It started out looking like these bug bites on my wife’s left breast. Before we knew it, the three red bumps transformed into angry lesions, turning her skin darker, ominous shades of red and purple. She said it must be shingles. When it didn’t go away but began to hurt as it hardened and burned. I told her she needed to go to a doctor, but she insisted it was the shingles, and it would go away eventually.
After a couple of months she went to a doctor who agreed it was shingles and prescribed something that didn’t do a thing to help. Then we were scheduled to fly to New York to visit our granddaughter so she didn’t have time to see another doctor about her shingles. This was exactly the same delaying tactic which she ridiculed her mother for using when she was faced with a new medical complication. Funny that what she observed so astutely in her mother she ignored in herself.
Finally she returned to the doctor who said it was the shingles. Now he decided he should take a biopsy. I don’t like that word biopsy. The results came in, and she had breast cancer, not the kind which appears as lumps but one that looks inflamed on the surface of the skin.
This was no time for saying I told you so. We were busy with more doctor visits, more tests and treatments. With no time to waste. Urgent.

(Author’s note: With the approval of my wife, I am starting a weekly chronicle of her illness. She will approve the text before I post it. We have high hopes for her recovery. We are on this journey together.)

Authorship of William Shakespeare works once again has come under debate with the announcement by a group of British classical actors lead by film star Derek Jacobi that considerable doubt exists that the itinerant actor from Stratford-on-Avon wrote all those plays and poems.
Challenging tradition, literature experts say a person from a small town in 16th Century England with no formal education could not have penned the elegant iambic pentameter that has been memorized by millions through the years. Of course, he had exposure to theatrical form through a long career on stage; however, the language in Shakespeare’s plays–which has rarely been matched in half a millennia–goes beyond what anyone could learn while treading the boards.
Purists accuse the doubters of an elitist attitude. The American ideal is that men and women from any background, from any economic class, or with a minimum public education can achieve their dreams if they only try hard enough. Shakespeare, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Edison, among many others, provide hope, and no one should take that hope away.
But perhaps that is not the message the literature classicists intend to send. Instead of putting down the lower classes they might be championing their rights to have the right to the same education according to British peerage and American industrial scions. By holding up Shakespeare as an ideal, the protectors of the status quo profess no responsibility to help poor children. If these children are truly talented and inspired, they don’t need the rich people’s tax dollars to finance their education.
A middle ground exists to provide hope for civilization. What if Shakespeare couldn’t put two coherent words together, but somehow met a young educated lord who had poetry flowing through his pen but had no sense of drama? Open it with a ghost, have a gang fight, give the audience some witches, that will make them happy, Shakespeare told his refined lord. Inspired by the actor’s eternal themes and gripping action, the lord then supplied the beautiful language.
Society shouldn’t battle over who deserves an education and who doesn’t. Society grows when everyone has a chance to contribute what that individual does best.
Shakespeare wrote a play about that, or at least he should have

Cecelia walked over to Inspector Tent and extended her hand so he might steady himself and finally make it to his feet. Once he was eye to eye again, Lady Snob-Johnson withdrew her hand and spoke in her haughtiest tone. “Excuse me, Chief Inspector Tent, but I wish to speak to my daughter and Prince Edward in private. So will you and Miss Smart-Astin kindly leave the room?

“But of course, kind lady.” He gave her his best deep bow with a flourish, although by the time he reached the nadir of his gracious genuflection he observed her well-endowed posterior heading for the ballroom door.

As Cecelia opened the door, a blast of tango music invaded the library which caused both Tent and Bedelia to brighten significantly. They quickly assumed their dance positions and proudly spouted in unison and slithered into the ballroom.

Let’s do the Russian tango! Let’s go as far as we can go!
Oh go girl go! Oh go man go! Let’s do the Russian tango!

Cecelia closed the door and crossed to the lounge. “My dearest Millicent, I owe you an apology. I let my emotions carry me away.” She stopped abruptly when she noticed the writhing on her furniture. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Oh, um. I was just giving Eddie a massage,” she explained as she leapt to her feet, straightening the wrinkles on her lovely gown.

“Is thut whut you wuz doin’? I thought you wuz tryin’ to turn me on. And you wuz doin’ a good job of it too!” Eddie raised himself on his elbows and displayed a crooked grin.

Millicent cut him off and turned to face Cecelia, feigning interest in her comment. “What were you saying, Mother?”

She looked back and forth from her daughter and Victoria’s grandson and decided discretion was the better part of valor; therefore, ignored the embarrassing activity on her chaise lounge. “I was apologizing for putting you in that unpleasant situation earlier this evening.”

“Think nothing of it. I found it quite exhilarating.” Millicent smiled as she attempted to return her hairdo to its proper manifestation.

“No, I shan’t forget it. I shall try to redeem myself. And I know exactly how to do it. I overheard something you might find interesting.” She took her usual posture when about to impart a particularly juicy bit of gossip. “Well, do you remember when that awful William Canine-erel came in to see Chief Inspector Tent? He was that terrible, dirty, hulking man.” She seemed to be fading into her own realm of erotic fantasy. “You know, just like those hairy, muscular animals that work on the streets. Those ignorant, filthy, sweaty, gorgeous men with their bulging muscles—“

“Mother!”
Her daughter’s shocked admonition brought her back to reality. “Oh. Well. Yes. Anyway, he spoke to the inspector and I happened to hear him say that a merchant in Soho—“

Millicent turned sharply to look at Eddie at the mention of the site of the recent crime wave. “Soho!”

“Ho ho!” Eddie stood as a flash of recognition crossed his dull face.

“–was going to make a payment to the inspector tonight and Mr. Canine-erel would bring the packet here.”

Millicent grabbed her mother’s hands. “Mother, this is very important. You must swear yourself to secrecy.”

“Must I?”

“Swear on your picture of Lily Langtry.” Millicent looked at the mantle and frowned when she saw that the picture was missing. “Where’s Lily?”

“The Man in the Red Underwear took it away so that nasty Malcolm Tent couldn’t steal it. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll return it.”

“I know he will.” She nodded knowingly. “But for now, swear on the memory of the autographed picture of Lily Langtry that you will keep what I tell you a secret.”

“Is it that serious?”

“Yup, it’s thut serious,” Eddie assured her.

“Very well, then. I swear on Lily Langtry. So ahead.” Cecelia was almost drooling in anticipation. “What is it?”

“Queen Victoria has commissioned Eddie and me to investigate the recent robberies in Soho.”

“Ho ho!” Now why Prince Eddie thought it clever to repeat his nonsensical rhyme no one will ever know. It wasn’t important anyway.

“We have reason to believe Chief Inspector Malcolm Tent is forcing merchants to pay to keep his henchmen from robbing them,” Millicent pronounced.

“I knew there had to be a good reason why I didn’t like that man.”

“And Andy is helping us,” Millicent continued in a whisper.

“Him! I don’t believe it!”

Just then the door opened and Andy entered performing his best tango moves in perfect timing with the music. He closed the door, took the picture of Lily Langtry from his jacket pocket and presented it with aplomb to Cecelia.

“Lily!” She held the picture to her breast. “Oh, I’m so pleased.” Cecelia returned it to its place of honor on the mantle and turned back to smile at Andy. “I’ve always liked your family. So, you’re not—happy?”

“I don’t think thut’s the word—“ Eddie didn’t finished because Millicent put her hand over his mouth.

“Not even giddy,” Andy assured her.

“So what we want you to do is notify us immediately upon Billy Doggerel’s arrival,” Millicent instructed her mother. “We’re sure he will have the packet on his person.”

“And what a person.” She started swooning again.

“Please, Mother! This is important.”

“All right. But I think I’m in love. Oh dear, does this mean he’ll have to go to prison?”

“I’m afraid so,” Andy said.

“Oh well, this is my punishment for exposing Millicent to danger.”

“Shall we bring Bedelia into our confidence?” her daughter asked.

“Yes!” Andy beamed.

“No!” Cecelia glowered.

“Why not?” Eddie scratched his head.

“Mother’s lost her head over the fact Bedelia’s parents were never married.”

Millicent should have known better than give a logical explanation to Eddie about anything, because he immediately went to Cecelia and carefully looked at her face, both ears and the back of her head.

“It’s right thar.”

“What is?” Cecelia fluttered her eyes in annoyance.

“Yo’r haid.”

“Why, of course it is!”

“Millie jest said you lost it, but how could you lose it when it’s still on yo’r shoulders?” Yes, he was really that stupid.

“Shall we return to the business at hand?” Andy smiled, trying to overlook his friend’s irritating observations.

“Yes, please.” Cecelia was ready to move on also.

“If we let Bedelia into our confidence then she’d know I’m the same man who’s always loved her,” Andy tried to make his point.

“Unfortunately, I think mother is right,” Millicent offered as sympathetically as possible. “Bedelia has fallen under the chief inspector’s spell.”

“I don’t know what a fine young man like you wants with a girl like her, anyway,” Cecelia told him.

Andy decided the only way to express his feeling for Bedelia to Cecelia was through poetry.

She’s a flower, her petals smooth.
I want to touch and make her move.

“Oh, Andy.” Cecelia smiled sweetly. She finally caught it.

Eddie leaned over to whisper to Millicent, “Psst, Millie, that part about her bein’ a flower and him wantin’ to touch her petals and watchin’ her move, I think that’s kinda dirty.”

“Eddie, shut up.” There were even limits to Millicent’s patience.

“We must catch Tent with the packet tonight.” Andy circled the room deep in thought. “I doubt another merchant will cooperate with us if we fail.”

“So we must be very careful to see in which pocket the inspector puts the packet,” Millicent agreed.

The four of them recited in unison.

Let’s plan the plan as only we can plan to foil old Malcolm Tent,
We must catch him red-handed with that most incriminating packet
Completely filled with allegations and evidence to back it.

“What will he do with it when it arrives?” Andy asked.

“He’ll put it in his pocket!” Millicent replied with a snap of her fingers.

“So we must watch which packet in his jacket he will put the packet in.” Cecelia nodded.

“Then we must snatch the packet from the pocket in his jacket,” Andy said.

“Yes that is what we must do.” Eddie was so pleased he know what was going on.

“He has a charm upon a chain in his left front pocket,” Millicent remembered. “I felt it there when I jumped upon his back before the fencing match.”

“Well, you felt him up purty good, didn’t you?” For an amiable dumb guy, Eddie was capable of jealousy.

Cecelia put forth, “So he won’t put the packet in the pocket with the locket.”

“He carries a revolver in the right front pocket ‘cause All chief inspectors carry one in that exact same pocket.” Andy furrowed his brow retrieving information from his memory.

Cecelia shrugged. “So he won’t put the packet there—“

“For fear he might cock it,” Millicent said.

Eddie tapped her shoulder. “But in the ballroom I saw him lookin’ at a pawn ticket.”

“Then he may well have pawned away his company revolver,” Andy hypothesized.

“I didn’t feel it when I was on his back.” Millicent shook her head.

Andy looked at each member of their little cadre. “So he just might have put the packet in the jacket pocket that held the revolver—“

Millicent continued the thought, “Without fear he would cock it—“

“Because he had to hock it!” Cecelia completed their deduction.

“Oh please! I’m getting’ dizzy!” Eddie had to sit on the lounge to stop his head from spinning.