[Lavender Haiku] #Poetry #Photo #Wordless Wednesday

garden lavender

Photo credit: Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

Late afternoon sun
Perfuming a slight warm breeze
Lavender grows here

 By Princess Rosebud

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Au Revoir, Facebook

For the last and final time, Facebook has thwarted my desire to be known far and wide by my nom de plume, Princess Rosebud.

For my friends who like me on Facebook, I am so sorry.

No longer will I be able to waste hours and hours with you.

I will miss you!

I thought the most recent ploy on their part to force me to reveal my true name was successfully sidestepped by christening myself Rose Bushes which I believed was a singularly brilliant albeit tongue-in-cheek gaming of their stupid RULES.

Today, out of the blue, Facebook shut me out again,

I give up.

This time, they demand I send them some form of “acceptable” identification, like a driver’s license or a passport, which I feel is a huge violation of my legal and privacy rights.

I will NOT be doing that.

Of course, they will say it’s their sandbox and their rules.

P.S. There’s a chance that my blog posts will still automatically appear on my now defunct FB pages but I won’t be able to comment or converse with anyone. My sincere apologies!

So be it.

Je suis Princess Rosebud.

Au revoir, my friends.

Of course, you can still be my friend on Twitter…

https://twitter.com/EnchantedCshel

Ello, anyone?

 

 

Snow…Snow…SNOW! In Southern California!

Reflective
like the nacre of a million
perfectly pristine pearls
A confection of frosted pines
                                                           (by Princess Rosebud)


SNOW

It might not be a big deal to a lot of you who experience snow every winter, but snow falling to around one thousand feet in the foothills of our valleys and mountains is a big deal for this Southern California girl!

An arctic storm brought a lot of snow down to almost record breaking levels; of course my tugboat man and I needed to end 2014 with a snowball fight. The snow was amazingly light and fluffy.

jeffsnowball copy

A winter wonderland  and only about twenty minutes away!

snow8LOOK!! A REAL BISON! Blurry ‘cos we were driving…snowbisonPhoto gallery of all my pics. Very nice special effects from WordPress with the snow over snow but then I’m easily amused.

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Just a Cup of Coffee – The Love Story of Princess Rosebud and her Captain – Part One

Today:  Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. That’s the life of a tugboat captain’s wife. Right now he’s not..

weddingpicture

Yup, the secret’s out. I’m married to Johnny Depp

The Wedding: February 21, 1994

Our song, our first dance as husband and wife. “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole
http://youtu.be/wkVuQGgx7d8

The Beginning…This is the love story of me, Princess Rosebud, and the tugboat captain.

We met when I was a year into my deal with myself to stay celibate until I met someone, uh, worthy…

Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010… At 3:40 this afternoon, I was in the threshold of our garage door that leads into the living room where I had dragged in a ladder to help with my latest project–painting the living room walls a divine shade of seafoam green–to stay busy when the captain’s out to sea. I mean, I can’t shop ALL the time. A girl has to take a break now and again, right? I set the ladder down and went back to close the garage door. At that precise moment, the glass vases on the shelves surrounding our fireplace began to vibrate and wobble. Here in SoCal, I’ve endured a handful of quakes, but never such intense shaking.

Through the open garage door I saw the bicycles that hang from the ceiling sway back and forth. As I attempted to process THAT information, the crystal lustres on my grandmother’s antique porcelain candelabras clashed and clinked. Terracotta tile flooring in the foyer seemed to roll back and forth as if I was on a sailboat in San Diego Bay, and I had a difficult time standing.

Feeling dizzy and unbalanced, I grasped the doorway for support.  My poor kitty gave me a dirty look like I had interrupted her nap on purpose. So much for the concept that animals can sense an earthquake–not this spoiled little brat.

I ran up our oak-planked steps into the family room and through the patio doors onto the deck and shouted out to the neighbors.

“Look at your pool!”

“I know, this is crazy! Are you OK? Any damage?”

“I don’t think so. A couple seashells fell off the shelf in the family room, but I was so freaked, I didn’t want to stay inside, so I ran out back. I don’t know if we should stay in the house or what we should do!”

“Us either! Let’s see what’s on the news.”

This quake was so violent that it caused the water in their pool to slosh over the sides like a mini-tsunami. We each went back in our respective homes and turned on CNN. We discovered that there had been a 7.2 earthquake in Mexico. The first reports that came in revealed a lot of damage near the epicenter in Mexicali, but no major problems in San Diego; only broken glass and falling cans at grocery stores, which seemed pretty miraculous considering the earthquake’s size.

Still spooked by the shaking and some pretty strong aftershocks, I surveyed the house, removing anything unsecured and potentially dangerous.

This is as good a time as any to confess something.

I’m a shell-aholic.

seashell mirrorI’ve got shelves and shelves of seashells in every room–including the bathroom. Everyone collects seashells, right? One here, one there, as a memory of a great beach or a fun vacation, right? Well…I’m a seashell hoarder. I want ALL seashells–there are never enough seashells to collect or buy. I make things out of some of them–picture frames, mirrors, boxes–they line the walls in our two bathrooms and even our front door, but mostly they just hang out–in bowls, on shelves, anywhere and everywhere. There is no empty space in our house, and if there is, it’s quickly filled with a shell–or a rock.

After a couple decades, we have come to an understanding, the captain and I. He thinks I’m crazy and obsessed with shells and rocks and driftwood, and I don’t destroy his surfboards if he doesn’t give me a hard time about it.

I anxiously emailed the captain who’s half a world away in the middle of an ocean. I figured that if anything would cause him to cut his four month assignment short, this might be it. The way that emailing works in deep ocean situations is through a pretty inefficient satellite; sometimes it takes hours to complete the process. If there’s a real emergency, I have a phone number to call, but this didn’t really fit the definition. I wasn’t hurt and the house wasn’t damaged or anything. When he finally read the email and wrote back, he told me to “standby” at the house phone because he would try to make a call from the boat’s sat phone. When he called, I used all my powers of persuasion to convince him to come home, but to no avail. He simply wasn’t going to call the United States Coast Guard to fly a rescue mission a thousand miles from land to bring  him home because the kitty and I were scared.

Well, I know where I stand in his list of priorities. Hmmm, I wonder if this is when I hatched my plot to get that Chanel. Hmmm, I wonder.

After that stressful event, and many aftershocks later, some pampering was definitely well deserved. That evening, I drew a bath in the upstairs bathroom we call the spa because it’s decorated in earthy tones with seashells and beach glass surrounding the mirrors and along the walls.

(I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care.)

I lit a fragrant and calming lavender candle, eased my body into the almost too-hot-to-stand-it water, and trickled in ginger and lemongrass aromatherapy oils. Sipping from a glass of merlot, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and my thoughts wandered.

Experiencing an earthquake; the dizziness, the weightless feeling in a tub of warm water; it all reminded me of falling in love. It all felt the same… and it all started with a fifty cent cup of coffee.

Newly divorced in 1990, I speed dated a few guys, including one totally boring and slightly scary man who immediately wanted me to meet his parents after the first (and last) date, along with a couple of total idiots whose combined IQs prolly didn’t equal my Border Collie‘s. Those unsavory experiences became flashing red lights–STOP! NO! THINK!–impossible to ignore–that I seriously needed to take some time off the dating circuit.

It was the perfect time for a list.

I’m an inveterate list maker; I prioritize my errands and even list groceries in the order of where they’re located in the store– like my own custom board game–where I start at the entrance and finish at the cash register.

I wrote this particular list with the hope that if I documented the qualities desired in a significant other, the universe would deliver the right one when all the planets were aligned. Or so I dreamed.

At midnight on August 7th, 1990, with a bottle of wine to seal the deal, I made a promise to myself–I would not date (or do anything else) for a very long time, and the next one would be “the one”.

The List
1. Must call when he says he will. This is non-negotiable.
2. Must show up on time for dates.
3. Must love pets. Also non-negotiable.
4. No cigarettes. No smoking, and of course, no drugs.
5. Likes to exercise, work out, eat healthy, etc.
6. Must have gainful employment.
7. Must be nice and polite and honest and trustworthy.
8. Fidelity is of paramount importance.
9. When the time is right and he meets my son, my son has to like him. Also non-negotiable.

Fast forward to a year later, the following September 1991.

Tomorrow:
Part Two…Just a cup of coffee, the love story of Princess Rosebud and the tugboat captain

Princess Rosebud and Her Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

I will speak in third person, not sure why, but that’s how I’m feeling at this exact moment so that’s how I’ll roll.

Princess Rosebud had a terrible, horrible, no good, VERY BAD DAY.

Her arms are crossed, lower lip jutting out, brow furrowed (as much as a Botoxed brow can be) and she’s stomping her foot.

A melt-down is imminent.

The day had started out in spectacular fashion.

Her Tugboat Man was FINALLY! COMING HOME!

He had been gone for almost a month and Princess Rosebud missed him a lot especially since he had been absent during the whole retinal tear/laser surgery episode as well as the “meeting Al Gore” event.

The house was spotless; the bed freshly made with 800 thread count linens that had been ironed and perfumed (with Chanel), ‘cos even a tough tugboat captain gets tired of smelling diesel fuel all the time and he appreciates the little things.

After hitting the trifecta: Trader Joe’s, BevMo, and Sprouts, she dragged nine bags of groceries from her car to the house and up the flight of steps to reach the kitchen (they live in a Southern California tri-level).  She then walked back down to the garage to bring up a bottle of Gruet champagne and a couple bottles of wine.

Taking care of the most important chore first, Princess Rosebud placed the champagne and a bottle of chardonnay in the refrigerator and gathered together flour, cocoa, sugar, and eggs for a baking session.

The special welcome home menu would be Caesar Salad with homemade dressing, freshly baked French bread, and a (hopefully) moist and fudgey decadent chocolate cake.

Taking a brief moment to drink a glass of refreshing lemon water, she opened her computer to check for an email from her Tugboat Man with specific flight details. The airport is about forty minutes away and takes much longer if there’s traffic, and there’s usually tons of traffic.

This is what she found in her Inbox:

From MASTER XXXXXX
Bad news they’re asking me to do another trip. I’ve asked them to keep looking for someone else but it’s a possibility. Not happy, sorry. 

(She pounded out a swift reply, of course all in caps.)

To MASTER XXXXXX
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I JUST WENT GROCERY SHOPPING FOR YOU. OMG. IS THIS A JOKE?

(Storm clouds on the horizon. An upset Princess is NOT a good thing to behold.)

From MASTER XXXXXX
I am not kidding.  I will have more time off when I do get home. Just trying to look at the bright side. Now you can eat for a while. I will call you tomorrow with the final word. Love you.

To MASTER XXXXXX
I don’t know what to say. 

(She had a lot to say, but didn’t want to say anything she’d regret at a later date.)

From MASTER XXXXXX
You and me both honey.

What was Princess going to do? She had been so very excited to see her Tugboat Man and he was now delayed for two weeks because his relief captain was unable to take over for some reason. 

It’s not like this never happens in the life of a professional mariner.

It’s always a possibility.

Other mariner spouses have all experienced the “delay”. Either the assignment lasts longer than expected, or another obstacle presents itself.

Like this. Like having to work an extra two weeks because the company is in a bind.

That’s why most of the time Princess doesn’t allow herself to get too excited or plan anything until she knows he’s at the airport and on his way.

But this story has a happy ending. Sort of.

No, her Tugboat Man didn’t get a reprieve; he’s still scheduled to return around the 26th, but Princess’ friend came over and helped her drown her sorrows with a couple of bottles of wine purchased for the homecoming celebration.

A different ending than one of Angel Boy’s favorite childhood books…

81nv120C-aL

…but the message is the same.

We can learn to cope when things don’t go our way — and in my case, a few glasses of wine turned my frown upside down!

Wandering to Zion…Part Two

Wandering to Zion, Day One: Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man
Part One and a Half…Wandering to Zion
***********************************************************************************************************

We were meandering; taking our sweet time getting to our ultimate destination of Zion National Park.  Zion was so crowded that we figured it was the perfect excuse to explore lesser known parks.

That’s how we roll, me and my tugboat man. This was the most relaxed road trip we’ve embarked upon; no stress or pressure — no deadline.

Moving on, literally…we left Payson, Arizona and drove to Tonto Natural Bridge State Park. We hiked to the largest travertine bridge in the world — 183 feet high with a tunnel width of 150 feet and length of 400 feet.

There was a bit of scary, slippery rock scrambling with a moderately steep drop; not one of my favorite things to do, but the view was worth it.

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Our next stop was the nearly 700 year-old Salado cave dwellings at Tonto National Monument. To get to them, there’s a steep but paved one-mile round-trip trail that ascends 350 feet to the Lower Cave Dwelling.

Built in the early 14th century, this village was part of a vast multi-cultural network that extended from the Four Corners region to Northern Mexico. While remnants of thousands of similar villages dot the Southwest, this well-preserved building represents one of the last Salido cliff dwellings. Local springs provided water for Paleo-Indians who lived here over 10,500 years ago.

There was so much to see and be amazed by —

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t am so in LOVE with Saguaro cactus — those arms that dot the landscape all over Arizona. We don’t have that variety of cactus in SoCal. I got a package of seeds and hope they sprout.

Saguaro cactus

Along the road, whenever we saw something that looked cool, we’d stop and follow a trail or hike to a monument or a site.

OldHouseAZ

It began to get late and we couldn’t find a campground again so we stayed at a Howard Johnson in Holbrook, Arizona. There was a quaint little Italian restaurant in walking distance with great pizza and decent chianti.

I’m not overly fond of hotels — I always make hub check for bugs and bring my own sanitizer — but it’s nice to take a shower and wash off the dust at the end of a long day. I don’t care if it’s a a five-star hotel, either. Have you seen those TV shows that expose the dirt and germs? So much ick, right?

Side note: Only in California do all public restrooms provide seat protectors. There needs to be a Federal law that make seat protectors mandatory. I HATE going all old school with toilet paper lining the seat — but I NEED that barrier between me and the rest of the world

Next time, Part Three of Wandering to Zion with Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

R.I.P. Customer Service, Courtesy, Professionalism…Blah, Blah, Blah

News Flash!

Customer service has died. It’s DEAD. Completely. At this point, not even on life support.

If I thought drivers were rude and inconsiderate (read about that here), that’s just the tip of the iceberg compared to the employees in some doctor’s offices.

I used to work in a doctor’s office. One of my family members is an ophthalmologist and I worked front and back office after school and summers during high school and college.

I know this world. I enjoyed greeting patients, doing the initial exam and histories with them, and even filing insurance. As medical offices jobs go, it’s not bad — no contagious diseases to attack me (other than conjunctivitis)  nor many screaming and germ spewing children.

What I’m about to disclose really happened. I am quoting verbatim.

[Setting the scene]

I’m entering the orthopedic doc’s office to pick up a new brace because the one they had given me at a previous follow-up appointment to check on the healing status of my broken wrist was too big. It was supposed to be waiting for me at the front desk.

For the previous post detailed how it happened, click here.

I walk up to the reception desk.  The receptionist was on her cell phone — her PERSONAL cell phone.

She looked up, glanced at me, IGNORED me, and spoke into (to) her phone: “Did you get the picture I sent you?”

Remember that I’m standing there, patiently even, not a whit of snarky Princess Rosebud demeanor, just watching and listening and thinking to myself, “Right there on the wall is that little plaque that asks us all to…

Turn Cell Phone Off sign

I’m thinking, who is that sign meant to police? Us? But not her?

She says, “Hold on” to whomever is on the other end and reluctantly and with GREAT attitude swivels in her chair to address me WITH A SNEER worthy of Elvis at his finest:

“Yes?” (Like beeyotch, are you f-ing kidding me?) YES?? Like that is how you address a patient?

I replied, “I’ll wait until you’re off the phone with your personal call.”

OH. SUH-NAP.

This is a cool gif, but I think it only works if you click on it. Soz.

This is a cool gif; if it doesn’t automatically work for you, click on it.

WAIT FOR THIS. HOLD ON. WAIT FOR IT. WAIT FOR IT.

You gotta know this is EXACTLY what she said to me.

Are you ready? You won’t believe it.

“I’m not on the phone.”

The hubris, the attitude, the BALLS to completely LIE to my face is magnificent.

Ya gotta applaud the ultimate audacity, insolence — the CHUTZPAH — of absolute pathological DENIAL, right?

I looked at her, speechless for once, wondering if I should GO THERE, or should I control my inner beeyotch and take the high road.

I can’t believe I didn’t totes let her experience the full force of my definitely sarcastic-put-her-in-her-place retort, but I was still flabbergasted by her total lie. Right to my face.

I decided not to lower myself to her level and have a face-to-face argument. Pathological liars are very unsatisfactory combatants.

So… I told her I was there to pick up something that was supposed to be at the front desk.

She looked for it, found it, and shoved it across the counter at me.

OK, that hostility was too much for me to bear.

Let me remind you that I had done NOTHING to engender such extreme ATTITUDE.. I’ve only even been there two times prior to this visit.

I asked to speak to the doctor. The physicians’s assistant came out front; apparently the doctor was in surgery. I explained to him what had transpired and that I hoped  that was not the way they wanted their patients to be treated.

What did he say? “Well, maybe she wasn’t on the phone.” Are you KIDDDING ME?

I replied, ‘cos I’m a tenacious little girl, “I heard and saw her speak. I heard what she said to the person on the other end of her cell phone. She said, “Did you get the picture I sent you?”  Now that is most clearly NOT a business call, especially since she was on HER PERSONAL CELL PHONE THAT SHE SLIPPED BACK INTO HER HANDBAG WHILE I WAS WATCHING HER.

Like, are you trying to call me a liar??? (That’s what I was thinking. I didn’t say it)

Not a comment, not a response, nada, zippo – just an “Oh.”

Amazing. I’m only going to be going back there one more time in a month for a final x-ray to make sure my wrist is finally healed and I can start a little physical therapy (it doesn’t want to bend very much.)

Will I go back there? NEVER. Will I break another bone somewhere? Probably, but I will steer clear of that particular practice. When there’s that kind of behavior at the front desk, I bet there are deeper problems behind the scenes in the running their practice. Rudeness like that should never occur.

Question: What do you do when you have a bad customer service experience?

Just a Cup of Coffee – The Love Story of Princess Rosebud and her Captain – Part One

Today:  Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. That’s the life of a tugboat captain’s wife. Right now he’s not..

weddingpicture

Yup, the secret’s out. I’m married to Johnny Depp

The Wedding: February 21, 1994

Our song, our first dance as husband and wife. “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole
http://youtu.be/wkVuQGgx7d8

The Beginning…This is the love story of me, Princess Rosebud, and the tugboat captain.

We met when I was a year into my deal with myself to stay celibate until I met someone, uh, worthy…

Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010… At 3:40 this afternoon, I was in the threshold of our garage door that leads into the living room where I had dragged in a ladder to help with my latest project–painting the living room walls a divine shade of seafoam green–to stay busy when the captain’s out to sea. I mean, I can’t shop ALL the time. A girl has to take a break now and again, right? I set the ladder down and went back to close the garage door. At that precise moment, the glass vases on the shelves surrounding our fireplace began to vibrate and wobble. Here in SoCal, I’ve endured a handful of quakes, but never such intense shaking.

Through the open garage door I saw the bicycles that hang from the ceiling sway back and forth. As I attempted to process THAT information, the crystal lustres on my grandmother’s antique porcelain candelabras clashed and clinked. Terracotta tile flooring in the foyer seemed to roll back and forth as if I was on a sailboat in San Diego Bay, and I had a difficult time standing.

Feeling dizzy and unbalanced, I grasped the doorway for support.  My poor kitty gave me a dirty look like I had interrupted her nap on purpose. So much for the concept that animals can sense an earthquake–not this spoiled little brat.

I ran up our oak-planked steps into the family room and through the patio doors onto the deck and shouted out to the neighbors.

“Look at your pool!”

“I know, this is crazy! Are you OK? Any damage?”

“I don’t think so. A couple seashells fell off the shelf in the family room, but I was so freaked, I didn’t want to stay inside, so I ran out back. I don’t know if we should stay in the house or what we should do!”

“Us either! Let’s see what’s on the news.”

This quake was so violent that it caused the water in their pool to slosh over the sides like a mini-tsunami. We each went back in our respective homes and turned on CNN. We discovered that there had been a 7.2 earthquake in Mexico. The first reports that came in revealed a lot of damage near the epicenter in Mexicali, but no major problems in San Diego; only broken glass and falling cans at grocery stores, which seemed pretty miraculous considering the earthquake’s size.

Still spooked by the shaking and some pretty strong aftershocks, I surveyed the house, removing anything unsecured and potentially dangerous.

This is as good a time as any to confess something.

I’m a shell-aholic.

seashell mirrorI’ve got shelves and shelves of seashells in every room–including the bathroom. Everyone collects seashells, right? One here, one there, as a memory of a great beach or a fun vacation, right? Well…I’m a seashell hoarder. I want ALL seashells–there are never enough seashells to collect or buy. I make things out of some of them–picture frames, mirrors, boxes–they line the walls in our two bathrooms and even our front door, but mostly they just hang out–in bowls, on shelves, anywhere and everywhere. There is no empty space in our house, and if there is, it’s quickly filled with a shell–or a rock.

After a couple decades, we have come to an understanding, the captain and I. He thinks I’m crazy and obsessed with shells and rocks and driftwood, and I don’t destroy his surfboards if he doesn’t give me a hard time about it.

I anxiously emailed the captain who’s half a world away in the middle of an ocean. I figured that if anything would cause him to cut his four month assignment short, this might be it. The way that emailing works in deep ocean situations is through a pretty inefficient satellite; sometimes it takes hours to complete the process. If there’s a real emergency, I have a phone number to call, but this didn’t really fit the definition. I wasn’t hurt and the house wasn’t damaged or anything. When he finally read the email and wrote back, he told me to “standby” at the house phone because he would try to make a call from the boat’s sat phone. When he called, I used all my powers of persuasion to convince him to come home, but to no avail. He simply wasn’t going to call the United States Coast Guard to fly a rescue mission a thousand miles from land to bring  him home because the kitty and I were scared.

Well, I know where I stand in his list of priorities. Hmmm, I wonder if this is when I hatched my plot to get that Chanel. Hmmm, I wonder.

After that stressful event, and many aftershocks later, some pampering was definitely well deserved. That evening, I drew a bath in the upstairs bathroom we call the spa because it’s decorated in earthy tones with seashells and beach glass surrounding the mirrors and along the walls.

(I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care.)

I lit a fragrant and calming lavender candle, eased my body into the almost too-hot-to-stand-it water, and trickled in ginger and lemongrass aromatherapy oils. Sipping from a glass of merlot, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and my thoughts wandered.

Experiencing an earthquake; the dizziness, the weightless feeling in a tub of warm water; it all reminded me of falling in love. It all felt the same… and it all started with a fifty cent cup of coffee.

Newly divorced in 1990, I speed dated a few guys, including one totally boring and slightly scary man who immediately wanted me to meet his parents after the first (and last) date, along with a couple of total idiots whose combined IQs prolly didn’t equal my Border Collie‘s. Those unsavory experiences became flashing red lights–STOP! NO! THINK!–impossible to ignore–that I seriously needed to take some time off the dating circuit.

It was the perfect time for a list.

I’m an inveterate list maker; I prioritize my errands and even list groceries in the order of where they’re located in the store– like my own custom board game–where I start at the entrance and finish at the cash register.

I wrote this particular list with the hope that if I documented the qualities desired in a significant other, the universe would deliver the right one when all the planets were aligned. Or so I dreamed.

At midnight on August 7th, 1990, with a bottle of wine to seal the deal, I made a promise to myself–I would not date (or do anything else) for a very long time, and the next one would be “the one”.

The List
1. Must call when he says he will. This is non-negotiable.
2. Must show up on time for dates.
3. Must love pets. Also non-negotiable.
4. No cigarettes. No smoking, and of course, no drugs.
5. Likes to exercise, work out, eat healthy, etc.
6. Must have gainful employment.
7. Must be nice and polite and honest and trustworthy.
8. Fidelity is of paramount importance.
9. When the time is right and he meets my son, my son has to like him. Also non-negotiable.

Fast forward to a year later, the following September 1991.

Tomorrow:
Part Two…Just a cup of coffee, the love story of Princess Rosebud and the tugboat captain