The Coconut Chronicles

Hello again from the Big Blue!

The year is 1987.

My boyfriend, Stud, and I have just finished another round of sucking face and groping, and now we’re bored – as teenagers perpetually are when not groping or face sucking. “Let’s go over to Geeky B’s and hang out,” Stud suggests.

“It’s after eleven o’clock, he’s probably asleep,” I say, readjusting my bra and re-spiking my hair, (which may have been blue at that time).

“Are you kidding? He probably only woke up an hour ago.”

We hop in my car – well, my parent’s car, a massive, white and red Malibu Classic, Damn the environment, full speed ahead - and go. Sure enough, Geeky B’s house is dark but for one light in his bedroom. After a rap on his window, he lets us in. Stud was right, Geeky B is at his computer and his night has just begun.

Geeky B and I go back to the days of our 5-pin bowling team. (Yes, I bowled. I also collected comics, and kept my Star Wars collector cards in a photo album, in sequential order. Got a problem with that?!) He was at the forefront of the Computer Geek movement, with his pasty white skin, out of date clothes, and too-large glasses. He dropped out of school in Grade Eleven to spend more time on the computer. I worried about him, and the irony of that, in this age of technology, must be obvious.

“You guys gotta check this out!” Geeky B says, motioning to a large contraption sitting on his desk, beside his computer. The contraption is a metal box straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie. It is about twelve inches across and eight inches high, with all manner of cords, wires, and bits of…um…stuff poking out of it.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Watch.” Geeky B smiles, takes the handset of his phone from the cradle and places it into a form-fitting receptacle on top of the contraption. Then there is a flurry of keystrokes and incantations (and I think he may have brandished a magic wand). The contraption lights up and starts making all kinds of weird noises. As Geeky B types, we watch a glowing green sentence appear on his computer screen:

Hey, Gates, what’s up?

That’s when the magic happens. Words start to appear beneath Geeky B’s sentence, except he isn't typing them.

Not much, Geeky B. Got to Level Ten on Frogger today.

Far out. Still working on that stupid micro-whatever program?

Yeah, but my mom’s being a total cow, she says me and Steve gotta mow the lawn and rake the leaves once a week or she’s not gonna pay for our Doritos and Coke any more.

As the “conversation” continues, Geeky B turns to look at our puzzled expressions with a crafty smile. “Do you know where that’s coming from?” He asks. Of course, we don’t. “Texas!” (What? You thought I was going to say Seattle?)

“How?” Stud and I ask, in awe.

He points to the contraption, “Through that. It’s called a Modem.” (Cue the Steven Spielberg-esque music).

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the internet.

The year is 2008.

On a wee patch of volcanic land, somewhere in the South Pacific, from the comfort of my bed, (yes, I write in bed), I am “speaking” to you over the very same internet I witnessed the birth of way back in Geeky B’s bedroom.

Twenty years, less really, that’s all it took to get from there to here. Twenty years ago, I would have had to rely on letters to communicate with the outside world. Today, I can communicate with Beckster back in Nelson, in real time, via Instant Messaging, while she speaks to the Ripster via satellite phone, as he stands on the summit of Mt. Everest. How crazy is that?

I owe much to the internet. I live in a place with no bookstore and no library – heck, you can’t even buy a watch here – but I can research anything, down to the smallest detail with just my trusty laptop, (or “Lappy” as he’s affectionately known) and a few cords.

But there is a dark side to all this technology. Sometimes, I think they should have called it the Crack-net, to better express the internet’s addictive qualities. Be honest, how much time do you spend on Facebook? The other danger of the internet is the anonymity factor. Predators and bullies, who, in real life, are confined to back alleys or their parent’s basements, find a world, rich in victims, they can move through freely, all with the click of a mouse. And of course, as easily as I can find information on a 5^th Century BC trade vessel, so others can also, just as easily, find information on how to make a bomb with the items you keep under your kitchen sink. Scary.

While I manage to avoid – I hope – most of the predators and terrorists, and my limited bandwidth/speed keeps me from wasting too much reality time online, I have run into my share of bullies. If you’ve spent any time at all on a discussion board, you know exactly what I’m talking about because there’s always one, often more than one, of these real-life losers who live to taunt and ridicule unsuspecting newcomers to their little internet kingdom.

Discussion boards, or forums as they are also known, are essentially networking platforms for folks to meet online and discuss subjects they are interested in or passionate about. For me, as a writer, they are gold. For the manuscript I’m currently working on, I have a shipwreck forum populated by maritime archaeologists, salvage operators, and shipwreck enthusiasts, from all over the world, who supply me with leads and information I would otherwise spend months, maybe years, trying to track down. I am constantly overwhelmed with gratitude for the assistance these strangers so willingly provide. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!)

I’ve been working on a short story I hope to enter in a competition this summer and I needed some technical information on life rafts. I emailed the Fergs and the Flying Powers (my blow-boater friends) for some info but I also found a good sailing website with a bustling forum, which I posted on. I’m always honest about my intentions when I post on forums, and so I explained that I was a writer, working on a short story, and looking for answers to a few technical questions.

So, what kind of responses did I get?

Most, as usual, were excellent, positive, comprehensive, and friendly. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!) But, as usual, the bullies had to rear their ugly cyber-heads. Two fellows, in particular, seem to…well, how about I just let you read some of their comments:

“Look...I could be like everyone else here and tell you to get a real job....but I don't…”

“Professionally I wrote already over 180 reports...all over 50 pages they also have charts, tables, recommendations, fancy calculations and each is sold very expensively.... etc...
So I guess I am a writer too...just like you....PFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

“He passes away a sucker, much like those that read this post... she is gone now, adrift in words that almost could be called plagiarism - a egoistic parasite that when given the chance dances for only the five minutes but if no quarters remain in the jukebox - gone - for ever more...”

There’s more, but you get the idea.

The best thing to do with these sorts of sad people is ignore them. Their rants are the same on every forum, on every subject. They are no different than the school yard bullies who, undoubtedly, used to beat up my friend Geeky B because he had the audacity to be different.

The year is 1998.

I’m all gussied up for the final X-Files wrap party at the Planetarium. From behind me, in the elevator, a deep voice says, “Princess?” When I turn around, a tall, dark-haired, strikingly handsome man, in an expensive suit and tie, is smiling at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, apologetically, “do I…”

“It’s me, Geeky B!” he says.

And so it is. We hug. He tells me about the big software company he is part owner of. I tell him about my job as a stunt performer. Neither of us is surprised by our career choices but we are ecstatic at our mutual success.

Is there a moral to this story?

QUESTION: Is there a moral to this story?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Big news this week, the Heineken store brought in a shipment of celery! If you didn’t see the report on CNN, I’m here to tell you it was quite an event. Speaking of news, (nice transition, don’t you think?) you may have heard that the Chinese summited Mt. Everest with the Olympic torch. What you probably didn’t hear about was the circus of paranoia and oppression leading up to the summit. I’m often saddened, though not shocked, at the lengths to which people will go to hide their own failings. I’ll return to China later (well, not literally, seeing as I’ve never been there) but first I’ll share some local drama with you.

Before we came to Perfect Beach Resort, we knew one our jobs would be to run lagoon tours for the guests. The Aitutaki lagoon – which, by the way, should be a Unesco World Heritage site – is the attraction of this island. If you come to Aitutaki, and don’t do a lagoon tour, you’ve missed the point.

The boat Mr.Boss was using for his tours worked well for him but for Prez, well, let’s just say it was a little on the primitive side. In his typical, gung-ho, entrepreneurial fashion, Prez instantly saw the potential of the lagoon and the reef that rings in. He convinced our employer to invest in a better quality, more sea-worthy craft and quickly set about exploring the waters surrounding us. What he found was a stretch of magnificent coral canyons populated by numerous schools of reef fish as well as large pelagics such as Humphead Wrasse and graceful Eagle Rays. Better still, this was a playground he could have to himself as no other tour operators ventured outside the reef.

In just a few months, Prez perfected his itinerary. First stop, weather permitting, would be at least one or more of the canyons outside the reef, usually with a visit to Eagle Ray Alley where the rays like to feed and play. Next he’d come back inside for lunch, on one of the idyllic motus, and more snorkeling in spots such as The Aquarium, The Coral Gardens, and The Pinnacles, and, the highlight, the Giant Clam Reserve. The tour takes a full day and guests spend most of it in the water snorkeling, which they love.

Word of mouth has made Prez’s “Adventure Snorkel Tour” the must-do tour on the island. Oh, we get the odd guest who gets seasick outside the reef, or who feels much too far out of their comfort zone, but overall the excursions get rave reviews. The guests are happy, we’re happy, Mr.Boss is happy, everybody is happy, right?

Nope.

We’re new, we’re foreigners, we’re popular, and that makes us a target for every disgruntled tour operator on the island looking for someone to blame when their business is not as robust as it could be.

There’s no shortage of lagoon tours on Aitutaki and every tour offers something slightly different. Large boats cater to the crowd more interested in looking at the water than being in it. They have ukulele players, games, and cook up king-sized lunches. The medium boats can go to places the big boats can’t, so they can offer more snorkeling but still provide amenities such as sun-cover and BBQ lunches. In the small boat category, of which we are one of only a few members, tours can be more personalized but that does mean foregoing many of the creature comforts of the larger tours. We cater to adventure travelers who want action, action, action, and don’t mind a little rain on their head, or peeing in the ocean instead of a toilet. But there’s a tour for every taste.

Like everywhere else we’ve been, though, you’re always going to find the folks who, for whatever reason, have a business that’s not doing well and want to pin their failure on the ones who are. Months ago we got the wink that some of these scapegoat-seekers were starting a petition against us. And a few weeks ago, the Mayor lodged a formal complaint against us, in Rarotonga. Mr. Boss was questioned regarding our work permits and an email dialogue ensued between us about how to handle this situation.

And this takes me back to China, (again, not literally).

For those who know nothing about Everest, there are two sides from which you can attempt a summit. One side is in Nepal – the side the Ripster and crew are on this very minute – and one side is in Tibet, that hotly disputed Chinese territory. Concerned about protests, the Chinese closed the Tibet side of Everest to all climbers – supposedly until after their summit but now it appears the closure will remain for the season. As much as I disagree with their action, for a multitude of reasons, I suppose I can see their point.

Then they closed the Nepalese side as well, until May 10th. Huh? (Long story). Well now, we wouldn’t want some climber on the summit displaying a “Free Tibet” banner next to the guy holding the torch aloft for Chinese propaganda…er…I mean news. What the Chinese don’t give a rat’s ass about is the fact that Nepal’s economy relies heavily on Everest and the expedition companies who bring in the climbers and trekkers.

Talk about your Grade A clusterf**k. Rules, supposedly set in stone, regarding where climbers could and could not go, what kind of communication systems they could or could not use, and just when they would actually be allowed to climb, changed daily, sometimes hourly, and sometimes no one really knew what was going on at all. Expedition operators had to sign confidentiality agreements (gag orders) or risk being tossed out of the country. And all this on the opposite side of a very large mountain from the Chinese.

Here’s what makes me scratch my head. If the Chinese had just gone ahead and climbed the mountain, without the fufooraw, and even if some climber had whipped out a photo of the Dalai Lama and danced a jig in the background, (unlikely, there’s very little jig dancing done at 29,0000 feet), what’s the worst that would have happened? China’s oppression of Tibet is hardly a well kept secret, not to mention that the world has already, very vocally, voiced their disapproval. There’d be a few blurbs on CNN, a few fists raised in anger, and then we’d all go back to monitoring Brangelina’s latest adoption or Paris Hilton’s latest…well, whatever the heck she’s doing these days (I’m out of touch, thank goodness).

All they’ve succeeded in doing, as far as I’m concerned, is cementing, in the minds of many, their reputation as anti-democratic tyrants hell bent on stuffing a sock in the mouths of free thinkers and duct-taping them closed.  And, hey, aren’t the Olympic games about peace?

Until Tibet is free, China will remain a failure as a super power, and no amount of censorship can hide that.

And that brings me back to Aitutaki, (literally)…

What to do about the anti-Prez & Princess campaign? I know my hubby had his feelings bruised, particularly since he’s been working his butt off, on his own time, building a website to help boost tourism to the island. Mr. Boss wrote a three page plea for tolerance and understanding, which we, thankfully, talked him out of sending. Me? I just laughed. I urged Prez to ignore it, keep on doing what he’s doing, and focus on the positive and all the truly good people we’ve met here. For once, he listened to his wife, (oh, come on, I’m just kidding!)

Time judges all. Hard work, a positive attitude, and solid ethics will win out every time over pettiness and greed. And men of peace and goodwill, who value freedom and free speech, will always, however long it takes, prevail over tyrants.

FREE TIBET!

QUESTION: What would you do?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life,

The Princess

 p.s. For more info, have a look at the daily Everest dispatches on www.peakfreaks.com and to see Prez's happy clients just watch the slide show from the pervious post!

Hello again from the Big Blue,

She came, she saw, she photographed…and photographed…and photographed. My twelve days with Helmi the Wonder Editor flew by far too quickly. Luckily, we have plenty of pictorial evidence of her stay, not to mention a new nickname to add to the list: “Photo-Op Helmi”.

Much happened in only twelve days. New friends were made, new sights were seen, new adventures were had. You will recall from the last Chronicle, Helmi’s introduction to the wonderful world of snorkeling? Well, I’m proud to say, on her last full day, she actually snorkeled in the wide open ocean! This is no small feat. Even folks who are comfortable in the water get intimidated by the Big Blue – home of creatures with large pointy teeth and tentacles. OK, I’ve never seen any big teeth or tentacles out there but this is what people imagine lingers beneath their tender, exposed limbs as they swim. What a sight, then, to see my friend floating along, swaying with the surge, in a state of perfect relaxation. Ten bonus points for that!

Of course, later she would discover the joy of snorkeling against a strong current, inside the lagoon – we can’t have her getting too complacent, can we?

One of my great joys, these past twelve days, was having a fellow language lover to talk with. A professional snorkeller, Helmi may never be, but when it comes to language she is aces. Born in Germany, she first discovered her passion for language in elementary school. Her teacher wrote the word “father” on the board and then went on to write it in several different languages, pointing out the connections between them. She was amazed. At university, she majored in English and minored in Spanish, with the goal of becoming a translator.  Language would prove to be her ticket out of her homeland and off into the world she longed to explore. While she has traveled extensively, and lived in a few different countries, Helmi has put down roots in Canada and has adopted English as her primary language. I might add, she speaks and writes English better than most people who were born in Canada. When I asked how her native tongue was faring after so many years, she said her family tells her, on visits home, that she speaks in “Broken German”.

Language also happens to be one of the qualities I most admire about the Cook Islanders. Though all islanders speak English, Maori is the official language, (it is a different dialect than the New Zealand variety). The Maori language was developed when there was a shortage of consonants in the world. Consequently, native speakers sound a bit like they are talking while a dentist works on a back molar. Here is a Maori sentence: E iva anani i runga i te paata. Please don’t ask me what it means, I merely pulled it from a textbook, but it has nine consonants and fourteen vowels. Impressive. Equally impressive is the fact that, despite the heavy-handed influence of the “civilized” world, including a whole whack of missionaries bent on reforming the heathens, islanders have managed to hang onto their language.  

Good for them.

In the shops and restaurants, you will hear the locals slip back and forth from English to Maori as naturally as breathing. I’m sure I’ve been talked about more than once in Maori. I’m beginning to suspect,  “Aa ke tupua i moana ke teina” means “Oh god, here comes that skinny, white girl checking to see if there are any packages, again. Can’t she get a life?” But nowhere is the Maori language more beautiful than in church.

Yeah, you heard that correctly, church.

Last Sunday, Helmi and I got dudded up and went downtown to sample a little religiosity. We’re neither of us godly but the traditional Maori choir at the Christian church here is mentioned in every guide book as a must-do activity. The guide books, I can now swear on a stack of bibles, are not lying. To traditional (read: boring) church hymns, the Cook Islanders bring a savage beauty. Even the most joyful black gospel choir would be hard pressed to match the power of these crooners. The hymns are sung in Maori and sung loud enough to make even god say, “OK, OK, I get it now can you keep it down, it’s Sunday and I’m trying to rest!” The men and women call back and forth to each other in song much the same way they do in their own music, which made all of my hairs stand on end. I loved this, it strikes me as an almost imperceptible act of defiance, as if they are saying, “You can make us wear clothes and give up our traditions…but not all of them.”

The service was given in both languages but I would have preferred to hear it all in Maori. Foreign languages are also a kind of music to me.

We are now six months into our stint here at Perfect Beach Resort. Our guests come from all over the world and we have learned the art of communication with speakers of many tongues. Most world travelers have at least a rudimentary grasp of English and some are proficient in three or more popular languages. All this leaves me more than a little embarrassed at my mono-linguism. Take the Swiss girl who lamented to me that she spoke seven languages fluently, several more with some degree of fluency, but her Navajo, damn it, was pretty poor. My ability to count to five in Japanese did not score any points with her.

I love the way Swiss and German people pronounce the word “smoothie”, by the way. Smoovie.

Many of my conversations with Helmi, however, focused on the English language, specifically as it relates to literature. I call her the Wonder Editor for good reason; she is the police officer who patrols my stories, kicking out mixed up tenses and bad punctuation. She is the yin to my yang. I have no shortage of imagination, what I lack is the discipline to keep my creativity under control and within the parameters of good grammar. One of the reasons I love writing these Chronicles is that i kan write bad englush and it don’t matter none. (As she reads this, Helmi is squirming!) 

But all too soon the snorkeling and language discussions were over. Helmi of Many Nicknames was loaded back onto Air Rarotonga, and now I have to do my own dishes again. (I told you I was being spoiled, Helmi!) I will miss her terribly. (Not just because of the dishes).

We now enter the busy season so don’t be surprised if the odd Coconut Chronicle is tardy. Already, my personal emails for the past two weeks have stacked up and wait, unanswered and accusing. (Martha and Patty-Cakes, thanks so much for the Tiger Sauce and Licorice, I’ll write soon, promise!) Thankfully, this is also the start of our winter. Ah, winter! Nights get so cold now we actually have to put a sheet on…brrrrrrrrr!

I will leave you with my favorite photo of Helmi; I hope it makes you smile as much as it does me.

QUESTION: What language have you always wanted to learn?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. – New photo album coming soon!

Kick Helmi, kick!

A Late Hello from the Big Blue!

I suppose a spanking is in order for my tardiness. That’s OK, I’m a big girl, can take it. I have excuses, as always, but I will spare you the verbiage and cut to the chase.

Helmi the Wonder Editor is here! Her journey was not without its share of adventure, however. Anyone who has invited a guest from afar to visit will understand how much I wished for the weather to be perfect and for Aitutaki to make a memorable first impression on her. Memorable? Yes. Not quite in the way I’d hoped, though. First, her flight from Los Angeles arrived in Rarotonga only to find the airport shrouded in clouds and darkness. Wisely, the Air New Zealand pilot decided not to attempt a landing in such bad conditions and opted, instead to land in Tahiti – an hour away – where they could refuel and wait for the weather to clear a little. And don’t think this meant Helmi got to enjoy some down time in French Polynesia. Nope. All the passengers had to remain onboard while the plane was refueled. Onboard with, I might add, their seat belts unfastened, (because if the plane explodes in 2.3 seconds you may be able to escape if your seatbelt is not secured).

Meanwhile, back on Aitutaki…

I had my morning all planned out, leaving plenty of time for grooming and such. Then the phone rang and “Hi Princess, it’s William at the airport, do you have a room for a single traveler? I have a young woman here who needs a place for two nights.” Did we have a room? Yes. Was it clean? Hold on, I have to stop laughing before I answer that. Not only was the room not clean but also the gentleman who’d checked out left it in a state similar to what the room might look like after a troupe of howler monkeys had stayed in it for the weekend. Frantic cleaning ensued. Mere minutes before we were scheduled to leave for the airport, red-faced and cranky, I took a military shower and jumped into a clean set of duds. Nevertheless, I was still bouncing up and down, excited to see my friend.

We waited at the gate. Watched the plane land. Scanned the passengers walking across the tarmac. Watched all the passengers leave. No Helmi. Well, I thought, that’s strange. 

My attempts to find out where in the world my friend was, including numerous phone calls and frustrating website searching, were futile. But, eventually, the phone rang and Helmi told us the scoop.

The next flight arrived and there she was…in the middle of one of the worst rainstorms we’ve had in months. Welcome to our tropical paradise! Sigh. She was thrilled to be here, not least of all because of the death defying, bumpy plane ride from Raro – apparently the worst she’s ever been on and this is someone who’s traveled extensively in South America.

At last we are together. What a treat! One suitcase was dedicated entirely to goodies for us. Some were expected: DVD cleaner, hair elastics, Tiger Sauce. Some were a pleasant surprise: Bengal tea, a couple terrific books, licorice, chocolate from around the globe, and much more. So many luxuries all at once; it felt like Xmas!

Xmas comes early...

We have been doing some touristy things but the weather has been less than stellar and I do still have to work, so it is not completely a vacation. Helmi has been offering her help at every turn, which is appreciated, but I also have to be firm at times and make her go relax and enjoy. Darn German blood of hers!

There are many aspects of this visit which I am enjoying, not the least of which is a familiar face and a set of ears willing to listen to me ramble and babble about this and that. But it is especially nice to see Aitutaki through a fresh set of eyes. We humans are so adaptable; the same scenery that once took our breath away quickly fades into the tapestry of everyday life. Helmi’s many exclamations of awe at her surroundings serve as a much-needed reminder that I am indeed living in a pretty spectacular place.

And here I need to make an important point. Helmi is not a water person. Oh she likes water and I know she is loving this lagoon, but I’m sure she’d be the first to tell you that water is not a comfortable environment for her. But one cannot come to Aitutaki and miss the wonders of its underwater world. So, we have had “snorkel training”. There is much laughter and the occasional snout full of salt water but Helmi gets gold stars for bravery and persistence.

What is your element? Where is it that you feel that “aaaaahhhh” sensation? For me it has always been the water. I love the desert, I’m enchanted by mountains, forests humble me, but water is where I feel confident and free. Prez, even more so - I like my water a lot more sedate than he does.

But why are some people drawn to certain environments while others are not. Even people who are born and raised in roughly the same area are often compelled to seek out vastly different landscapes. Cities and crowds make my palms sweat. My girlfriend, Deb Mac, once had to talk me down on the streets of Santa Monica. For those who haven’t been, downtown Santa Monica, California is a kaleidoscope of people, and shops, and sounds, and smells. While Deb breezed effortlessly in and out of stores, weaving through throngs of people like a pro, I felt as if the world were closing in around me, suffocating me. Conversely, I’m sure she would feel just as out of place if I strapped a bunch of dive gear on her back and dropped her eighty feet down in the ocean.

Another time, Prez and I took a couple out on our Mako for a short cruise and the woman confessed to me that although she admired the beauty of water she would never be comfortable around it. She had grown up in Kansas or one of those landlocked states and whenever she traveled to a coastal city she said she felt as if she might fall off the edge of the world at any moment. I laughed at this because, for me, traveling away from the coast brings on an overwhelming bout of claustrophobia. I feel hemmed in.

As wonderful as it is to recognize the element in which you are most at home, I believe it is valuable to occasionally cross into other realms. I hope one day to trek in the mountains with our dear Peak Freaks. A trip to New York City is also on my “to do” list, if you can believe it. I know these are places outside of my comfort zone but one of the joys of life is challenge, isn’t it?

Helmi’s willingness to immerse herself, quite literally, in an unfamiliar element, earns her an extra helping of respect in my books. Yesterday, Prez took a bunch of us to One Foot Island for the day and Helmi came along when we ventured off for a quickie snorkel adventure out in the lagoon, far from the safety of shore. Her mask leaked and I know she had a bit of struggle but I also know, from the expression she had on her face, that it was worth it. You don’t have to be Jacques Cousteau to be dazzled by the site of a giant Moray Eel being groomed by a tiny cleaner Wrasse, or by a gang of brilliant red Soldier Fish hiding under a coral ledge, or by any of the many bright and colourful fish in this lagoon.

I know Helmi feels a little inadequate, sometimes embarrassed, and that my efforts to help her explore this new environment are somehow a chore or a burden to me but she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m so proud of her!    

Helmi Cousteau at the bow of the boat...

Wait until I tell her about the shark dive I have planned for us next week!

Wonder Editor & Princess hanging on the motu...

QUESTION: What is your element?

Until next week, (yes, I promise to be more punctual), I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess