And along comes Dodi

OK, I’m done wth watching the Crown. Princess gets her divorce from Prince on her conditions, which sets her up for life. She is, nevertheless, sad and lonely. They skip over the part where she goes to Bosnia to remove land mines. A Ballet lover, Princess meets Al Fayed, Sr. At the ballet, Swan Lake. He convinces her to come to St. Tropez And stay on his yacht. Why not? Her kids are in Scotland and she’s sad and lonely. Sr. Orders his son, Dodi, to drop his fiancé and hightail it down to St. Tropez. The rest is yacht history, including paparazzi and dangerous hordes of fans.

Then I stopped watching. We all know how she died. It’s like remembering when JFK was shot or Martin Luther King Jr. With Princess Di, I was in the grocery line at Safeway with John O’Keefe. John had heard it before the tabloids and told me. I was stunned. Not being British, her death really touched some universal key.

When JFK was assasinated, I was in Jr.High. We were sent home from school. My mother who, like a number of Republicans, didn’t trust Kennedy because he was Catholic. The fear was that he would be led by the Pope. So, I was surprised to find her glued to the TV set. Maybe it was just shock. Everyone was.

Getting into the area of Civil Rights, I wanted to volunteer to help rebuild Southern communities damaged by the riots with my Church group. That didn’t fly with the folks. I was a minor, so it was not to happen.

Our Sister weekly meet yesterday. I’m glad we’re adding the 24th for Patti’s birthday. I have a sparkler I can light and maybe I’ll make one of those silly cone party hats. The birthday song is the same in English and French, probably other languages, too. Bonne Anniversaire a toi!

Lastly, I decided to get a personal card made to hand out. This strategy is for when I meet people I like and perhaps don’t want to scramble for pen and paper. Much smoother. Mel’s been in Heaven for twelve years now. I tried Match.com once. The guy was nice but we had zip in common.

Back to thoughts of royalty for a moment. In the early eighties, James was trying to impress me. There was an art opening in the East Bay and he rented a Rolls Royce limo with chauffeur for the occasion. At the opening, we drifted apart. I was looking at one of the paintings alongside another woman. After exchanging a few comments, she asked, “Do you know who came in the Rolls Royce?” I simply said, “I did.” Wasn’t that the way I normally travelled? Sure.