True Story of My Life #2 (St. John's Neighborhood)

I purchased my first house, in 1996, and prior to the hostage situation, I set about getting to know all the neighbors on my block. Within 2 months, I knew everyone and was on friendly terms, and I got to know people beyond my block as well. Kids were drawn to me, especially late middle school and jr. high kids, and they would, on their own, visit me at my house. I talked to them like they were adults, and didn't condescend.

There was Alex, who lived next door, and was 13. His girlfriend, Colette, lived in low-income apartments not far from my house, behind St. John's park. Colette's best friend, Miracle, lived a few blocks away. Then there was a boy, Cody, about 10 or 11 who picked roses for me from his garden and left them at my door, with a note, and taught me how to plant succulents directly into the ground. These were the main kids who hung out at my house. I ended up taking them with me, after talking to their parents and securing permission, to church about twice a week, and I also took them out one-on-one and in groups to coffeeshops and bought small things for them. I listened to their dreams and tried to encourage them in what they wanted to do: I guess I was a kind of mentor. After a year, so many kids wanted to hang out with me and go to church with me, I couldn't take them all at once in my car and the church considered buying me a van. No one asked me to do it, the relationships developed naturally.

In the meantime, I also got to know my adult neighbors, one across from me, Max, was a Master Gardener. I would go over to his house and admire his vines and goldfish pond and he sent me home with fresh produce. When he had a stroke, I was the only one, besides his son and best friend, a fellow neighbor, who came to visit him in the hospital, the nurses told me. I took my guitar and played for him while he was unable to speak, and one nurse seemed shocked I paid any attention to him when he was only my "neighbor"; she began to cry and said she didn't know many people who would do that for a neighbor. I sat by his bed and held his hand, and he couldn't talk but he squeezed my hand. Then he died, and I was fairly depressed about it for awhile.

There was also the elderly "cat lady". Every neighborhood, well, in certain parts of town, has a "cat lady". I tried not to breathe through my nose while I was in her house. She had at least 20 cats, and most of them stayed indoors. They were all fed and happy, but the odor I could hardly bear.

There was one guy about my age, who owned a house behind me and he wanted to date for awhile but I wasn't very interested so we remained friends and kept a neighborhood watch of sorts.

At this time, after I had my house, I contacted social services about being a foster parent. After I was working at the computer company, I figured I could use a bedroom for a child and spoke at length, with several people, about the process. I would have even adopted, and there wasn't a problem, they said, with my being a single potential mother. But when I thought about it, I realized if I were a foster parent, I'd want to be at home, as any kind of mother, and it wasn't possible at that time in my life, to stay at home and earn an income too. They would be in a daycare, and daycare would raise them and have more influence than I would. So I decided not to, in the end, even though my friends and especially my best friend, was supportive.

Also, at this time in my life, I decided to "abstain" from seeking after material things. While on the East Coast, as a nanny, I was surrounded by money. I even became a vicarious snob, as I remember the first thought that crossed my mind when I came back to Oregon and was leaving the Portland, Oregon airport, after having been surrounded by brand new Mercedes, and imported cars on the East Coast, was: "Look at all the junky old American cars on the road!" I had learned the etiquette, to some degree, and codes, of the rich, and the fashion and style sense as well, and even while I despised the attitudes I observed over there, even as the nanny, the same attitudes were rubbing off on me. So after I bought my house, I also decided not to go to the mall and buy the best clothing for myself. I decided to shop only at thrift stores, and not to read fashion magazines, and focus on other things in life. I also got rid of my television. My entire focus was interior, and with what was happening in my local neighborhood.

I tried to do some volunteer work, of my own initiation, and was able to do more after I quit my computer company job and used my $40,000 for volunteer work. I'll get into that later.

Basically, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life yet. I wanted to work on myself, and set many goals for myself, and I worked on relationships and that was my primary focus. I felt it was more important "who you are" than "what you do (for work)". I tried to be a better person. One of my goals, which I worked at, was being a better listener. I was a talker, not a listener, and I disciplined myself to let someone else talk, and to listen so that I remembered our conversation later. I also had as a goal, to discipline myself not to lie, even for white lies. This took a lot of time to improve upon, because one unconsciously lies quite a lot, I think, just naturally, "I love your hair!" , "Ummm...I'm late because there was really bad traffic (not because I forgot to look at the clock)"... I found the more I excused my actions, or felt I could lie to cover my actions, the more my actions were unaccounted for. If I tried to have a principle not to lie to defend myself, I worked harder not to get into trouble and make stupid mistakes to begin with. But any improvement in trying not to lie, came after months and months of trying to retrain my mind and habits. Later in life, I realized, it is "okay" to lie for important reasons, when it's not just to excuse your own actions but perhaps to protect someone from danger, etc. I have learned not to see in black-and-white so much. Sometimes, lies don't hurt other people. And omissions, sometimes don't matter. But often, even omissions do make a difference.

I had plenty of opportunity to date but I didn't meet anyone I really interested in. I missed being around intellectual people, but didn't realize this. I probably should have been in college from the first, but didn't realize this and couldn't afford it, as my parents made too money for me to qualify for loans, and I didn't want to go into major debt, which is why I pretty much waited until I had "independent status" when I was 24, to go back to college full-time. I'd had scholarship offers to private universities when I was in high school (a cross-country offer from a Lewis & Clark coach) but I screwed up my knee my senior year.

At any rate, I wanted to be a virgin when I was married, and figured if one thing eventually leads to another, I'll just make sure I never do the first thing to begin with. I figured I would kiss someone after we were more serious, not just dating. I didn't kiss anyone except an old high school boyfriend (occasionally, and then quit) for about 6 years, from age 18-24. It wasn't that I didn't want to do more. But, after awhile, even though I wanted to be married and have kids and had a sex drive, because I never met anyone, I began to wonder if I was to just be devoted to God. I had decided, at that time in my life, if I were married, I would have as many children as were given (a more catholic than protestant idea), and when I was single, I wondered why Protestants didn't have anything for people who just wanted to devote themselves to God. I considered being a protestant "nun" of my own volition, an idea which influenced me when I was directed to a monastery a couple years later, and began to consider conversion to the Catholic faith.

At this time, I was writing a lot of music. I got my first guitar after the car accident, and used it as therapy to strengthen my arms and fingers. I composed and wrote lyrics and sang myself back from the sadness of losing a friend. I had lost my dream to go to Nashville and become a professional singer. I couldn't do it after what happened. It didn't feel right. So I became a closet singer, and then later only sang at church. I also painted, using oils. My friends and choir director at church called me: "the consummate artist". I certaintly enjoyed the arts, but didn't realize how these inclinations made me a minority in some ways, until maybe even in the last couple of years.

I'm an artist, but I'm also, at heart, an extrovert and love people. I always have, since I was a child. In high school, I was smart, but I preferred spending time developing relationships to schoolwork. Because I could get by with decent grades by doing absolutely no work or reading at all, and just remember clips from verbal lectures, I was lazy. I didn't like rote and surface paperwork either. I didn't want to write a 2 page paper because it didn't allow me to do the research and get into the depth I craved. I wanted to write the 20 page paper, and have months to prepare and follow different lines of thought and examine options. When I later showed signs of "intelligence" and ability to handle complicated and advanced scholastics, I think some people wondered where in the world I'd been hiding my brain as there was no evidence of what I could do before; yet, I know, there had never been enough challenge for me either so I didn't acheive until I was given a chance and challenge to rise to the occasion.

I took AP classes in high school, but my greatest acheivements were probably extracurricular: in cross-country, track, singing the National Anthem, getting the lead in plays (which fell through because I was flakey then), being on Student Council, all kinds of committees, and being appreciated by being voted Homecoming Queen and Prom princess by peers, I hoped, for my friendly attitude and not the way I looked.

The singular thing, aside from artistic sentiments, that I feel has set me apart and made it difficult for many to understand, is my values and principles. It is my entire foundation, and for me to give up doing the right thing, regardless of consequences, is like asking me to betray myself and who God made me to be. I am extremely determined and stubborn, and I know this can be good and bad. So far, while everything has fallen apart around me, and my reputation is completely destroyed, without good reason...I still respect myself for the choices I've made and have no regrets. I could have been smarter, yes. I'm wiser now and know the world is not always kind, yes. But I am happy with myself for holding up, under all kinds of intimidation, threat, and attack, for being, basically, true to myself and the truth. Like it or not. Integrity is important to me and if I betray myself, and the voice I was given for articulating things I've witnessed, and the brain I was given for remembering facts and conversations, and the intuition I was given for making discoveries I was shocked to make, I couldn't live with myself.

Do I feel superior? Only to those who I know have lied about me or about the truth. Innately superior? No. Am I a saint? Obviously not. But I know that the way I am now, and some of the problems I have in trusting certain groups of people now, and damages, are the result of having harassed and provoked so much, I eventually reacted. If anyone knew how innocent I was, trusting, and naive, and then what was done to me to provoke me to that point, they would be shocked. As I've never outlined and told the story of who I was all my life, and how my character and reputation were maligned by even illegal methods, I feel it's time to lay out the facts and events of what has led up to where I am now.

I am doing this for my son. And, for anyone else who has been victimized and harassed relentlessly by people who are hostile to anyone who dares uncover dirt and then dares to threaten they may speak of it one day, publicly.

Why would anyone write an entire front page article about me? Because they were instructed in how to defame me, to get one defamatory version about me out in public to discredit me, for fear the public might believe me when they heard the truth from my own lips, about what happened, and then continued to happen.