Nine Years

In the very early hours of Sunday, August 31, 1997, Her Royal Highness Diana, The Princess of Wales, was declared dead at the Salpetriere Hospital in Paris. Did this occur as the result of the paparazzi frenzy that always surrounded her, or due to dark forces that still have not--and perhaps, never will--come to light?

All I know is that I and the rest of the world lost our beloved Diana.

I followed her fairy tale story from the beginning: after all, aren't we all princesses-in-waiting (or, at least, princess wannabes)? I loved the engagement ring: what an exquisitely huge sapphire Charles gave her! Her first public engagement in the Emmanuels' drop dead (but, thank heavens, not drop down) stunner--little did we know that those pictures of her standing next to Her Serene Highness, Princess Grace of Monaco presaged...who knows what? All the hoopla leading up to the wedding--the hush-hush mystery surrounding the dress. And then the day itself: as I wrote on 7/29/06 in my La Loquita blog, I comandeered my mother and my ex to keep me company at the ungodly hour of five am to watch The Wedding of the Century. We were in Montreal at the time, so we had the benefit of BBC coverage. I can still picture her waving from the carriage; her getting out and carefully gliding her way up the steps to St. Paul's Cathedral; the Emmanuels' mad dash to uncrinkle their bouffy, pouffy confection (no, I am not making fun of it: it is a wedding dress for the ages); Diana going up the aisle on the arm of her father, The Earl Spencer; Charles in full naval regalia waiting for her. And then...the mixup in names on Diana's part, and Charles' slightly less noticeable stumble as he recited the wedding vows. They were both nervous. To say anything about the kiss on the balcony that hasn't already been said? It spoke of modern times, a Renaissance in the making for the House of Windsor (or something like that). I actually enjoyed the aftermath--the carriage ride al fresco, with the balloons gaily tied to the back--even more. Frills and feathers were in at the time: I ate all of this up. And then the honeymoon: the first night, on Charles' beloved Uncle Dickie's--the late Lord Mountbatten, that is--estate; the Royal Yacht Brittania, with Diana in a white print, smiling and waving; the Highlands retreat, with the honeymooners in tartan plaid, and with a doting husband gallantly kissing the hand of his blushing bride.

I could go on and on, but I won't. That's the great part about being a princess wannabe: you can turn it on. And off.

For we all sadly know by now that, from almost the very beginning, it wasn't real.

What did prove to be real--what lives on--is Diana's legacy as a (yes) clotheshorse; as an ambassadress of good will; as the mother of Their Royal Highnesses, The Princes William and Harry--"the heir and the spare," as they say; as a sad, tragic, lonely outsider in a world that, even though she'd grown up on its doorstep, she never fully seemed to understand (nor it, she); and--dare I say it--as a martyr. Say what you want about Diana, flaws and all, she left this world a better place.

I shall always miss and remember her. And good princess wannabe that I am, all I can do is...carry on.

Ninina en la Escuela

En la dulce espera, les presento la tercera vineta de La Loquita del Zig-Zag. "Ninina en la Escuela" fue publicada en La Voz de la Calle durante la primavera del 2004:

LA LOQUITA DEL ZIG-ZAG: UN DIA EN LA ESCUELA

POR NININA MAMEYEZ

Buenos días, Ninina! AY, Mami, por que me estas despertando? Porque tienes que ir a la escuela. A ti te encanta la escuela. Pero NO, Mami – hay un muchachito, Carlito, quien me trata peor que – SHH! – La Almidonada. No te quejes, niña – todos los muchachitos son un poco loquitos. Al baño!
Me metí en mi baño rosado y gris. Báñate, rápido! Me ordeno mi tata. Te tienes que poner tu uniforme azul y blanco, para que todo el mundo sepa que tú eres alumna de La Escuela Espinaca. No mis shors? NINA!
Cuando termine, La Odiosa me llevo a La Escuela Espinaca. Esta cerca de mi casa, en La Nueva Ventana. Me entrego a la Señorita Zina, mi maestra de pre-primario. Aprendemos mucho en su aula, pero la volvemos loca. Especialmente un grupo de niños. El comandante de ellos es – claro – Carlito. Hoy día, el se salió con la suya, una vez mas, sin que la pobre Señorita Zina sé de cuenta.
Nuestra maestra nos estaba tratando de enseñar un poco de gramática. Nadie ama a la gramática, especialmente no los muchachos. Sin que ella sepa, estaban planeando su próxima batalla. Tenían dos equipos, como sus papas: Los Limpiabarba, y Los Comebarba. Carlito, el líder de Los Comebarba, vio a Raulito Barbabudo caminando afuera de la ventana. Que sucio eres, le dijo. Te voy a ayniquilar!
Así que Carlito tiro una silla afuera de la ventana, y tumbo a Raulito a la acera. Cuando El Barbabudo empezó a chillar, la pobre Señorita Zina se viro de la pizarra. AY, QUE HORROR! Carlito, que has hecho ahora? Estaba ayniquilando al Barbabudo, Señorita. Usted es Comebarba, verdad?
AY, niño, de esas cosas no se hablan! Te tengo que castigar. Escribe, “Ni el Limpiabarba ni el Comebarba es un comejen,” cien veces. Que es el Limpiabarba, todos le preguntamos a nuestra maestra. ¿Cómo es tan sucio, debe de ser una cucaracha, verdad?
Lo único que les puedo decir, dijo nuestra sabia, es que el Comebarba limpia al jardín.
Carlito termino su castigo, seguimos con la gramática, y salimos al recreo.
AY, Carlito, hoy te comportaste MUY bien, le dije. Después de todo, tú eres mi héroe! Y le di un beso.
Me alegro que vine a la escuela hoy, después de todo.

Es propiedad de Georgina Marrero, 2003 380 palabras