or "Begin again at your beginnings"
 

INSTALLMENT TWO:  THE NEXT CHAPTER OF OUR POST STARR LIVES

The end of October brought two things: I turned 55 and the "Saints came marching in."
Actually, they didn't exactly "march in," but they did move in -- right below us.

By the time the Saints arrived I was already sleep deprived from worry
about their pending arrival.  I had rented a condominium that represents
the second floor of a two-unit building.  Each unit is owned separately.
My owner lives in Charlottesville (although her brother, who has a key to my
apartment, lives here). The first floor is owned by an attorney and his wife from
Richmond.  Publicly firing one of their own, Mays and Valentine, earned me
no points with the Richmond legal fraternity.  The addition of Bittman to their
numbers had no doubt taken their Julie approval ratings to a new low.

You remember Bittman -- sometimes called "Bulldog" -- sidekick of the OIC
infamous Jackie Bennett. It was this dynamic duo who promised, then once
they had what they wanted, withdrew their February 1998 promise of immunity
for Monica Lewinsky.  The result was one of my favorite OIC quotes, from Jackie Bennett:

"To immunize Lewinsky with only a proffer, without an interview,
 would almost be grounds for malpractice."

Of course, on March 6, 1998, they conferred unprecedented immunity on
Kathleen Willey. Willey was never interviewed, nor did she offer up a
proffer.  They evidently liked her story, which they gleaned from the
SEALED deposition she provided in Jones V. Clinton on January 10, 1998.

But back to my condo for a moment. We were accustomed to 3000+ square
feet and two acres. We never talked, or called out, or went in search of, if
yelling from one to the other would suffice -- until now.  In our old life
we didn't tiptoe when we could run and TV volume was whatever we felt like.
I even did laundry any old time the thought crossed my mind.

Prior to their leasing the first floor unit to the "Saints," I had numerous opportunities
to meet the owners. One such opportunity came when Mr. Owner (ESQ) threw a fit
because my son Adam had written his name in charcoal on the sidewalk.  He ordered
me to stand over Adam and have Adam remove his name.  I agreed and would have
done it, except that we got one of our few rainfalls before the school bus could deliver
him home that day.  I guess I should have raced to school and dragged the little
delinquent home before Nature had a chance to fix it for him. Now he will probably
move on to stealing cars...

Another opportunity came when Mrs. Owner informed me that my talking had
awakened her at four o’clock in the morning and that she had been able to
go back to sleep only when she moved to the other end of the house.

She also wanted me to be aware that there is NO INSULATION between floors
and that every word I say can be heard downstairs.  Although Adam and I have
both been known to talk in our sleep, neither of us is known for carrying on entire
conversations, or for that matter, making sense on these occasions.

Before I could inquire, she went on to tell me about the impending arrival
of the "Saints."  The "Saints" were described as a mother, a widow in
fact, and her two children.  Mrs. Saint was said to be engaged to her realtor.

Great! Her realtor/fiance was a man I had contacted but had not worked with after
I found the woman who ultimately rented my condo to me.  I knew I should have
called him back to say I found something. Now I would feel guilty every time I laid
eyes on him.  As the groom to be, I also assumed this would be often.

It was armed with the information that they can undoubtedly hear me
thinking from one floor below, together with the fact that I had failed
the groom, that I first met Mrs. Saint.  Worse, Adam and I had struggled
to adapt to a closer community living situation without knowing we
didn't even have the benefit of insulation.

Mrs. Owner wasn't exactly the most "reliable source" when she provided
horrifying (to me anyway) details about her new tenant.  Mrs. Saint isn't
exactly a widow. Her former husband is deceased (okay, actually murdered)
but he didn't get that way until they had been divorced for more than
three years.  He has also been dead for another three years.

Now please don't think I am not sorry about his death. I am sorry,
especially for the ten- and thirteen-year-old children he left behind.

And as for any forthcoming wedding plans with the realtor, it turns out she has
never even had a date with him. I guess that means we won't be attending their
wedding anytime soon. It definitely means I don't see him every single time I
turn around. In fact I have never laid my guilty eyes on the man.

Better yet, the Saints are a nice family.  Mrs. Saint and I have become
friends and she has never once complained about the noises we manage to
make no matter how hard we try not to.  Noises like last night when I
opened my tiny freezer and the contents crashed to the floor. To make
matters worse, when I attempted to put everything back, most of it fell
a second time.

There was also the time that I looked out the window in time to see Adam
and his buddy attempting to cross the street right in front of a car.
Adam was under strict orders NOT to get near the formerly residential
street by our house because it has turned superhighway since it became
the only entrance to Ft. Story after Sept. 11. If the driver was frightened
by the prospect of two children heading straight for his car, he was terrified
by my screams.  He froze, coming to a complete stop. Adam and his friend
froze right in the street, and all eyes turned to me.  I just continued screaming
except that by now I was crying.  Mrs. Saint never aid a word about it,
at least not until I brought it up first.

Mrs. Saint’s daughter is ten, has captured Adam's eye, and comes up to
play board games with Adam or to visit me.  I call her "the little Missy"
and it has stuck. Even her Mother uses that term sometimes.  We like
having her around. Mrs.. Saint's son, the thirteen-year-old, spends
most of his time holed up in his room, on his computer, being a teenager.
We rarely see him.  Once in a while he will allow Adam to go in there and
"hang out" if Adam promises not to talk.

Before I get into the time the water was turned off because Mrs. Owner
failed to pay, or mention that my residence here has a reputation for
being the dirtiest house on the north end of the beach, and before I get
to the part about opening boxes of Christmas decorations only to discover
that most were broken and the rest were missing (Santas and Angels, as
an example, that I had spent 30 years collecting), let me give you the
best news: The "Greatest Show on Earth" is a daily occurrence and is free.

"The Greatest Show on Earth" is the magnificent sunset on the Atlantic
Ocean.  I try never to miss it. It always takes my breath away, and it
is two seconds away. All I have to do is walk past three or four houses,
cross the dunes, and there it is!  I can handle no money, no water
(luckily just one time), the pending final report from the OIC and another
round of being called a criminal if I can just have that time on the
beach.  I am so thankful, I wish it could be that nearby forever.

In early November, at just about the same time, Adam and I seemed to
individually decide we had had enough "adventure" and we just wanted to
go home.  I had begun to hate not having a phone in my name, not having a
cartridge in my copier or my fax, feeling temporary, and living with
(among other things) two couches that require .0about twenty towels rolled
under the cushions to keep us from falling all the way through to the floor.
(Thank Heaven I had better sense than to let a pretzel come into this house.).

Adam missed the woods and his house, I missed the quiet and my house,
we were tired of being quiet and of wondering what kind of idiot movers
could destroy or steal so many of our possessions and still charge outrageous
prices for the privilege.  We were homesick for the lives we once had.
That daily walk over the dunes and the indescribable peace afforded by the
setting sun and all of those amazing colors helped me so that I could help
Adam. The "Greatest Show On Earth" together with your unfailing support
(even when I have been too sad or stunned or traumatized to respond as
I would like to be able to do) reminds me that you are the real heroes,
and Mother nature is your backdrop.

"I love you for my life, you are a friend of mine,"

Thank you,
Julie
 

PS - Get ready for the "final report" followed by the facts.

I refer to the real facts and the obvious reality that the OIC and his
partisan allies were so blinded by hatred and driven by power that
ordinary Americans were of no more value than was the truth.

PPS- John Walker is headed for my old Alma Mater, the "rocket docket"
where political process replaces truth and Justice.  They went venue shopping
and the presence of the Pentagon had nothing to do with the choice made.

More to follow, much more...