By Royal Appointment.

In 1986 my great grandmother, Alice, turned 90 years old. She'd moved in to her assisted living apartment, and it was due to be opened officially by Her Majesty The Queen. As 'Gran' was the oldest resident she was selected to have HRH visit her apartment. Gran was pleased, but in her usual enigmatic style didn't get overly excited.

On the big day, only residents and officials were allowed near the complex. Queen Elizabeth toured the facility, took tea with the residents and then visited Gran's apartment. This powerful woman, head of a vast Empire with millions of subjects, who had shaken hands with Kings, Emperors and Presidents stood in my Gran's tiny apartment and talked with this frail white-haired old lady. A lady born into Victorian poverty, whose husband fought in the trenches in World War I. Who never had an inside toilet or central heating before this new home.

Afterwards I asked Gran what she has said to the Queen. Perhaps she'd admired her dress or asked how her children were. In fact Gran told this woman quite directly that she prayed for her everyday. To which the Monarch reportedly replied; 'Thank you for praying for me. That is good to know. It is a very hard job'.

I never really appreciated till now how profound that conversation must have been in that moment. A tiny old lady telling her Queen, also the Head of the Church of England that she prayed for her everyday, which she most definitely did. And the graciousness of the Queen to respond with genuine thanks. Maybe HRH knew that her son's marriage was already headed for disaster. Perhaps shifting political alliances in the 1980's threatened the stability of the Commonwealth and gave her concern for the security of her people. Maybe she was really tired and didn't feel like traveling the length of Britain on that day, waving at a sea of nameless faces and not able to spend a moment alone.

When Gran turned 100 years old in 1996 we celebrated with a thanksgiving service at the apartment complex. On the mantel was the card that the Lord Chancellor sent on behalf of, and signed by, the Queen. I'm sure she had no idea that this was the same woman she'd met in the tiny apartment a decade before. Gran took it all in her stride and got on with life until she passed away three years later just before the millennium. With few possessions, and very little money, we watched her slip away gently and without fanfare.

Two women with whose lives followed very different paths, yet very alike. Both mothers. Both with long marriages. Both concerned about the state of British society. Both benevolent with their time and their money. Elizabeth is the figurehead of many charities. Gran sent home made Christmas cakes to missionaries and quietly supported the London City Mission for many years. Yet both recognized the need for spiritual connection with their God and the importance of prayer. In that tiny kitchen I like to believe there was a unique moment of connection between the two women before The Queen's entourage pulled her away to continue her duties.

Maybe as the Queen celebrates her Diamond Jubilee next month she'll meet another little old lady who will tell her the same thing. And maybe it will be just at the time she might need to hear it.

Happy. Glorious. Party time.

June 1977. A little girl with pigtails stands in a photograph with other neighborhood kids. Wearing a dress made of fabric so itchy that it could be used as an instrument of torture, sporting immaculately proportioned pigtails she holds a Union Jack flag. The dazed look on her face probably gave away the fact that she didn't really understand what was going on. Apart from the fact that there was no school that day, she was sitting in the lounge of a local public house (which was a departure from normal family life) and there were plates of sausage rolls, sandwiches, and fairy cakes as far as the eye could see.

It was the Queen's Silver Jubilee and I was that six year old party guest. My son is now the same age, turning six just as the Queen is about to celebrate her Diamond (60th) Jubilee next month. As the United Kingdom erupts in rivers of red, white and blue, it prepares to celebrate this incredible monarchical milestone (as well as the impending London Olympics). And I know that British ex-pats around the globe are looking longingly at their homeland and wishing that they could be there to enjoy the celebrations.

I know that, because I am one of those people. And because I'd love my children, born in the USA to British parents, to experience a total nation in celebration. It's not about monarchy versus democracy. It's not about birthright versus election. It's about celebrating a nation's culture and heritage, being proud of an unbreakable British spirit and acknowledging an amazing achievement by a remarkable woman.

As our children get older, they talk more about their dual nationality. Sometimes they say they feel totally English. When a child has poked fun at their strong English accents they'll retreat and say they feel more American. Our daughter will talk about studying at MIT. And when a care package arrives bearing Cadbury's treats we'll hear repeatedly that they want to move to England because the chocolate is better. Sam calls football 'soccer' because we're in America. And we're really okay with that. We've always told them that they can use British or American words and never influenced their choices to do so. What we want them to be in comfortable in their own skin, and to be able to 'bloom wherever are planted'. Whether that's on the east or west side of the Atlantic, we don't mind.
  
And now, I think I need to go and plan our own celebration of the Queen's jubilee in our own little corner of North America. Perhaps we won't be able to close the road and have a street party circa 1977 but I'm planning on hanging my bunting, breaking out the fine china and let my kids stuff themselves to the point of explosion on homemade British goodies. And not with an itchy item of clothing in sight......