From The Writer’s Almanac:

It’s the birthday of the man who wrote The Wizard of Oz, Lyman Frank Baum, born in Chittenango, New York, in 1856. […]

[…]

Baum was a socialist, and the Emerald City of Oz was his socialist utopia. He wrote, “There were no poor people in the land of Oz, because there was no such thing as money, and all property of every sort belonged to the Ruler. Each person was given freely by his neighbors whatever he required for his use, which is as much as anyone may reasonably desire. Every one worked half the time and played half the time, and the people enjoyed the work as much as they did the play, because it is good to be occupied and to have something to do.”

I can’t help it. I have a lot of fondness for the old red. I associate the Oz books with my beautiful wife’s pregnancy, when I read them to the growing bulge of her belly. There was a stage where Oz was basically the theme of the baby blog:

Sung to the tune of “If I Only Had a Brain” from the Wizard of Oz: With the missus mid-term testing I could show my knack for nesting with the vacuum, brush, and broom; and every act of cleaning would be invested with extra meaning if I only had a womb! I’d be tender, I’d be gentle and awful sentimental as I paint the pumpkin’s room. I’d be careful, I’d be cautious and every morning I’d be nauseous if I only had a womb. Oh I … could tell you why … a pickle goes so well with custard cream and pie, how it smells the moment milk goes bad, or why I’m crying all the time when I’m not sad. But as it is I feel pathetic and more than slightly apologetic ’bout the roles of bride and groom; my contribution’s just genetic, my labor only sympathetic, cause I just don’t have a womb. - papa