surely as I breathed, I knew that my nose would grow if I told a lie. I was afraid of that one for a while! And how many of us thought that Humpty Dumpty really could be put together again if he fell off that wall?
Next came the love stories involving Cinderella and Snow White. I never planned on eating a poison apple but really thought that it was possible that Prince Charming could arrive in a magical way to make all my dreams come true.
In Junior High school we performed the play about King Arthur's Court and with the costumes and the dialogue another dream began. Later, we did the Wizard of Oz and although I played Dorothy and she had few lines, I marveled at the Tin Man as he sought a heart, a lion only longing for courage, and a scarecrow that desperately needed a brain.
Somehow - with all the dreams I had, my wishes fell on that final play. Skipping along the Yellow Brick Road, I have become the scarecrow - desperately in need of a brain (at least one that works as well as it should). I have been trapped in the Land of Alz.
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