In this world which is getter smaller and smaller, the events in another country seem as close as those in our own borders. And so it is that a princess in England became truly the world's Princess. In 1981 the marriage of Lady Diana Spencer and Prince Charles had the largest audience of any wedding in the world. I, along with my Grandmother, sat entranced in front of the television screen that magical day in July. It seemed like a fairytale. And we are a people so wanting fairytales, for the world can be a hard place.

We read with interest as Princess Diana gave birth to royal heir Prince William in June of the following year. In 1984 Prince Harry was born. We rejoiced in this happy family. But all wasn't as it appeared. The tabloids soon gave rumors of trouble, and it was verified with Diana: Her True Story, a biography published in 1992. Her moodiness and bulimia were public knowledge, gobbled up by people who love "the dirt" on celebrities. So were Prince Charles infidelities with a Camilla Parker-Bowles. Every issue of The Enquirer reported their latest episodes. Even Queen Elizabeth encouraged them to divorce and so, one year ago the divorce was final.

Media interest didn't quit, however. Diana was stripped of the HRH title, but kept the Princess of Wales title. She continued her efforts at good works. She campaigned to end the use of land mines. Her concern for AIDS victims will never be forgotten. In 1987 at a London hospital, her embrace of an AIDS patient did help to change people's attitudes. So although the other royals were often irritated with her, she had the love of the people. In an interview conducted shortly before her death, she said "I feel very close to people, no matter who they are. That is why I disturb certain circles. Because I am much closer to the people down below than those on top and the latter won't forgive me for that." Adding "My father always taught me to treat anybody like an equal. I always did, and I am sure that Harry and William have learned that too," she said in the interview with Le Monde.

Maybe it was people's fascination with her that encouraged the media to keep her in the spotlight. When Diana was rumored to have a new sweetheart, a Dodi Fayed, wealthy heir to the Harrod's Department Stores, media attention was at an all-time high. Paparazzi desperate for pictures of the sweethearts smooching lay in wait everywhere for them, as they were vacationing in the Mediterranean. Thirty photographic vultures waited for them in front of the Hotel Ritz in Paris. Hoping to give them the slip, they snuck out the back way, using a car borrowed from the establishment. The plan didn't work. According to a photographer for the Daily Mirror, at least one motorcycle and one auto, and possibly more, carrying ten to fifteen photographers were in pursuit of the Mercedes carrying Diana, Fayed, a bodyguard and the chauffeur. They headed west through a four-lane below-ground tunnel. The chase was intense and the chauffeur may have been going as fast as 85 miles an hour, possibly even as much as 120mph, in an area whose speed limit was 35. The attempt to elude the hounds resulted in tragic disaster. It appeared that the car had hit a concrete dividing wall, ending up facing the opposite way from traffic. When it was removed, " it was clear the car was virtually crushed. The grille was pushed back two-thirds of the way toward the dashboard, and the roof was smashed down to the level of the seats in front. The windshield was smashed, and the front wheels also were pushed back. "(from a Washington Post article) The sole person to survive was the bodyguard. Diana, only thirty-six, suffered grave head injuries and died around 4:00 am Paris time after going into cardiac arrest.

In the interview given to Le Monde, a French newspaper, and published only last Wednesday in the Associated Press wires, she was quoted as saying: "The press is ferocious. It forgives nothing and is only hunting down mistakes. Each act is twisted, each gesture criticized."She added " I think in my place any sane person would have left a long time ago. But I can't. I have my sons."

The vicious photographers certainly hunted her like she was prey. She had asked them to quit, but they would not. And now this, the final escape. No photographers can follow her now. But if they could, they'd surely line the walls of St. Peter's Gate, panting for one last picture.

The next morning, however, the sinus pain was stronger than ever. Laura went to the store to get me some Actifed, but it didn't do much good. I hurt too much to do any sewing, so I mostly slept. After lunch, my mood and sinuses improved. I was able to finish my sewing. The music of Capercaillie seemed like an incantation against sinus pain and adversity. I'm so drawn to their music. There is something quite empowering, in words I don't understand. It's a strange mystery. Maybe it works because the Scots Gaelic can mean anything, and you hear from the heart the emotions they are conveying, chiefly the strength to persevere. Anyway it was healing. By the time suppertime came, I felt whole.

The evening was for true relaxation. All of us, Laura, Julia, Helina, Tyan, I and even James played this computer game called Heroes of Might and Magic. It's a game in which you play a type of hero: knight, barbarian, sorceress, wizard, warlock or necromancer. Each hero type has its own set of defenders. I like to play the sorceress. I like its army of sprites, archers, unicorns and phoenixes. Also your castle can have a neat rainbow above it giving luck in defense to your warriors. The previous night's epic battle resulted in the loss of one hero, the barbarian, which had been played by Helina. So Tyan let Helina play her character, a knight. Tyan had other plans. She brought over a massage table, and one by one, when it wasn't our turn at the computer, she gave us each a massage. She's had some training at this and thus is a real pro. She said she knows us all better now, by knowing our backs and the tight little spots of tension. . My neck and back never felt so relaxed. It was a wonderful gift. Afterwards we all massaged Tyan. Though not possessing her skills, we seemed to have relaxed her as well. It was a thoroughly refreshing night.

She said she was still waiting on the information about her ancestors, but she did find an old paper she had saved with information on my Horschler relatives. Henry Horschler, the father of my grandfather, married a woman named Margaret Molahan. Molahan is as Irish as it gets. So I am verifiably one-eighth Irish! One-eighth is enough to claim membership in a American Indian tribe!

Tyan shared with us about her mother. She's been blessed to have been born to a very unique mother also. When Tyan was eighteen, she learned that her mother was lesbian like herself. She was in a twenty-eight year long relationship with one woman. Her mother wrote songs and Tyan played the demo tapes that a group cut of them. The songs were all varied, about many different things. One about gypsies was special and another that she had written caused Tyan to cry. It was about missing someone who was no longer there. Tyan's mother died in 1989. But while she was here, she truly let the light of her creative soul show..