The other night, I was dreaming all night about Pope Benedict.

That he was living in a kind of care home run by a very holy order of priests, like the Oratorians. They had a big compound and ran a hospital and school and library and a small farm. Everybody liked to feed the animals.

He spent his days praying and writing letters and whatnot.

One day I was asked to spend the day with the Holy Father because his regular companion had to be away. He was in a wheel chair sort of thing, more like one of those 19th century wicker bath chairs, but was still busy. He had a large desk set up in a big open area like a lounge/common room, and there was a big cast iron stove set up near him to keep him warm. I asked him if he really had to do all this paperwork, and he just smiled gently and said, “Someone has to keep up with it all.”