De Plane! De Plane!

Are you old enough to remember "Fantasy Island"?

Remember Ricardo Montalbahn's short sidekick Tattoo? Or Tatu. Don't remember how to spell it.

Can you guess what I'm talking about?

Yes and no.

Fantasy, yes.  Island, maybe. Tattoo, yes (gotcha!).  The short guy, no.  He always bugged me.  Nothing against little people; his voice grated on my nerves.

Some days I could lay in bed for hours (if only I could!), daydreaming, fantasizing, call it what you will.  My mind takes off running from the dust and bills and the job.  I live in a world of perfection. 

I have no need for eyeglasses that don't help much, nor insulin nor a paycheck.  Driving is for pleasure, not destination. In today's fantasy, I have a tattoo.  Nice segue, huh?

The tattoo isn't a big part of the dream  It was a little touch of bling inspired by my nine year old grandson's birthday party.  All the kids were getting them.  Suddenly I wanted one, too!   I picked out a black dragon.  My surprised daughter-in-law-to-be helped me place it right above the lace.  (You didn't think I'd get a real one, did you? First of all, where I wanted it is private territory. Second, nobody is gonna stick a needle in me there and live.  Got that?  Besides, the tattoo will get stretched out or buried in a wrinkle. Gross, just gross.)

But what that little black dragon did for me was amazing.  I told my forty-something boss about it. Why, you're a closet slut, she said. Now I want one!  Yes, an artist's rendering of a teensy dragon gave me sexuality and power.

Like the occasional design on my nails, the lace under my blazer or the funky earrings, the tattoo gives me a sense of invincability.  An inch of ink that is my secret.  A moment of fantasy, with or without the island.  Fantasy is the stuff that manifests reality.

If someone hadn't fantasized about the wheel or the steam engine or jet plane, we would still be walking.  What if our forefathers hadn't conceived a land of freedom?  It takes a minute of daydreaming to begin a reality.  Correct me if I am wrong, my sons, but did I ever even once tell you to stop daydreaming?

After a shower, of course, the tattoo is gone. There will be others, discreetly applied so as to be my little secret.  It isn't showing the tattoo that stimulates me.  Knowing it is there gives me a sense of magic.

It is an inch of ink, a package of fifteen or so for a buck , but it represents the idea that yes, I can.

I didn't think I would ever fly, but I did.

I didn't expect to see Las Vegas, but I did.

I never thought you'd catch me in a kayak, but you did.

I never thought my words would be available for everyone to see, but they are.

When you hear "De Plane! De Plane!" in your mind, or you see the tiny tattoo, you are landing on  your own Fantasy Island.  The fantasy, the dreams, the everyday ho-hum--all are different pieces of the same puzzle.

What will it take to manifest your dreams into reality?  Maybe just a little tattoo.