The death of someone you love to suicide or murder is a shattering experience. As a result, lives are forever changed.

If you or someone you know has experienced the sudden violent death of someone they love and you want to help but aren’t sure how, here are some tips to turn cares and concerns into positive actions.

– Accept the intensity of the feelings of grief. Survivors don’t just get over it. With support and understanding they can come to reconcile themselves to its reality. Survivors may be struggling with explosive emotions such as guilt, fear and shame. Be patient, compassionate and understanding.

– Listen with all of your heart. Your presence and desire to listen without judgment are critical helping tools. Willingness to listen is the best way to offer help to someone who needs to talk. Sometimes the story needs to be repeated again and again. This is part of the healing process. You don’t need to have the answer; just listen and understand.

– Avoid explanations and clichés. Words, particularly clichés, can be extremely painful for a suicide survivor. Comments like,” You are holding up so well,” or “Time will heal all wounds,” are not helpful.

– Be compassionate. Give permission to express feelings without fear or criticism. Don’t instruct or give explanations about how they should respond. Never say,” I know just how you feel.” You don’t. Recognize tears as a natural and appropriate expression of the pain associated with loss.

– Respect faith and spirituality. If faith is a part of their lives, let them express it in ways that seem appropriate. If they are mad at God, encourage them to talk about it. Remember, having anger toward God speaks of having a relationship with God. Don’t be a judge, be a loving friend. Your task is to listen and learn.

Remember to be patient. The process of grief takes a long time, so proceed at your and your friend’s own pace. Grief is the result of having loved.

For more information about Hospice Services of Lake County, call 707-263-6222 or visit www.lakecountyhospice.org .

Linda Laing is bereavement director for Hospice Services of Lake County, Calif.

How important are the arts to a community? The arts surround us every day in ways we may not realize; the design of our cars, the organization of our community and the style of the buildings we build.

The arts are reflected in the style of our dress, which reflects our own artistic expression of self. The arts are reflected in the movies we attend, the books we read, and the music we enjoy. The arts are the conduit by which our more inner and personal selves are expressed.

When we admire the artwork at the Lake County Arts Council’s First Friday Fling, enjoy a poem at a writers’ workshop, appreciate a quilt made by our ancestors, mother or a friend, or when we watch dancers at the Soper-Reese Theatre, we experience the arts at a personal level.  

The arts express the personal artistic side in all of us, bringing us together through their various mediums.

The significance of the arts to a community and to the individual cannot be underestimated. Without art, a community – and individuals – cannot thrive.  

When a community comes together to celebrate the arts, the flood of negative information from world conflicts, personal tragedy or political discourse may be seen in a different perspective.

The arts play an important role in the development of our young.  Whether learning to create art, appreciate art, or studying art forms, their lives are enriched and their communities benefit.  

In our Lake County schools the arts are integral to children’s development. Music, dramatic and literary exposure help them to grow and develop into interesting adults.

Coming events at the Soper-Reese:

• New Vintage Productions’ presentation of “Night at the Speak Easy,” Saturday, Feb. 9, 7 p.m.
• Second Tuesday Classic Movies presents “Pillow Talk,” Tuesday, Feb. 12. Matinée, 1 p.m.; evening showing, 6 p.m.
• Third Friday Live presents “Blue Collar” Friday, Feb. 15, and “The Funky Dozen” on Friday, March 15, 7 p.m. both nights.
• The Lake County Arts Council annual Winter Music Fest on Saturday, Feb. 23, 7 p.m., and Sunday, Feb. 24, 2 p.m.
• Lake County Live, live onstage radio broadcast on KPFZ 88.1 FM, Sunday, Feb. 24, 6 p.m.
• Professional Pianists’ Concert, benefit for the Lake County Friends of Mendocino College Sunday, March 10, 3 p.m. Featuring: Elena Casanova, Tom Ganoung, Tom Aiken, David Neft, Elizabeth MacDougal and Spencer Brewer.
• Bob Culbertson, “Celtic Waters” CD release, featuring special guests, Saturday, March 16, 7 p.m.

Finally, the Soper-Reese Community Theatre had the honor of hosting a celebration of 30 years of Bill Noteman and the Rockets.

Out of retirement for this event, Bill and the Rockets rocked the house, reminding us of the importance of the arts and relationships in a community.

Congratulations Bill, and thank you for enriching our community. We look forward to a return performance in January 2014, since we have now dubbed January “Bill Noteman and the Rockets Month” at the Soper-Reese Community Theatre.

Tickets for events are available at The Travel Center in the Shoreline Shopping Center, Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

The theater box office is always open 2 hours before show time on the day of any event, and will be open again on Fridays from 10:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., starting on June 22. Tickets also can be purchased online at www.soperreesetheatre.com .

For all the latest in information, tickets and more go to www.soperreesetheatre.com , and we’ll see you at the theater.

Kathy Windrem and Mike Adams are part of the large volunteer group that run the Soper-Reese Community Theatre in Lakeport, Calif.

Recently Team DUI delivered its vital message through presentations to seventh and eighth grade students at Lucerne Elementary School.

Team DUI’s facilitator, California Highway Patrol Officer Kory Reynolds, and our messengers, Karen Petz, Kathy Testa and Wendy Jensen, reached out to these students with their efforts to teach our youth the dangers and consequences of driving under the influence.

This young audience listened with their minds and their hearts.

Each speaker reached deep into their hearts to help secure the future safety of the students.

As one speaker said, “It is not easy for us to stand in front of this class, reliving painful memories that expose our painful tragedies due to bad decisions.”

Officer Reynolds spoke with the students about what they can do in the event they are ever in a situation involving alcohol and how to be prepared beforehand with an exit strategy.

He encouraged the students to have conversations with their parents in order to prevent undesirable situations should the students end up in a potentially dangerous situation involving alcohol.

He also shared with the students the affects poor decisions have on many lives including first responders.

He helped the students to understand that even though first responders are trained to respond to various situations; it does not mean that they are not affected by the tragedies they see as many of the casualties of DUI will stay vivid in the minds of first responders forever.

Kathy Testa recounted how her son grew up in an environment of alcohol and drugs which ultimately resulted in his poor choice to drink and drive, causing a man to die as a result of that decision. She spoke about how his poor decision affected so many lives in so many ways.

Students heard from the heart of a mother of the consequences of a tragedy she and her son will live with for the rest of their lives. Kathy said she will tell this painful story everyday of her life if it would save just one child.

Wendy Jensen drove two hours to deliver her presentation to these students. Her presentation was emotionally powerful, having been a prior teacher’s assistant at Lucerne Elementary.

Wendy made a poor choice about drinking and driving.

In 2007 she drove 100 miles per hour the wrong way on the freeway. Her blood alcohol level was .20, which is more than twice the legal limit. She hit her victim’s vehicle head-on, nearly killing an innocent man. Her victim spent an entire year in the hospital.

Wendy was sentenced to jail and lost everything that mattered to her in her life. She told the students it all began at a very early age, sipping alcohol as a child and continuing to conceal her drinking throughout her childhood.

She shared with them her enduring struggle to rebuild her life all because of a bad decision.

Karen Petz, retired from the Northshore Fire Protection District, brought to life the painful memories of the death of her son on his 25th birthday due to an alcohol-related tragedy.

She and her husband, Ken, EMTs with the fire department at the time, were among the first responders on the scene, only to discover their own son.

Twenty-six years have passed, but through the everlasting grief within this mother’s heart, students saw and heard first hand the devastation that will never go away because of a wrong decision.

These four speakers bared their souls in order that these students could have a chance at life. It is not easy to do this, as each time a messenger speaks; the wounds in their hearts grow deeper.

No one is immune from DUI. You don’t have to be driving to be a victim. Everyday innocent people are injured or lose their lives at the hands of a DUI driver.

Drinking and driving is no accident; it is a poor choice that is completely preventable.

Alcohol is the No 1 cause of death among teenagers.

For readers who are parents, please have that important conversation with your child before tragedy strikes.

Share with them the exit strategy that could save their lives. Make a plan that can save their lives.

Lake County is fortunate to have the dedication and courageousness of all the members of Team DUI. Because of the message Team DUI delivers, lives will be saved; maybe even your life.

Team DUI welcomes speakers and volunteers. For more information about Team DUI call 707-994-4886.

Judy Thein is founder of Team DUI. She lives in Clearlake, Calif.

Sun, my sail and moon, my rudder,
As I ply the starry sea,
Leaning over the edge in wonder,
Casting questions into the deep.
Drifting here with my ship's companions,
All we kindred pilgrim souls,
Making our way by the lights of the heavens,
In our beautiful blue boat home.
– Peter Mayer, Blue Boat home

For many years now, I have shared a dream.  

The dream is one of an entire people collectively working to renew and restore our local vitality – the land, the waters, our communities and our economy.

As a local leader in this time and place, I am mindful that many decision-makers struggle when faced with a choice between helping the economy and allowing no environmental impact at all.  

This has been at issue for generations. In fact, the quality of our lives here today is directly related to the decisions made by those who came before us.  

The sad truth is that we have inherited decades of actions that have degraded our watershed and land base.  

Loosely translated, “environmental impact” means that habitat is degraded or destroyed and the watershed is negatively affected by a decision, even a little bit.  

To make it even tougher, these decisions aren’t really noticed until one adds up all the hundreds of small decisions from the vantage point of history – taking the view of the generations to come.   

Further, these decisions are not made any easier by our system of jurisprudence and the byzantine nature of environmental law, nor by the fact that the natural world holds no rights at all in our human system of law.  

Degradation is inevitable in these circumstances, and we now stagger under both the weight of the laws meant to stop it and the consequences of past decisions.  

I believe is possible to have a both strong economy and environmental stewardship, and I have come to believe that while laws can only slow destruction, they are not well-suited to renewal and restoration.  

Renewal can only come through people who care about their home enough to invest their time, talent and treasure and through responsible entrepreneurs who create an economy of which we can all be proud. (We could also use some outside funding from federal and state governments, who permitted economic interests areas outside our region to exploit the resources of our county for generations.)

Imagine working together to renew, restore and reimagine what it means to be alive at this time and in this place.  

To achieve such an ambitious dream, we must start with the things to which we agree and then seek common ground on the things that we don’t.

We agree:

• that good local food is not only nutritious and healthy, but good for our economy;
• that our homes and communities must be protected from wildfire;
• that buying from local businesses, keeping resources here in our community serves us all;
• that investment and jobs that bring resources to our economy without exploiting the people or environment benefit everyone;
• that a healthy Lake and watershed is vital to our economy and the well-being of our citizenry.

Here is one example of seeking common ground: we came within 4 percent of passing Measure E – a local tax measure that would invest in the long term health of Clear Lake. Sixty two percent of the voting public wasn’t enough to adopt this measure. Those who voted against it wanted a better long term plan.

So as leaders, it is our job to come up with a better long term plan and then try again. The next election cycle is in 2014. Hopefully, anyone who cares about Clear Lake will work to pass a successor to Measure E and it will be one that we can all support.

It is my intention to once again personally campaign for the successor to Measure E during that time.  I believe it is vital to turning around our economy and our environmental future.

The year 2014 is also the year that I would be seeking a third term in office if I chose to do so. Those who know me know that I had never intended to become a career politician.

After much thought I realize that I need to make an announcement at this time to give others time to plan. I have decided that I will not be seeking reelection in 2014 for the new term of office that begins in 2015.

It is my hope that thoughtful, engaged and energetic people will discern whether they are called to step into the role of District 3 supervisor and choose to run for office in the coming election cycle. I hope that the best people choose to run and the voting public encourages leaders to step forward.

While the work of creating a vital local community is not over, I feel that I have done what I came to do in local government – change the conversation and introduce a new approach, engage and encourage citizen leaders, and work to “plug the economic leaks” in our economy, starting with energy use.  

I’m proud that this board has adopted a general plan of land use, preserved Mt. Konocti for future generations, invested in 3.2 megawatts of solar energy and hundreds of kilowatts in energy efficiency, brought higher education to our community and kept a balanced county budget during the most difficult economy in our lifetime.   

I will never stop working on my vision and dream for our community (you can access this vision at http://www.deniserushing.net/vision ). Beginning in 2015, it is my intention to serve the community by doing what I do best – creating jobs as an entrepreneur and helping local entrepreneurs create and grow environmentally and socially responsible businesses.

I will continue to work hard in my remaining term of office for the citizens of Lake County and intend to focus my remaining time in office on the economy, the lake and associated environmental issues, and the business of managing county government through lean economic times.  

…The wide universe is the ocean I travel,
And the Earth is my blue boat home.

Denise Rushing has been empowering organizational and cultural transformation for more than 30 years as an author, environmental engineer, entrepreneur, elected official and ecological designer. She lives in Upper Lake, Calif. Visit her on the Web at www.DeniseRushing.net .

Through the trees and broken clouds I could see the stars twinkling brightly against the black November sky, and thought to myself, “How beautiful, this is the last thing I will ever see.”

I was slipping into unconsciousness as I made this somewhat peculiar observation, lying flat on my back on the driveway in front of my house, clad in only my underwear.

This unplanned predicament came as the result of my neighbor going on a meth and booze binge of epic enough proportions that, unbeknownst to us, his wife had left him earlier in the evening, and with my spouse and I being the next closest people to share his displeasure with he did just that – by bombarding our home deep in the Santa Cruz Mountains with rocks at 3:30 in the morning.

Though I wasn’t looking for a fight when I confronted him I wasn’t ruling out kicking some ass if I had to, as I had fought him once before and quickly subdued him even though he had the size and weight advantage.

He was shouting all sorts of bizarre things and was obviously drug-impaired, and it alarmed me that his wife hadn’t come out to quiet him down, as I knew this was a very bad sign and feared for her safety.

When our yelling match took an ugly turn I soon realized my cocky assumptions were no longer valid, as this time my opponent had strength that was unimaginable, and the fight was going badly fast.

I had been in probably more than my share of brawls but this one was different, it quickly became clear to me that this wasn’t someone just trying to teach me a lesson – this was serious.

I had known this man for well over a decade and we had been friends, but this wasn’t the neighbor I knew, it was a raging madman with superhuman strength of a kind I had never encountered before-or since.

The beating intensified, and I was tossed like a rag doll first against a car and then to the ground, where the back of my neck came down on the edge of the pavement.

The thought of killing another human being never had crossed my mind before, but I now came to the terrible conclusion that my only chance was to try with every ounce of strength I had to kill this man.

But it was no use, it seemed like five men against one and it was then, with him sitting on my chest beating my face to a pulp, that I realized I was done.

Suddenly my assailant leaned back and his eyes rolled-up in his head, and out of the corner of my eye I could see my wife holding something and hear her screaming at him, then just as suddenly they were both gone.

As my head began to clear I slowly rolled on my side and drug myself into the bushes next to the house, the only thing I knew at that point was I couldn’t take any more fighting.

The next sounds I heard were those of furniture being smashed, and my thoughts were instantly focused on whether or not my wife had retreated back inside the house. The destruction continued for another minute or so until I heard a sort of cracking noise – then it was suddenly dead quiet again.

After a minute, I managed to get myself upright and hobble to the front door and looked in to see the entire living room trashed, but to my great relief my wife emerged from the bedroom, and though terrified and shaking she was intact except for a nasty gash to her hand.

On the other hand I had not fared nearly so well, as I realized when the volunteer fire department I belonged to showed up a few minutes later.

It was a considerable shock to me when the friends I had lived next to and worked with for years with walked up to me and asked me who I was, it was only then that I realized how bad I looked.

When I checked a mirror to confirm my suspicions my first thought was, “WHERE THE HELL IS MY MUSTACHE?,” as the area between my eyes and mouth was nothing but ripped meat, my upper lip was in shreds.

The list of damage I had suffered was long, virtually every inch of my entire body was bruised, scraped or bleeding. All of my lower front teeth were damaged, all of my upper front teeth were gone, my nose was badly broken, my hip bone was visible through a hole in my side, and later I found out the terrible pain in my neck was because my fifth cervical vertebrae was broken clean in two.

That was over 25 years ago but the reminders are still there every time I look in the mirror – the bent nose, the different shaped nostrils, the chipped teeth and the faint series of diagonal scars between my mouth and nose. I have limited ability to turn my head, the vertebrae is still broken and sometimes my neck makes awful sounds when I move it.

Our attacker was never punished. He was involved in a solo vehicle drunk driving crash two weeks before his trial and eventually died of his injuries, meaning no restitution was ever paid.

It turned out the object my wife had struck him with was, of all things, a waffle maker, her gash to the hand was from smacking him in the head with it.

But the waffle maker was not enough to permanently deter him, as the cracking sound I had heard was that of my pistol being fired inside the house, after which he beat a hasty retreat.

My four-and-a-half month pregnant wife had once again saved the day when she fired a warning shot in the general direction of the intruder, it was the only thing that could have possibly ended the attack and it’s quite possible that three people’s lives were saved by that one gunshot.

I don’t want to live in an armed camp where everyone walks around with guns strapped to them, but do get rather annoyed with people who think we’d all be safer with no guns in civilian hands, as with me it’s not a hypothetical question.

It’s also annoying and saddening to see a quarter century later right here in Lake County meth is still doing tremendous damage, with a whole new generation of young soon-to-be-old faces on the booking sheets at the county jail.

This is why I love guns and hate meth, and always will.

Philip Murphy lives in Finley, Calif.

Stan Musial was before my time. But in a way he is the reason I fell in love with the game of baseball.

You see, Musial was my father's baseball hero. My Dad was living in Missouri during those all-important years in a baseball fan's life, the pre-teen years when lifelong fans are molded from the clay of boys and girls.

Musial played for the St. Louis Cardinals during those years. In fact, he played for the St. Louis Cardinals for his entire 22-year career.

They called him Stan The Man, and he was the greatest Cardinals player ever, and one of the greatest all-time, period. The numbers are golden: seven National League batting titles, lifetime .331 hitter, 475 home runs, 24 all star appearances.

In 1963, Musial was 42 years old and almost done, and my father had recently moved his young family from San Francisco out to the suburbs that were then metastasizing in the walnut groves of Contra Costa County.

Musial had announced his intention to retire at the end of that season, and fans in every National League city turned out to bid the future Hall of Famer adieu. And that was the moment that my father chose to introduce me to the game that would be a part of my life thereafter.

Who knows? Maybe my Dad really just wanted to see his hero Stan The Man trot out to the field one more time, to look out onto the field and somehow see his own boyhood in Musial's batting stance, his swing, a tip of his cap.

Baseball does that to men, I know that now. So, surely my baptism into the church of baseball wasn't the only reason we went to Candlestick Park that summer of 63 to see the Giants play the Cardinals.

I was 5 years old that summer. I don't remember the exact date. I don't remember Stan Musial. I remember what every 5 year old remembers from his first big league baseball game – that first bright glimpse of impossible green as you ascend from a dark stairway to your section of the stands, holding your Dad's hand – and suddenly the diamond takes shape in front of you, the white lines glinting in the sun so perfectly, almost painfully true.

And I remember Willie Mays. How could you not remember the first time you saw Willie Mays play baseball? I don't remember exactly what he did that day. I just remember looking out and seeing him in centerfield, like a shining Lamborghini, looking fast just standing still. I was instantly in awe of the man.

Looking through the box scores from that year, I like to think it was July 5. On that day, the Giants were down five runs to four, but tied it up in the bottom of the ninth inning, and won it in the bottom of the eleventh. Mays went two for four, Willie McCovey hit one out, and Musial got a hit too. Nice day at the ballyard.

But it doesn't really matter what game it was. It was my first game, that's what matters. As my father was watching the hero of his boyhood take a final bow, I was experiencing the first day of my formative years as a baseball fan. I was new clay ready to be molded by the grand old game.

Baseball wasn't on the television all season then. Nothing was on the television then as much as everything is on the television now.

Baseball then was a game that happened on transistor radios with telescopic chrome antennas, set out on workbenches in garages with the doors open to the summer streets of the neighborhood.

Baseball happened in the sports section of the San Francisco Chronicle. It was too big for me to open and hold up, but after my Dad was done with it, I would spread out the pages next to my trucks and my green army men on the big corded rug in the living room, and try to study the secret code of the box score.

Baseball happened on the backs of cards that smelled like bubble gum sticks and lived in shoeboxes under the beds of children. Entire seasons were played out in the whirring minds of sick boys sitting cross-legged on blue plaid bedspreads covered with carefully arranged baseball cards. Teams were formed, stats were compared, winners were declared.

And, when you turned on the radio, or spread out the sports section, or when you opened up that shoebox, memories came out. You could see the flashing green of the outfield in the sun, and smell the salty foam on the beers of the men in sport shirts. You could hear the fat guy yelling at the ump, “Hey Blue, try using both eyes.”

You could see Willie Mays rounding third base and headed for home as a roar climbed up the throat of the crowd. Or you could see Stan the Man stepping up to home plate, smiling out at the pitcher.

Stan Musial died Saturday, at the accomplished age of 92. Somehow, sadness doesn't seem to be that much in order here. Rather, it feels like a moment of recognition and gratitude.

Thanks Mr. Musial, for all the memories you gave to the game, for being the biggest reason I went to Candlestick Park for the first time.

Thanks for being the one tipping your cap for my father while I couldn't take my eyes off Willie Mays in the on-deck circle.

Roy Dufrain Jr. lives in Lakeport, Calif.