The first question I am often asked is, "Aren't you going to feel extremely isolated?"

I'm referring to moving to the quaint and lovely small town of Hidden Valley Lake. Coming from another small town of Sonoma, this often surprised me.

"Well, no more than what I felt like moving to Sonoma from Marin I guess."

Still, people gave me a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow when I told them my good news that we were relocating to the lovely area of Lake County.

"What will you do for fun? How are the schools? Isn't it really hot there?" The questions persisted. At times, they hinted at the socio-economic status.

In my mind, I imagine they are all just jealous and this is plain old envy. I answer, "It's beautiful there, we will do more outdoor kinds of things. The school my children will attend is rated quite high and I love the teaching philosophy which is unique and inspiring (International Baccalaureate) – and free. Last year, my daughter attended a private school that was far less superior in academics. Yes, it can get hot, but I seem to remember several very hot days here in Sonoma as well, and of course we have access to the beautiful lake of Hidden Valley, in addition to the pool. Oh, and I seem to recall a rather large lake close by that is scenic and spectacular in my humble opinion."

Stumped, one friend actually said, "I hope you don't like it."

If that's not honesty, I don't know what is.

Regardless, we do like it. In fact, we love it. It has been the best move for us, and although the commute for my husband can be somewhat daunting in the evenings (he travels to and from Santa Rosa as many in our community do), I know when he walks in the door he feels a sense of peacefulness and tranquility that living in the middle of Sonoma often did not provide.

Don't get me wrong, Sonoma is lovely. However, when you live across from the hospital and at the end of a bike path, the people parking in front of your house and the disrespectful dog walkers who ignore common decency to pick up after their animals get to be a bit of a distraction to say the least.

This doesn't even include the cost of housing, which is absurd unless you happen to be John Lassiter and can afford a house the size of a block on the upscale "east-side."

For us, when we first perused this area, our main concern was driving over the "hill." I was told, "You get used to it." This has proved to be fairly accurate. A bummer sometimes, yes, a scenic and gorgeous view, also yes. We have decided to take the good with the bad.

We went from a tiny home with one small bathroom to double the size and room for out of town guests. It is on top of a hill and the view and wildlife is fantastic. Maybe I could do without the rather large rattlesnake that we met on one of our "walk-throughs" or the scorpion on the ceiling of the kitchen who just needed to come in out of the cold. I was told rattlesnakes' mean "new life" and the scorpion was a good omen because I myself am a "Scorpio." Believe it or not, it doesn't matter to me. I am happy in this beautiful small town, and so are my children, husband and dog.

Although my dog wasn't too pleased when he got "head-butted" by an extremely large buck, at least he doesn't bark every 10 minutes at people parking in front of our house as he did in Sonoma. As I frantically called for my dog to save him from the charging deer's antlers, I realized life would certainly be different here. I might have to deal with more aggressive wildlife, but I prefer that to the noise and congestion of the ever growing town of Sonoma.

Attending a local farmers market had become almost as aggressive as the male deer when I just wanted to buy a few tomatoes. Walking through with a stroller had become impossible, and the "small town" feel that had attracted us in the first place was replaced by too many tourists and "wanna be" wine country enthusiasts.

I prefer waking up to hot-air balloons and shopping at our local Hardester's market where their tomatoes are just as plump and delicious and I don't have to drive around the block six times to find a parking place.

Star Laurence lives in Hidden Valley Lake with her family.

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An older man calmly asked her to tell what she knew about what a corporal was? Did she know what it took to become a Corporal of Marines? Could she please tell what she knew about what a Corporal of Marines did? Would she please share with them what she thought a Corporal of Marines had seen, had done?

She said she "didn't pay much attention to things like military ranks." She went on to say that she knew that "War is never the answer. And it does not matter where the man had been, what he had seen or done, when the point is that war is never the answer!"

The older man felt pity for the woman even as he realized that his blood was beginning to boil. He wondered how anyone could judge someone as unworthy at the same time they were admitting that they did not even know about the person they were condemning. He remembered that when the Nazis were attacking Great Briton that during a radio show that George Orwell had said: "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." But he did not say any of this out loud. Instead, without ever interrupting, he listened to the woman go on and on that she knew exactly how to fix the world.

Then he slowly and with conscious gentleness told her that to become a Corporal of Marines that first a young man or woman must enlist by signing a contract committing to serve for a fixed time. Say four or five years. During which time he or she would give up the right to live in the place of their choice, to work in a job of their own choosing. Giving up the right to awaken when they wanted to wake up, to take a weekend off, to call in sick because they just did not feel like going to work that day. Giving up the right to choose whom they would associate with. Giving up even the ability to choose what clothes to wear or what to eat that day. Giving up the right to be with their families, to be with their loved ones.

The old man said that when a man or a woman signs their enlistment papers they know are signing a blank check to give their country any amount required, up to and including their life.

He said that one of the first things the young man or woman who was to become a Corporal of Marines must do is to enter Marine Boot Camp as a "recruit." In boot camp the "recruit" must pass numerous tests – physical tests, intellectual tests, emotional tests – in order to graduate. Many do not pass those tests. The ones that do may become "privates." Then they must pass more tests, demonstrate competency in a series of increasingly more difficult, more complex, more demanding tasks, perform more duties satisfactorily, avoid disciplinary actions that could prevent promotion to the rank of "Private First Class." This must be accomplished yet again to be promoted to the rank of "Lance Corporal."

The older man then explained that these had all been "enlisted ranks." He said that the next rank was a step up to be a "non-commissioned officer." That a Corporal of Marines was trained to be, and did become, and must be a leader of Marines in all the enlisted ranks. That far from blindly doing only whatever they were told, that a Corporal of Marines must accomplish tasks not of their own choosing, charged with deciding how best to do so quickly, efficiently, without the resources they may desire, constantly adapting to unpredictable conditions that can change in a moment, all while minimizing risk to civilians and other troops. Because if the corporal was found to have unnecessarily endangered either troops or civilians then the corporal may spend a long time in prison

The old man shared with the woman the experience he had on a flight sitting next to a Marine Lance Corporal returning from duty overseas to his family in Oklahoma, how the young Marine had been seriously wounded and how they had talked about the different kinds of nightmares they had. Nightmares about what had happened. Nightmares about what almost happened, could have happened. How they instantly knew the difference between these two types of nightmares.

They talked about how sometimes at first they would have clear recall of an event, then later when they tried to think about it again, they would only be able to find a "memory of the memory," because their minds would find it too painful to go back to the original memory.

Then they talked about nightmares at night that you wake up covered in sweat. Nightmares in the daytime that you stuff away and do your best to realize that you are not there anymore and act as if everything is OK so that you do not upset other people.

They talked about how they did not talk with family members, girlfriends or wives about what they had seen, heard, felt, because one of the reasons they went to war was so that the family members, the wife, the girlfriend, would never have to have those terrible experiences.

The old man talked slowly and gently. He asked a question of the woman who said she did not know and did not care what a Corporal of Marines was. He asked her how many people she had known in her lifetime who were capable of doing everything it took to be a Corporal of Marines?

The woman was silent. She did not answer. The old man apologized if he had upset her. He politely gave his leave and walked out into the night.

When he got outside he quickly stepped to the side so he would be silhouetted by the door light for as short a moment as possible. He scanned the tree line for any shape, any movement that was out of place. His hands felt empty without his rifle. He drove home to another night when he would wake up again and again listening for any noise that did not seem right.

In the morning after a total of a few hours of sleep in a cool room the sheets on his bed were soaked with his sweat. And he wondered if the woman at the party would remember anything at all about what it was to be a Corporal of Marines.

R. Randy Sutton is a proud Marine dad. He lives in Lakeport.

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Columnist Brett Behrens.

Day 3,304 ...

That’s the number of days since I first began dialysis. They say time flies when you’re having fun. If that’s the case, then my plane is still sitting on the tarmac.

Speaking for the more than 100 patients on hemo dialysis in Lake County alone, dialysis is not fun. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve doing it.

Summer has passed and fall is here, and so much has happened to me since catching you up on the last nine years of my time on dialysis.

To make it short and to the point, I tried to back to peritoneal dialysis. After two catheters in my stomach area, many problems and a trip to Oakland for a consultation with a specialist, peritoneal dialysis wasn’t going to happen thanks to too many adhesions in the peritoneal portion of my stomach.

That would be another trip to Santa Rosa Memorial so the catheter could be removed. Great … another trip to be dazed and feel like heck for a week after surgery.

But this time I was looking forward as the next chapter of My Second Life was ready to begin. A really cool chapter!

A few years into dialysis, I was told about a program where patients could do hemo dialysis at home. The only thing was I would need a partner, the reason would be that after extensive training, your partner would be the one placing the needles in my arm.

There was just one person that could do for me. I didn’t think she would be up for it. Boy was I wrong!

The home hemo idea came up during the summer thanks to a stay at Memorial Hospital and a doctor enlightened both my wife, Peggy, and me one afternoon. He also happened to be the medical director of the program being studied by the U.S. Government in the hopes of one day including it in the benefits for those receiving Medicare.

Today, Medicare covers dialysis in centers and peritoneal dialysis at home.

Home hemo does not have a proven history of being beneficial to patients. But if those current cases show improved quality of life to those participating in it, then there will sufficient evidence for this type of treatment to be covered.

Current studies are already showing promise. Here are some of the current findings.

• Dialysis patients on home hemo are hospitalized far less than those on other forms of dialysis.

• Many patients find they no longer need their high blood pressure medicines because home hemo keeps their blood pressure at a regular level.

• Home Hemo patients feel better and their quality of Life dramatically.

And on Nov. 3 we began training to perform home hemo in the privacy and security of our home. We’ll begin training and be ready to go before Christmas. For me, it is the best present I could have gotten this year.

Yes, I was wrong about Peggy not wanting to be my partner and wanting to stick me with the needles. When she talks about it, she gets this smile on her face and a glow in her eyes. I'll let you make your own decisions about what that means. These are but a few of the advantages.

But what are the differences ?

Home hemo patients dialyze six days a week. Medicare patients receiving treatments in-center only receive three treatments per week. Because of this patients’ blood is cleaned every day, just like someone with good kidney function. Current Medicare regulations allows in-center patients three treatments per week

Home hemo patients dialyze in the comfort, privacy and security of their own home. In-center patients are subjected to all kinds of viruses including colds and the flu. They have no other choice if they want to continue living. And from what I’ve seen over the years, I don’t think some patients truly do.

So off we go on our next adventure. It’s one I can’t wait to begin.

Brett Behrens is writing a regular column for Lake County News about dealing with serious health problems. Behrens, 46, is a native of Lake County. He has spent most of his life behind the lens as a photojournalist and the owner of a successful portrait photography studio. He continues his image-making activities as his time and eyesight allows.

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Many people like to say that the United States of America is a Christian nation. In a truly Christian nation, however, love and commitment between any adult gender combination would be encouraged, applauded and honored.

Need convincing? Remember that those who crucified Jesus did so because he was advocating a rethinking of Judaic Law which was heavily laden with anger, fear and vengeance. Many of the ones who call themselves "Christians" today are, in fact, acting a lot like Jesus' murderers; xenophobes who couldn't get past any transgression of the Law.

Here are a few biggies that got the ancients’ pants in a twist:

• According to Jesus, yes, it's OK to heal a sick person on the Sabbath – Luke 13.15-16.

• No, fasting is not necessary – Mark 2.19-20.

• Hey, it's OK to hang with people who are different than us – John 4.21-23.

• Don’t stress about washing your hands so rigorously; it’s what comes out that pollutes – Mark 7.1-24.

The list goes on and on. Some of these laws sound silly and unnecessary, even unbelievable to us today, but they were non-negotiable for Jews in Jesus’ day.

The paraphrases I listed are from the canon you might find in your church. Try reading some of the Gospels that didn't make it in. In Thomas vs. 53, for example, Jesus explains that circumcision is not necessary because if it was, God would have made boys this way to begin with. Lo and behold, the Apostle Paul himself recruited many new Gentile Christian converts with the message that butchering their privates was not required.

What kind of person would advocate breaking so many long-established laws? Someone immoral, liberal, non-religious or just plain crazy? Not unless you include Jesus and Paul in that description. So maybe we need to rethink things a little bit ...

Newsflash! Jesus was a liberal. He was also quite religious, totally moral and definitely not crazy.

All of the above-mentioned transgressions of the Law were said to be punishable by death according to Dead Sea Scrolls material – much of which isn't in our bibles, either. In fact, some scholars now believe that the "Wicked Priest" referred to in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls was in fact Jesus – a Jewish rabbi despised because he dared to preach a variation of the Law. Jesus died trying to get people to understand that LOVE is the way, period. Now that’s wicked!

With that said, it is indeed sad (and dare I say “wicked”) that so many followers of Jesus would dishonor the Savior today by morally linking both him and his Father to hateful causes such as denying gay people the right to marry.

Heads up: Old Testament Law prohibiting gay relations was written specifically for priests during Greek rule when the Jews desperately needed to populate their land. (Sex among men – especially with boys – was the "popular" thing then in Greek culture.) In fact, the Jewish rules regarding this issue changed from time to time as their population fluctuated up and down.

The fact that times and cultures change is the reason why Jesus wisely told his disciples that to enter the Kingdom of Heaven all that is necessary is to not murder, not commit adultery, not steal, not lie, honor your father and mother, and, of course LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR – Matthew 19.18-19. (Oh, and come follow Him after selling everything you own and giving it to the poor – Matthew 19.21 ... Wait, that smacks a bit of the dreaded “Socialism!” What’s going on here?)

Folks, these admonitions are simply the timeless basics that don't change if we want to live in peace with our fellow man and woman.

Here’s the bottom line: Jesus came to Earth 2,000 years ago trying to get people to lighten up and focus on love and peace. Jesus’ love is very powerful today as it is expressed through those who do His work. What is His work? Loving our neighbors and not being guided by fear, which fundamentally means respecting our neighbors’ rights which don’t affect us anyway. I, as a Disciple of Christ, am committed to choosing Love over Fear and this is why I voted No on Proposition 8.

Please, fervent believers who have been misled into thinking the Torah is the end-all-be-all, take some time to reconsider your positions. Don't be like those (such as Judas) who were so "zealous for the Law" that they ended up becoming angry and vengeful, and please quit demanding adherence to unreasonable Jewish Old Testament standards, many of which aren’t appropriate for our time.

Besides its prohibition of gay relations, Leviticus also forbids shaving your beard, wearing clothes woven from two kinds of material, and touching the skin of a dead pig – maybe we should we outlaw football? It further demands that adulterers be stoned to death, and that anyone with a skin disease dress in tatters, call out "Unclean! Unclean!" and be banished from the group.

How many of you come to church bringing offerings of ram and bull heads, pouring the requisite blood all over the altar? That, ladies and gentlemen, is Old Testament LAW; quite a far cry from Jesus' teachings in the New Testament.

The ancient religious scholars and Pharisees harassed and maligned many prophets, learned men and wise guides sent by God through the ages to teach them new information – Matthew 23.24. Today, thanks to the hard work of scientists and researchers, we know that being truly homosexual is not a mental illness or a choice. Are we to dishonor their work too by continuing to unfairly blame and condemn gay people for something they have no control over?

Listen up! God didn't just send us his information in the old days; He's loving, flexible and still talking to us NOW.

The ancients were especially angered by one humble man advocating this shocking new principle: Love, Compassion and Oneness with all of humankind. Are you threatened too? If so, this scripture might apply: "Their ears are open but they don’t hear a thing” – Luke 8.10

Meditate on it.

Gale Tompkins-Bischel is a Disciple of Christ who attends United Christian Parish in Lakeport. She lives in Kelseyville.

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As a friend said to me, the other day, “As the first state to overturn the ban on interracial marriages, it seems we have taken a few steps backwards, as far as civil rights are concerned. In fact, we are now officially more concerned about the rights of farm animals than we are about the rights of humans.”

With this in the back of my mind, I write this, as I can’t help wonder if we the people realize how far we have left to go to truly see “the promised land” of freedom, liberty, justice and equality for ALL.

As the new President Elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, I was touched. But not touched in the way most people were. Instead of rejoicing of how far we have come, I was reminded of how far we have left to go. I was reminded of my own life and the struggles I had gone through and continue to go through as well as the struggles I continue to see other minorities go through currently on a daily basis.

I write this not thinking of myself (as it may seem, as you read further) but of others who have had it far worse than me and continue to struggle as a result of being a minority. In fact, as you read, keep in mind that I consider myself rather fortunate. Those who know me know that I do not dwell on these things daily but rather have spent my entire life overcoming these things to live a very good life despite them. My struggles and the struggles of "my people" have been minor compared to the struggles of many others whose civil and human rights have yet to be acknowledged.

Therefore, let it be known, I am not writing to gain pity but to share perspective and to shed a little light on the subject so that you may understand that minorities and the struggles for their equality against discrimination come in many forms and still very much exist even as many of us celebrate the latest “victory” in the “civil rights movement.”

I am a physically challenged woman. It isn't a label I am most comfortable with but it is the one that is most relevant at the moment and it is my label as a “minority.”

There are other labels for me, as well. Labels like handicap, cripple, gimp and … my personal favorite (which my own grandmother on my father's side likes to use) … invalid. No, I didn't spell that last one wrong. The same word used for someone who is disabled or chronically ill is the same word used for not being valid because it has been based on a mistake. Put that up against pretty much any label used as a racial slur against African Americans or women and you might just understand where I am coming from as a minority. Even the word “disabled,” when broken down, is quite an offensive term, as it means “rendered unable to function.” And disabled has been rendered the "politically correct" label.

And, while laws for rights of women and African Americans were being put on the books in the 1890s and in the 1950s, it is a little realized fact that the first laws concerning physically challenged people's rights didn't come about until the 1990s.

In fact, historically, even less than a half of a century ago, people equated "physical disability" with "mental disability" and as such even the least physically challenged people were kept in asylums and mental hospitals and as a general rule were segregated not just from society but from their own families through ignorance and shame. It was also not so long ago that physically challenged people were considered everything from idiots to freaks.

And, technically, even today, forms of "genocide" are still being used on physically challenged people through the forms of termination of pregnancies and "mercy killings" because (again) they are considered mistakes or unable to function in life. (I found this out, recently, when I attempted to look up my own specific physical birth "defect" and found that it has become very rare not because they have found a way to cure or prevent it but because technology allows early detection of it and therefore early termination of those who have it.) That is the past and present "history" of "my people".

In my own recent history, as a physically challenged person, I spent my first three years of grade school in a "handicap school" completely segregated from able-bodied children (of all races and religions). Yes, that meant that as I watched African American children being "integrated" I myself was still segregated.

In fact, my parents and I actually had to "prove" through numerous IQ tests and other psychological and mental tests that just because my legs didn't work didn't mean my mind didn't work before I was "allowed" to receive an equal education. (It reminded me of how African Americans had to go through a number of tests to prove their intelligence before they were allowed to vote despite their inalienable rights and ability to do so.)

Much to the surprise of even my parents, my IQ was higher than the average "able bodied" student, and this is what broke me out of segregation (this and my parents threatening to sue the school system) putting me into a "public school," as integration of the physically challenged was not a mandate of the government, at that time. This was in the mid-1970s.

And, despite the many positive changes brought about recently by the ADA, I am still faced (on a daily basis) with many forms of inequality, discrimination and even segregation. Very similarly to the way African Americans and women were not allowed in certain places or in certain areas due to their "color" and "gender," I am still restricted from certain places and segregated, even in this day and age.

In fact, my basic and essential need to access a bathroom is restricted on a daily basis because there are so many places I can't go to the bathroom due to inaccessibility. And, many of the bathrooms I am able to use are labeled strictly for "handicapped" (by the way, there is another one of those derogatory labels … as handicap comes from cap in hand referring to the physically challenged people who had to beg on the streets with cap in hand because they could not get hired for a job) which reminds me of when things (like bathrooms) were labeled "colored."

Even my choice in housing is limited, as I cannot get into many private dwellings due to their lack of accessibility, despite a number of housing discrimination laws. In fact, there was a time in my life where I was stuck living in a home for senior citizens (in my early 20s) because that was the only "accessible" apartment complex I could get into.

There are restaurants I cannot get into, due to the lack of accessibility. I can't tell you how many times I have had to enter through the service entrance to get into a restaurant and how many other times I could not even get into a restaurant much less their restrooms. I even remember having to use the service elevator to get to an accessible bathroom which was located in a dark basement of a club whereas other "able bodied" people could use the bathroom on the first floor. (Reminding me of how African Americans had to use the service entrances of restaurants, clubs and hotels.)

In fact, everywhere I go, steps and curbs dictate where I can go and where I cannot – steps and curbs made not by nature but by the people of this country. I lived on the East Coast for awhile and even one of the most famous civil rights monuments, the Lincoln Memorial, was off limits to me. Imagine that. And, once, attending an awards ceremony where I was to receive an award, I had to come in through the back entrance, I could not get on the stage to receive the award and there was no accessible bathroom for me after sitting through an awards ceremony of several hours.

When I go to theaters, if I can get into them, I am often forced to sit in the back of the theater in a special "handicapped" area. This is a minor thing but when the theater has Dolby sound it is a nightmare as it is set up for the main dialog to come out of the front speakers and the background noises to come from the speakers in the back of the theater so all I get to hear is the background noises making the experience very unpleasant and a complete waste of my money. (Again, this reminds me of how African Americans were forced to the back of the bus.)

Speaking of buses, because of the way the bus systems are set up, with so many inaccessible bus stops, I am forced to actually pay more than the average person who rides the bus in order to get to the same places they are going, As well, I am usually put in the back of the bus as that is where the "handicapped" seating is located most of the time on buses. Many of the bus systems I have to ride (like Dial A Ride) stop their pickups early (Dial A Ride's last pickup being 5:30 p.m. to 6 p.m., which means I have to be ready and waiting for them at 5:30 p.m.) whereas the routes for able-bodied people go well into the night.

And, last but not least, this year, on Nov. 4, when I went to vote I was segregated, ushered to the back of the room, to vote, as there was no place for me to vote in the area where everyone else was voting. As I went to put my ballot in the box, someone else had to put it in the box for me because the box was located out of my reach. Again, simply a reminder of how far we have left to go.

Again, as I have said, I don't dwell on these things and I am not bringing them up now as a request for your pity. I am not asking for your pity but for your awareness. These are issues I rarely bring up personally and even more rarely bring up publicly, partially because I have kind of grown accustomed to this sort of treatment, partially because I feel it is easier to change myself than ask the world to change, but mostly because I have learned to adapt and live focusing on the good things in my life rather than the bad.

But, when I see everyone getting all excited about how far civil rights have come and celebrating as if the struggle for equality is over because we now have a president of obvious mixed race, I am reminded of my own struggles as well as the struggles of less popular minorities. I really do feel deeply in my heart that we need to be reminded that we have a long way to go before we have truly created freedom, liberty, justice and equal rights for all.

Andrea Anderson lives in Lakeport.

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In 1947 my father sent me off to military boarding school for three years, for third, fourth and fifth grades. I did not understand this move. Later, I found it was to keep me from the surroundings of my mother who was an alcoholic and unable to care for my little sister and I. My sister was being cared for daily by an outsider.

My first year in military school my mother picked me up each Friday at 2 p.m. for my weekend pass at home. One Friday she did not show by 2 p.m. I waited and about 6 p.m. the superintendent along with one of my classmate’s parents informed me that my mother and sister were in a serious auto wreck on Highway 101 in Marin County.

She was driving a two-week-old Cadillac totally impaired, crossed all traffic lanes heading north and jumped a creek. The car was bent in the middle and totaled. My sister was thrown out of the car into the creek. My mother was stuck in the car with her face smashed into the steering wheel.

The rescue personnel freed my mother and took her to the hospital. About an hour later the tow truck driver found my sister in the creek about 25 yards from the auto. She was taken to the hospital and checked out OK. My mother spent five months in the hospital and left with a terribly disfigured face for life. She never recovered, and ultimately drank even more.

Three years later I returned to public school for the seventh through 10th grades. Many days after school I would find my mother drunk in her car parked in our garage, passed out. I would get her out of her car and carry her two flights of stairs to her bed. She never learned a lesson about drinking alcohol after her wreck. She was never able to care for her family after the incident.

The sad part of this story is her consumption of alcohol on a daily basis literally destroyed our family. Mother and Dad lost most of their friends. We had a wonderful close-knit family with lots of friends that was lost and torn apart by alcohol.

Curt Giambruno is mayor of Clearlake and a member of Team DUI, a group of local individuals and officials working to stop drinking and driving and underage drinking.

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