… on loosing my marbles in dreamland

Marshal Dillon Dingle, channeling his view that he should be allowed on any piece of furniture, including Mommy's special leather chair, because he is "stressed". No. Not because Monty is gone... Because he had to have his nails clipped.

Marshal Dillon Dingle, channeling his view that he should be allowed on any piece of furniture, including Mommy’s special leather chair, because he is “stressed”. No. Not because Monty is gone… Because he had to have his nails clipped.

Stress wreaks havoc on our bodies.

I’ve never read an actual scientific study on this myself, but I’m going with it because it sounds logical.

Sort of like karma, intuition, and full moons mucking with our brains.

Oh! And the fact that the happiness that comes from eating Fritos (and saying the word…Fritos….Fritos…) totally annihilates the negative health consequences associated with ingesting those happy little golden-fried crisps derived of corn and sunshine (and, probably, lard).

It’s totally true.

Anyway, so stress wreaks havoc on our bodies and grief counts as stress, but I’ve been checking and, so far, my body is okay.

Nothing broken.

Nothing aching.

So I’m thinking I’m home free.

And then last night’s dream happened.

I have never had really cool, meaningful dreams – you know, like when you wake up all wisened and thinking you totally have the answer to the mysteries of the world.

Or at least your math homework.

Nope. Not me.

Here is the dream I had last night, which I woke up from and described out loud to myself, on my way to brush my teeth, because if I don’t do that I will forget the entire dream before I squeeze out my toothpaste.


Uh. No you are not.

I find myself in the living room of my ‘adopted’ parent’s house (I’m not actually adopted, but have the benefit of having two people in my life – Bob and Linda – who are so close to me and my family, that they are like my parents (my kids actually consider them grandparents (Oh. And they have a formal living room at their house))).

So I am sitting in their formal living room.

In a black, long-sleeved Gap Favorite Tee (crew neck, not v-neck).

And my underwear.

But it’s not my today underwear, it’s white and cotton and has pink roses on it.

So I think it’s my six-year-old underwear.

Because in my teenaged years I wore days-of-the-week underwear.

And, yes, I am thinking all of that in my dream.

Anyway, I’m a little uncomfortable but they don’t seem to notice.

And they have just redone the living room and I like what they have done with it.

Not so many pastel colors. It’s got warmer tones now.

Nice choices.


So we are walking out of the room and Linda gives me a pair of gray sweatpants and that makes me happy, and I don’t say anything when I put them on and realize that they are a youth sized (I check the label).

So then I have to go to Disney World because I have been hired as their new photographer.

And suddenly I am at Disney World and I’m walking around on my knees and taking pictures, because once I read that Walt Disney walked all around Disney World on his knees to get a better idea of what it was like to be a kid (and I am trying to figure out where I read that for the first time, in my dream, because it is influencing the approach I am taking in my new job).

But then someone comes up to me and says that I am being promoted to W.D., which is the equivalent of V.P., but stands for Walt Disney.

Made perfect sense.

So they try to give me Cinderella’s Castle as my big corner office, but I say that I don’t want to create a precedent and they say that everyone who has ever held the W.D. title has had the castle as an office – not the walk through arch part (which made sense, because then how would everyone get to Fantasy Land) – but all the rest.

So I say that I’m not really that showy and I am more like the new Pope and wanted to set a new precedent by governing Disney with humility.

Yes. I did it.

I compared myself to the Pope.

So I end up choosing to govern Disney World from Big Thunder Mountain – the crazy railroad-slash-gold rush thrill ride.

This makes sense in my dream because, clearly, prospecting was a very humble profession, and I was all about humble.

APTOPIX Italy Pope Epiphany

This one (I think it’s an AP photo). Only I wasn’t wearing white. Oh. And I had more hair than the Pope.

So I lived and ruled from under Big Thunder Mountain.

With a lamb resting on my shoulders.

Just like the pope had in the picture I saw of him the other day.

And then I woke up.


Perhaps it is time that I embrace the fact that I am going to be missing Monty for a while.

And that I might be made aware of this fact through a wide variety of signs from the universe.

Such as the occasional tear.

Or loosing my marbles in the form of a dream.

It beats loosing them in real life though, right?

Good. I’m glad you agree.

Have a great rest of your day.

Go in peace, my child.


Lisa Dingle
Her Royal Pontiff, Bishop of Orlando, Holy Zipp-a-Dee-do-Dah, W.D.

Thanks for readin’

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