We were sent to Nanking and then on to southern Taiwan to live with my sister Amy. The next three years were so traumatic and so sad, that I cannot remember the place we lived in, the bed I slept on, or what I ate. I do remember that we were given private lessons in English, French and Chinese. It was tough and we missed our friends from the French School. Our parents had gone into hiding and none of us knew where they were.

When I was sixteen, I read in the daily paper that the French Embassy was looking for a French speaking social secretary. It was on a Thursday that I rode the train from Kaoshiung to Taipei. I took a pedicab and went to the Embassy. The Ambassador hired me and told me I would be picked up by a chauffeur on Monday to start work. He would be paying me in U.S dollars. It was so much money that I was totally speechless. I was going to be FILTHY RICH!

After I left the Embassy, I realized that I had no place to live and almost no money. Once again I bought a newspaper and saw an advertisement that read, “Mrs. Wong, wife of a member of the Legislative Yuan, is looking for an English teacher for six hours a week and will provide room and board.” I took a pedicab to her house to see if I could land that job too. She hired me and I moved in that night. How lucky I was! My life has been a series of fortunate occurrences that always seemed to pop up when I needed them most.

I loved my job in the Embassy. I felt so sophisticated that I started smoking French Gauloise cigarettes and drank champagne with the staff every afternoon at the end of the workday. The Ambassador trusted me and I was allowed to carry the diplomatic pouch to Hong Kong every month. I took advantage of these trips to have tailors make me Chinese “chongshan” dresses in satin, brocade and Chinese silk, and for shoemakers to hand-craft matching shoes.

Julian Freychet, my thrifty French co-worker, suggested that he put away 60% of my salary in the safe for future needs. He said I was spending every dollar I earned on more beautiful outfits than I could possibly use in Taiwan. He was right, of course, and I am forever grateful that he taught me to be less wasteful and to save something for the future.

During this time, I met an American named Jack McKeehan, who took Mandarin Chinese classes from me. I became totally infatuated with him and he with me. He worked for “Western Enterprises,” which was a front for the CIA. Soon he was able to speak basic Chinese and even to write. He told me that when his time ended in Taiwan, he would marry me and take me to Knoxville, Tennessee. I did not know quite where that was, only that it was in America. I was so excited because I had always wanted to go to America, which is called “Mei Gwo” in Chinese, which means “beautiful country.”

On my birthday, he gave me a record player with 12 albums of country and western music. I loved it so much, and still remember some of my favorites. Songs like, “Seven Lonely Nights,” “Send Me the Pillow That You Sleep On,” “If You Loved Me Half as Much as I Loved You,” and especially, “I Can’t Stop Loving You.” The last song is still my favorite and always will be.

After I had worked six or seven months with the Embassy and felt very secure in my job, I decided to go back south to pick up my few belongings. On our return to Taipei the small plane in which I was a passenger crashed on takeoff and all four of us on board were injured. I remember seeing a gaping hole on my left leg and my back was so painful that I couldn’t move.

Taiwan was quite primitive at the time and nobody knew what to do with us. We each lay on a bed in a big cold room, where we were given minimal first aid. I decided to try to reach Jack by phone to tell him what had happened to me and to ask him to contact my twin sister, Lu. She was working as an airline stewardess and was hard to locate. When Jack answered the phone he said, “Don’t let anyone touch you, I will take care of you!”

That evening Jack marched into the room, pushing aside anyone who was in his way. He was wearing fatigues, combat boots, and a cocky cap. He was so handsome he literally took my breath away! He said, “Come on, let’s go. I have a stretcher waiting and we will fly back to Taipei where Dr. Marino will take care of you.”

The next morning I was in the McKay hospital. Dr. Marino took an X Ray and found that I had six cracked vertebrae. He placed my head on one table, my legs on another, and started to wrap my body with thin gauze. When that was done, the gauze was covered with wet plaster of paris. It took three days for the plaster to fully dry. I was wearing a body cast from my neck to my hips and it weighed over 40 pounds! Consequently, I could wear only large mens’ shirts over elastic pants. I never looked in the mirror because I knew how grotesque my body must have looked.

I continued to work with the French Embassy and Jack continued to take care of me. He never left my side unless he was out in the islands of Quemoy and Matsu. He was not embarrassed to take me out to restaurants and movies, and he had his cook prepare special foods and drinks to keep me healthy. I loved him so much that I gave up all my friends to be with him. I did not even spend time with my twin sister!

Six months later, Dr. Marino told me he was ready to take off my cast. He told me that my back had healed perfectly and I was as good as new.

I started wearing my lovely Chinese dresses and shoes, felt beautiful and confident, and was my happy self again. Jack, however, changed his attitude towards me. He was extremely jealous and frequently accused me of flirting with other men. His behavior became so extreme that I became afraid and knew his behavior was not normal. However, I was so in love with him that I was willing to accept his abuse and his false accusations. I spent every minute with him when I was not working and he was my only friend. Still, I worried about his attitude and after several months I began to have doubts about marrying him.

On July 14, Bastille Day, the French Embassy was having a big celebration. Men were asked to wear tuxedos or dress uniforms, and ladies dressed in evening clothes. I told Jack he could probably pick me up around 9 PM. However, at nine the party was still in full swing so I called and told him to pick me up later. He became furious and banged down the phone. About fifteen minutes later, he charged into the party, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and tennis shoes. He grabbed me by the arm and said, “Let’s go!” I was so embarrassed that I nearly cried. I told him to leave because I was expected to stay until the party was over.

That night I told him I could not marry him. I knew I would be losing the man I loved and the best friend I ever had. I would also lose my chance of seeing America. But I was afraid of how he would act towards me after we got married when I would be all alone with him in a strange country. My decision took him by surprise, but after a prolonged discussion he finally agreed. We kept on seeing each other, but on a different basis and quite soon it was time for him to return to the United States.

At that time I was also taking Spanish lessons. I thought that since I already spoke French and English, Spanish would be easy. Jack had always taken me to the Spanish Embassy for the lessons and picked me up when they were over. Even though I was not going to marry him, he still did not want me to take a pedicab alone, so he introduced me to a friend of his who was also interested in learning Spanish. He introduced me to this quiet, handsome man named Richard Newman, who, of course, has been my husband now for what seems to be a million years.

Jack was leaving the next morning around six a.m. I told him that I could not bear to go to the airport to see him off, so we said goodbye the night before. During the time that I was going out with Jack, I would often say to him how I wished there was an armed forces radio station in Taipei. To listen to good American music, we had to tune in to the Philippines and the reception was very bad. I woke up around three a.m. still wet with tears, when I heard some loud banging on top of my room; Jack was installing an antenna so that I could get better reception from the Philippines. My heart was broken and I knew I had lost a man who truly loved me.

About twenty years later, when we were on home leave, I told Dick I would give Jack a call. He was a lawyer living in Knoxville, Tennessee. He told me that he was divorced, but his son was living with him.

When Jack was in Taiwan, he did magic shows for charity, and I would often be up on the stage as his assistant, wearing a short, shiny outfit. I asked him if he still practiced magic and if he still remembered how to speak and read Chinese. He told me that he was too busy to practice magic, and that he had forgotten his Chinese. He said, however, that he sometimes carried a Chinese newspaper around to impress people. He also told me that he was bald, because a few days before at a charity function one hundred dollars was offered to any man who volunteered to have his hair shaved off. I thought that was very cool and impressive. He asked me if Dick and I could visit him, but I declined. That was the last I heard from Jack.

Dick and I became very good friends. He picked me up twice a week for Spanish classes and we went out on dates. I also invited him to be my escort anytime there was a reception at the French Embassy. Dick told me something I did not know. He said that my twin sister, Lu, and I were famous in the American community. They knew we spoke many languages, that one was an airline stewardess and one worked for the French Embassy. I was surprised to learn that.

Dick was completely different from Jack, he wanted me to have friends and enjoyed meeting them and he never doubted anything I said or did. I did not feel tense or worried about his reactions and every time I was with him it was relaxing and fun.

Dick had only a few months left in Taiwan, but he promised that he would come back and marry me. Even though I was only seventeen years old, I was also very realistic. I thought that once he returned to America and started dating beautiful American girls he would forget all about me. I read many American magazines and I was always amazed at how beautiful, blond, and blue-eyed the girls were. I was sad to see him go, but we promised that we would keep writing to each other. He never forgot his promise and the letters kept coming.

Several months after Dick left, an older man came to the French Embassy looking for me. He told me that he had worked under my father for many years and that he had been nominated by the Taiwan government to go to Athens, Greece, as the Chinese ambassador. He needed a social secretary who could speak French and English. He offered me the job and would give me a week to think about it. I was jumping up and down for joy and said “Yes” immediately.

At last I would travel, not as an ordinary citizen, but as a diplomat. I would see Europe and visit all the wonderful countries I studied about. I would climb the Acropolis, visit the Roman Empire, explore the medieval castles in Spain, and finally on to France, land of my dreams. I would find the perfect spot by the Mediterranean sea, speak French while eating baguettes, brie cheese, and truffles, all washed down by good French wine. I was intoxicated with excitement!

The next month, I kept the tailors and shoe makers busy making me beautiful Chinese outfits. Julian Freychet gave me all the money he had saved for me and I was amazed at how much it was. Everything was going my way.

I lived in the Chinese Embassy in Greece. I had my own little maid and Embassy servants served our meals in silver domed trays. I went to diplomatic parties and photographers followed me everywhere; I don’t think they had ever seen a young Chinese girl before. Miranda, the daughter of our landlord, invited me to go to a movie with her three days after I arrived in Athens. I wore a Chinese dress with slits up the thighs and caused a huge commotion. Four Greek soldiers followed us to the movies and then back to the Embassy. They handed me a note that read, “Young lady from the East, we hope you will call us sometime.” They had all written down their names and telephone numbers. I still have that little piece of paper. What a sweet memory!

Dick and I kept up our correspondence and he wanted to come to Greece to visit me. I kept making excuses. I was too afraid to make a commitment. I felt he wanted to get married, but I was having too much fun in this wonderful country. Greek man looked like gods, they were so handsome. I was loving the attention and enjoying the diplomatic parties.

The Ambassador did not allow me to go out on my own, but there were many diplomatic parties to attend. He also promised to send me to Paris after I had completed two years with him.

Dick, however, persisted for over a year. Finally, he said he had enough money saved up and he was coming to visit me. He told me in his letter that I needed to make a decision, to say “yes” or “no” to marrying him. He said he needed to know so that he could move on with his life.

I went to the Ambassador to tell him that I had a friend coming to visit. He asked, “What is his name?”. I replied, “Richard Newman,” and the Ambassador said “What kind of a Chinese name is that?”

I made my decision in a very childish way. I thought to myself, if he looks handsome when he comes off the plane I will say “Yes.”

We were married in the Chinese Embassy and the Ambassador gave me away. I wore a red Chinese dress for good luck. Even though I had only known Dick for four or five months, in my gut I knew he was a good man and would be a good husband. Once again, my instincts were correct, and we have been happily married ever since. We have two wonderful children and two grandchildren. We lived in thirteen countries on five continents.

I am so blessed because I feel like a citizen of the world. I enjoy all peoples and all cultures. Lucky me! I have based my life on the “Yin Yang” philosophy, “Balance” and “Opposites”, and I also know that “Happiness” is not given, it must be earned.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on June 16, 2009 on Chi-Newman.com. Chi expands on a small period of her amazing life, describing her transition from being practically an orphan at age 13, to a young woman who found herself working and partying within the highest international government social circles.

If we want energy security here in the United States (I think we need it) and not remain dependent on foreign oil, then why do we appear to be overlooking natural gas?

These questions beg for a logical response. Natural gas is far more cost effective than either oil or coal, and America’s known resource base exceeds 100 years of supply based on current U.S. consumption levels.

My son Keith is a chemical engineer and plant manager for Total Petrochemicals in Houston, Texas. He recently shared with me what I think is a thought-provoking lecture from Keith Rattie, president of Questar Corp, one of the fastest-growing producers of natural gas in America. You can read his speech in its entirety HERE.

This ten-page transcript of Rattie’s lecture is loaded with lots of irrefutable facts about our energy needs. In my opinion it makes an overpowering case for using natural gas—a significantly cleaner fossil fuel—to help wean our country away from gasoline and coal.

Unfortunately, many of the kernels of wisdom could be lost in the misinformation Mr. Rattie also cites about the ice cap in the Arctic and a “green” Greenland, along with some of his assertions about global warming (I prefer “climate change”). And the messenger does not help the cause with his subjective forecast for alternative fuels.

Perhaps that’s how he thinks the game is played. There is currently no accountability system existing to challenge hard-core environmentalists who willingly or naively misrepresent the facts or use doctored-up pictures to garner support for their doom and gloom views. Many Al Gore clones have successfully demonized everything and everyone associated with fossil fuel industries by using these methods.

Far too many in the public treat oil companies like the enemy, forcing them to defend themselves needlessly and to spend their valuable time and resources to satisfy poorly thought-out regulations. Yes -- and it doesn’t help oil people when their cause is championed by Dick Cheney or radio personality Rush Limbaugh, someone who has turned the use of misinformation into an art form. But it also doesn’t invalidate what the “ditto heads” know to be the truth.

And so it is with Mr. Rattie. His use of misinformation doesn’t change the enormous opportunity for America to use more natural gas as an energy source. We’ll make a huge mistake by minimizing our staggering, 24-hours-a-day dependency on fossil fuel producers who are supporting our standard of living. Nor should we fantasize about how simple it would be to completely replace petroleum with energy from the sun, wind, and other natural resources.

Natural Gas: Pros and cons as a fuel for automobiles.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGaA7r2Y70I

I for one am grateful for Mr. Rattie’s motives. I feel that if he wants to make a case for natural gas -- a really good one -- a case that will be supported by the majority of the public and key politicians, then he needs to limit his speech writing to areas in which he is supremely qualified. Rattie isn’t a scientist, but I think he’s a damn good salesman who understands the potential for natural gas. And, I like his tenacity.

In technical terms, getting a new knee is called a “knee arthroplasty.” Currently, almost half a million people in our country have either a knee or a hip replacement every year. It’s both a bane and a blessing of being a “Boomer” in our current world. Most members of our generation have led more active lives than our parents did, and we are fortunate to live in an era where technological advances are rapidly keeping pace with our drive to wear our parts out.

I had a knee arthroplasty two weeks and three days ago. Getting to the point where you are ready to commit to this surgery generally follows a period of years with angst and pain. Making the elective decision to go through a period you know is going to be full of even more intense angst and pain is not an easy one.

I began to write this article last week while I was still in the early days of the rigors of post-surgery out-patient physical therapy to bring a sense of reality to what this is all about. Like me, I know many of you are facing the probability of needing joint replacement surgery. My intent is to give you some first-hand information that will help you with your decision, and to help you understand what to expect if you do decide to have the surgery.

Here are a couple of important no-brainers: Unless you have great insurance, the surgery and the follow-up physical therapy are expensive. The surgery is painful, and the physical therapy that begins immediately after surgery is monotonous and also very painful.

As the doctor I chose told me, having a bad knee is not life threatening. For me, if you can get some additional life out of your damaged knee with treatments, such as injections, it is worth trying.

I managed to get two pretty good years with injections of SYNVISC. Depending on the degree of damage to your joint, this visco-supplement can do some of the work that was done by the synovial fluid in your knee, which can break down over time. In my case, almost thirty years of participation in amateur sports had simply worn my knee out, so the injected fluid helped to lubricate the damaged joint.

Be sure to get more than just one medical opinion. When you think you have found the right doctor, check him out. Google search had a lot of information about my doctor, all of it positive. I found out he is a leading orthopedic surgeon who only does joint replacement surgery and has pioneered some of the latest developments that make the surgery less painful, less invasive, and easier to recover from. Frankly, I told my second opinion doctor that I thought the guy “was a little cocky.” His response to me was, “He’s probably just good.” I think he probably is.

To me, this is the most important part of this story. My doctor puts out a wonderful, inch thick booklet that tells you what to expect, and what to do before and after the surgery. The only thing I thought could have been stated more emphatically was the suggestion that you exercise as much as you can before the surgery. In the first few days after the operation, almost every little thing you do is difficult: rolling over, getting out of bed, going to the bathroom, sitting up to eat. You need strong arms and a strong good leg to compensate for the fact that you cannot get anything out of the surgery leg.

Until three days before the surgery, I was walking three miles every other day. Yeah, the knee hurt and swelled up, but I just iced it and took Advil. I also worked my upper body and my arms with a ten pound medicine ball on the days I walked.

My doctor and two therapists described my recovery in the early stages as “exceptional.” My hospital stay was supposed to be three days but I was out in just two, primarily because I did so well with the physical therapist. I understand that some people just aren’t used to physical activity, and some potential candidates for surgery have too much damage or so much pain that they simply can’t exercise.

I’d made my mind up to follow all of the directions that were given to me before the surgery. I ate smartly, limited my alcohol intake to a couple of beers a night up until three days before the surgery, and then just drank water and juice. We tried to prepare our house by removing all tripping obstacles such as throw rugs. I realize that everyone has different limits on what they can do, but if you can recover without dealing with stairs, it will be much easier for you.

There were many other instructions that come in the booklet the doctor gave me, and some of them relate to doing things that help to lessen the possibility of clotting and infection  – both very real possibilities with this type of surgery. I did everything they suggested.

I attended a pre-surgery class with a group of about fifteen people who were scheduled to have knee joint replacement with four different doctors. From the beginning, the hospital representative issued a series of disclaimers. We were informed that those of us who had my doctor would have different procedures during the surgery and throughout the recovery period. To me, the first and most important difference was that we were going to receive nerve blocks.

When I awoke in the recovery room after the hour long surgery, my right leg was in a continuous passive motion machine (CPM). The machine was gently bending my knee every few minutes immediately after the surgery. With only occasional breaks, my leg stayed in the CPM machine for a good part of the time I was in the hospital. I don’t know how much pain medication would have been required to allow my leg to have this immediate post-surgery therapy without the benefit of the nerve blocks.

The CPM came home with me and I was required to use it for three two-hour periods every day. I reached the required bend of 90 percent on the CPM just nine days after the surgery.

This is probably a good place to take a little more of the glow off my story. This was major surgery, so the pain is real. You have to take pain medication to be able to do the therapy – and you have to do the therapy. Internal scar tissue can form quickly, and if you don’t do the proper amount of therapy, the recovery will be long and nasty. For most people, heavy amounts of medication cause loss of appetite and constipation. You can get through this by drinking lots of liquids and regularly eating small amounts of good food, including fruits, vegetables, and fiber.

Everything you do will be difficult and painful for a while. My doctor required me to have blood-thinning shots in my abdomen for my first week at home. I was taught how in the hospital, and it was easier for me to administer them to myself than to have my wife do them. In reality, the injections were very easy.

For the first week or so, sleeping comfortably is very difficult. You’ll be lucky to get a couple of hours of sleep at a time. Put a small, comfortable pillow between your legs so you can sleep on your side for part of the night. Be sure to leave night lights on between your bed and the bathroom.

If you chose out-patient therapy, as I have, find a good therapist. I found mine by doing an in-network search through our insurance company. My therapist works me hard, while making me feel positive about what I’m doing. Three days ago he gently worked my leg to 105 degrees – two days before my staples came out. As I mentioned above, it’s important to take your pain medication so you can manage the PT and was reminded to do this many times.

I wanted to get off the prescription pain medication as early as I could. I went to a therapy session last week after taking Extra Strength Tylenol, which had been working for me around the house, but it turned out to be a painful experience. Since then I use the prescription medication before each PT session. Now that blood thinning is not an issue for me, I can use Extra Strength Tylenol combined with Advil around the house. Unless you have a very high tolerance for pain, I would recommend that you also use the prescription medication before your physical therapy sessions.

Oh, and I have to mention the white surgical stockings – on both legs! They are for control and prevention of blood clots, so they are a fashion item you’ll just have to deal with.

I know it sounds corny, but being positive is the best medicine I can prescribe. I can already see a pain-free future where I will be able to do some of the things I love to do and haven’t been able to for a while. Don’t try to do it alone. My wife has patiently helped me through this, and I can’t imagine anybody making it through their first week at home by themselves.

As I stated, this story has a happy ending. Yesterday – just fifteen days after my surgery – staples were removed, the CPM was returned to the supplier, those sexy white stockings were discarded, and candidly, I don’t really need the cane.

Yesterday I had the best night of sleep I’ve had since before my surgery and I feel my only limitations will be based on how much I am willing to push myself.

The best trick I’ve learned? Put your left hand between your legs on the front of the toilet seat. Put your right hand on the right side of the toilet seat. Push yourself up with both arms and your left leg.

And now that glass of scotch in the evening tastes oh so good.

Editor’s Note: We’ve obliged Craig Bieber’s request to have this article appear on his newly redesigned website, www.CraigBieber.com. Go check it out and be sure to let Craig know what you think about it. He promises some great new features and articles on subjects that are near and dear to him.

The Christmas story is an endearing tale, filled with subtle beautiful meaning, no matter your faith, or depth of belief. What a shame it is lost in the blur of shopping and wrapping, of Santas dropped from airplanes or delivered by fire trucks and worshiped by all.

Take time to imagine the journey of the Wise Men from the East, following a star, “…westward leading, still proceeding…” I’ve had the good fortune to pilot a sailboat hundreds of miles from land. After sunset, it can be tiring frustrating work to keep a compass heading. But when the ink black heavens are ablaze with stars, it becomes pure joy: look through the rigging, find a guide star, follow it and you will hold a true course. Should clouds interfere, you search for another guide star to hold your bearing.

Their quest to find the meaning of the star was an arduous one. High mountains with bandits and desolate deserts threatened the Wise Men’s lives, wore down their resolve, but they persevered. What sustained them? Their guide star always appeared and gave their journey meaning.

Was theirs a journey to reclaim lost innocence, to find purpose, find hope? I’m quite sure it ended with an expression of thanksgiving that comes at the end of any difficult journey. Claire and I know about such quests, athough our journeys are much easier, and will be soon forgotten. Did they find what they sought in the Child? We will never know for sure, but we know they found joy in the journey itself.

The Christmas story bears many a lesson worth considering, and it is a far more satisfying pursuit than buying one more, soon to be forgotten trinket. The lesson of greed is taught one hundred times more often over this season than the lesson taught by the Biblical story of Christmas.

I am not a believer in the inerrancy of the Bible, but I know a good story when I read one, I know a story with a message of truth behind it. It deserves to be shared and thought about. If you’d prefer a more secular seasonal story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a wonderfully simple tale of great value. The Grinch took away their toys and gifts, yet the people of Whoville were still joyous, and celebrated their blessings together.

This Christmas Eve, Claire and I are toting up our blessings in our wonderful little home: We are warm, and dry, we have each other, a large community of friends, and three stuffed pandas. We will go to bed well fed, anticipate a wonderful breakfast, and a full day of stimulating activity. We have a simple healthy life, and plans for the future. We don’t have a decorated tree or brightly wrapped packages. Our presents are our blessings, wrapped in the joy of deeply felt thanksgiving.

So have a merry Christmas, a happy Hanukah, Kwanzaa, or Saturnalia… Whatever your seasonal story might be, take time to savor it, and be thankful.

Oh! You thought I was talking about belt-tightening, as in spending less? Well, did you know that the first widely known usage of the two words together was in 1887 by Rudyard Kipling, “I was once starved and tightened my belt on the sharp belly pinch.” So you see, it all did begin with losing belly fat, starving really in his case. Few Americans are starving yet, and for most, the last thing they’d consider giving up would be their pizzas, beer and chocolate chip cookies. And, we don’t like the idea of financial belt tightening either.

We are a society who has had it all, whatever and whenever we want. Why not? We think it’s our birthright, “the American way.” We are the richest, most powerful country in the world. We deserve to be fat, and to remain fat. We deserve to overindulge and to have the health care provider of our choice fix the resultant damage, at whatever cost. We are deserving of the most and the best; those who believe otherwise are un-American.

We deserve cheap gasoline, (we have it again, for awhile). We deserve unlimited credit (we don’t have it anymore) so that we can buy huge homes and unlimited quantities of stuff we’ll soon shove to the back of the garage. We deserve to have heavy inefficient vehicles so that when we have an accident the other guy will die, not us. We deserve, we deserve, we deserve.

Now we just might not be able to afford some of the things we feel we deserve anymore. Whether we deserve those things or not our belt tightening has begun, and the end is nowhere in sight.

We must realize that our descendants will be paying for this financial mess most of their lives. Some of you know that your excessive “deserving” probably contributed to the problem. Americans’ sense of entitlement over recent decades led to the lowest savings level in the developed world as “deserving” people overdosed on debt. Now their children might never be able to buy their own dream home – ever.

Don’t you wish the solution was as easy as cutting down on food enough to tighten your belt a notch or two? Our grandparents and great-grandparents didn’t face these dilemmas: Grandpa wrestled a bull-tongue plow behind a Percheron, sheared sheep, or wrestled logs at the sawmill 12 hours a day. Grandma washed laundry by hand, made the soap from hog fat and lye, kept the vegetable garden, gave birth 10 times and then went right back to work. No wonder they could challenge those horses for eating, and still stay slim.

What about their financial belts? They didn’t know that plastic was a word for money, or care how strong, or weak, the U.S. dollar was against foreign currencies. There were no such things as derivatives or hedge funds. What was under the mattress or in a small savings account was about it for investments.

Retirement? Who retired? They just slowed down a little as their garden got smaller, they sold the milk cow, and the five surviving children made up the slack. When they finally got really sick, nobody hooked them up to humming machines in a hospital for months; family and friends came to their bedside to say goodbye, and they just passed on.

It’s not so simple these days. Medicare might be bankrupt by the time you need it, but you don’t expect your children to take care of you in your old age, and there probably aren’t five of them either. Should a double income family lose one job, it’s bankruptcy time. There’s no milk cow to sell or a garden to tide the family over. For many kids the chance of a college loan is zero.

Maybe all those years of entitlement weren’t such a good idea. Perhaps the younger generation will pay attention, deciding that they don’t necessarily deserve everything the advertisers tell them they need – and they just might save a little money. The pendulum always swings back, sometimes painfully.

So take in that belt a couple of notches and accept responsibility for your health, both physical and financial. The days of “deserving it all” could be over for awhile.

We read and we imagined, and when we finally had access to a black and white television, we marveled at the grainy action in front of us. In my little cowboy town, westerns were the favorites, and in those days, the good guys wore white hats, and the bad guys wore black hats…making them easily identifiable.

In the conflicted world we live in today, there are no black hats and no white hats. Had the race zealots who prowl the world today lived in the 1950s, they would have assigned some imagined prejudice based upon skin color to the simple theatrical practice, and it would have gone away much more quickly than it did.

While I miss the white hats and the black hats, I realize there is no practical way to use them now. Today, some dark characters in movies and television are portrayed darkly and some white knights are portrayed accordingly, but the practice is more nuanced.

So…what to do? In my case, I have my own personal mental stable, with the good guys wearing white hats and the bad guys wearing black hats. In these unsteady times, the stable is chocked full. There are dishonest politicians, including a team of them from the state I have lived in for the last thirty-eight years, and greedy Wall Street tycoons who have helped to sling-shot big holes in my IRAs. There are bad CEOs, who run good companies into the ground, and then flee to sunny beaches with obscene amounts of bonus money in their pockets. In the category of How Can You Be So Stupid? there are spoiled, rich athletes who blow it all on ridiculous or illegal excesses…while I lament the fact that as a dedicated amateur athlete, I would have felt blessed to have one day of what they’ve thrown away.

There are white hats in my stable too, although the black hats far outnumber the white hats. And, there are some of my black hats who I’ve moved across the aisle, including my latest move. I didn’t vote for Barack Obama. It had nothing to do with the color of his skin. I didn’t trust him. I thought he arrived too fast, and that he was too charismatic to be real. I was inundated with so much information from my Republican friends that questioned his background, his sources of money, his religion, and his true agenda that I convinced myself that I didn’t like him.

I have moved Barack Obama across the aisle in my mental stable. I am a patriot who believes in our Constitution. I believe that any person who has the drive, the intelligence, and the charisma to rally enough Americans around them to make them the President of the United States deserves our support. It is what being an American should be about. Since the election, I have made it a point to listen to him and to watch him, and I have allowed myself to appreciate his intelligence, while making the common sense evaluation that he has a great responsibility coming, and he has a lot to learn.

If any of my many Republican friends read this, I am sure they will be appalled at my admission. I want them to know that I haven’t completely bailed on them. George Bush is in my white hat stable too. He has been blamed for too much, and been given credit for too little. For all of you who don’t like him, and there are a bunch of you, consider the following:

What do you think would have happened if Al (The Sky is Falling!) Gore had been president on 9/11? Have you thought about being the president when this unprecedented attack reached into the heart of our country? Have you thought about the fact that you have been safe from attack in your own country since 9/11/2001…almost the entire George Bush presidency? Believe what you want, but there are legions of fanatics out there who are dying to bring us down.

Hurricane Katrina? An event so catastrophic and so unexpected that no president before George Bush would have been prepared for it.

World financial disaster? The seeds for our current problems were planted before George Bush became president. He certainly has some complicity, but the current crisis was also exacerbated by two years with a Democratic congress. Most importantly, greedy money mongers from all around the world built a house of cards that had to fall.

Without making a political value judgment, the bottom line for me is that I don’t like sore losers. No matter which side you are on, step up like a man or a woman, and support your country. If your candidate lost, suck it up and support the winner…your country will be better off in the long run.

Personally, I’m a registered Independent. I probably lean more to the right than to the left, but I have heroes on both sides of the fence. I loved JFK, and had tremendous respect and admiration for Ronald Reagan. I didn’t vote for Bill Clinton the first time, but I did vote for him the second time…and then he failed me and everybody else by allowing his presidency and his legacy to be blown away in a White House hallway. I registered as an Independent to allow me to support my favorite mainstream politicians, not because I wanted to waste a vote on people like Ralph Nader.

That is my introduction to Just One Opinion. I am the guy who is just a little off-center from the other contributors, and I appreciate this opportunity to state my opinions. I am also from the great state of Alaska…yes, Sarah Palin country, and I have my opinions about her, global warming, the environment, government regulations, the oil industry, and Santa Claus.

Editor’s Note: We’re very pleased to have Craig Bieber contributing to JustOneOpinion.com. Even though Craig sometimes offers a counterpoint to the usually progressive view held by the editors of this website, his professional writing style clearly outlines and conveys the message he is sharing with our readers. Please feel free to comment on Craig’s articles as well as any others you’ve read on JustOneOpinon. Discover more about Craig by going to his personal website at CraigBieber.com.

I first met Darrell in January, 2001 at a Tucson, Arizona wine dinner. The place was Pastiche, an eclectic restaurant with a knack for doing things right. While I knew Darrell (his sisters and close family members called him Gene) was special from the start, I would later learn that he was a human dynamo who cultivated friendships like gardeners nurture their prized plants and flowers.

In April of this year I said goodbye to Darrell as he lay in a hospital bed, recovering from open-heart surgery. He was not doing well; his immune system had deserted him, but he hadn’t given up. If it was up to him, he was going to beat this thing.

Darrell had one last thing to do before he was going to let go and that was to vote for Barack Obama in the November election. Darrell told me that he believed Obama was a most remarkable man, uniquely qualified to bring about change to a country that he loved, and a country that he devoutly believed was in rapid free-fall, having been Bush-whacked for nearly eight years. As fate would have it, Darrell took his last breath on May 15, 2008. He was seventy-five years young. He would have been ecstatic if had lived long enough to hear Obama’s acceptance speech in Chicago on November 5th.

I made a vow many months ago that if Barack Obama was elected our forty-fourth president, I would tell the readers of Just One Opinion why I believe that Darrell Gene Miller was also a most remarkable man. So, here is my story:

My wife Helen and I heard that a wine dinner, featuring some excellent new wines from South Africa, was being organized at Pat Connor’s new restaurant, Pastiche, on January 8, 2001. We arrived a few minutes early and decided to sit at a table for six, with two guests already seated. We introduced ourselves to Larry and Diane Davies and during our introductory conversation, the owner escorted two gentlemen, Darrell Miller and Bob Mihallik, to our table. With the six of us seated, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which group of the thirty-plus guests was having the best time. There were no inhibitions right from the start and our table rocked non-stop with a contagious laughter. When we were told it was closing time, it was quite clear to all of us that we had experienced something very special. The chemistry between us was electric, so we exchanged names and phone numbers, promising to get together soon.

The next day, I called Darrell and Diane and asked if they and their partners would like to continue the party at our home on Saturday. A month and four get-togethers later, it seemed like we had known each other for years. We were soul mates. Diane christened our group The Winebirds. And while we had no weak players, it was clear that Darrell was unique, a human catalyst for igniting a lively party atmosphere.         

Before long, Darrell started introducing us to his other friends. And he had many, many friendships. In fact, I have never known anyone with so many genuine friends. And yes, believe it or not that group included most of his relatives—four sisters, and a slew of nephews and nieces—unheard of in today’s world.

Shortly before Helen and I were to go back to west Michigan for the summer, Darrell and Bob invited the four other Winebirds to join them at their summer home on the edge of the Bay of Fundy in Paradise, Nova Scotia. In July we reconnoitered our party at one of the most serene and unique places in the world. And it was no surprise to meet couple after couple, people after people who were friends of Darrell. And these were folks both Helen and I liked, not a clinker in the group. How could anybody have so many friends? I would later learn that was Darrell’s job. Just as it takes hours of daily care and effort for me to maintain a prolific display of robust, colorful flowers during the six months we live in Tucson, Darrell literally spent hours every day working the phone and computer to cultivate, nourish, and sustain his friendships. He was an outstanding communicator, letting friends know that he cared about them. During the time I knew Darrell, I was on the receiving end of those telephone calls many times, and I never put down the phone before I had a few hardy laughs and a sense of joy that Darrell was my friend.

Darrell loved to hold center stage and never let his audience down. His story telling skills and sense of humor were unmatched. He had the quickest wit of anyone I have ever known. You could not stump the man. When he put his mind to it, Darrell was a gourmet cook who indulged his friends with his culinary gifts. He hated ignorance with a passion. I always felt sorry for anyone who decided to argue politics with him if he or she wasn’t a Democrat. He generously contributed both his time and money to worthwhile charities. He was particularly passionate about the Primavera Foundation, which provides opportunities to help people transition from poverty to greater well-being and security, and serving on the Board of Directors for the Invisible Theatre. He told me several times if he preceded Bob in death, he wanted Bob to be taken care of first and then the rest of his money was to be split between Primavera and the Invisible Theatre. Unfortunately, due to failing health, Darrell never legalized those wishes.

Darrell was also a very private person. He wouldn’t think of burdening you with his problems. His job was to help his friends, perk them up if they needed it, or to show a random act of kindness to a deserving stranger. He didn’t want anyone’s pity and worked hard to make people think he was invincible. His health began to seriously decline during the last year of his life, and he worked very hard to make his friends think all was well. He was also trying to hide the fact that Bob’s memory and concentration skills were degenerating rapidly. Darrell was Bob’s chief caretaker, a physically demanding and emotionally heart-rending job, given they had been partners for twenty-seven years. While Darrell could be testy with Bob at times, Bob was his best friend and to my knowledge, he never complained or even hinted to anyone of Bob’s condition or asked for help.

Some of the best times of my life were shared with Darrell in the most unlikely of places on this earth. First on this list would be our time together in Tuscany. There in the summer of 2006, we were spoiled with Italian cuisine, wine, World Cup Soccer, and landscapes so rich and surreal that we were constantly pinching ourselves—only the gods deserved this. Next, it was a train ride from Florence, Italy to Geneva, Switzerland that we just about missed, giving us a glimpse of the world that few have the privilege to see. We explored in depth the art galleries, parks, architecture, and cuisine from two of my favorite cities in the whole world, Paris and Chicago. We took an eight-day train trip from El Paso, Texas to Copper Canyon, Mexico to gape upon the deepest canyon in the world—four times bigger than the Grand Canyon. We spent two evenings in the beautifully decorated home of Richard and Suzanne Clark along with our partners, as Richard and Suzanne mesmerized us and other honored guests with an intimate, twenty-minute opera. It was a once in a lifetime experience and we all shed our share of tears, it was so moving. We supped several times in the high-desert home of Larry and Diane Davies gorging ourselves on the freshest, tastiest, most decadent cioppino (fish stew) that I have ever scooped into my mouth. And twice, we had Winebird communion at Darrell and Bob’s home in Nova Scotia, feasting on just caught, two-pound lobsters, Digby scallops, and not too bad of wine either. Darrell was never picky about his wine. They were all pretty good to him.

Darrell loved to dine out and three of his favorite restaurants near his Tucson home were the Guadalajara Grill, Pastiche, and Sunday wine tasting and tapas at the Feast. On special occasions he loved the fine dining at Janos and Hacienda del Sol. When he spent the summers in Nova Scotia his house restaurant was Middleton’s Pasta Jaxs.

While I shared meals and wine with him at those six excellent eating establishments, my all-time favorite was a four-hour culinary dream state we shared in very remote, Rignana of Chianti, Italy. Ristorante La Cantinetta was perched on a high ridge with a spectacular view of some the world’s finest grape vineyards, serving the kind of food and wine only the rich and famous are blessed with. Honorable mention are steak dinners served to us in the piazza at Tavarnelle Val di Pesa while the semi-finals of the World Cup between Italy and Germany were beamed onto a two-story brick wall; an intimate afternoon lunch at Ristorante Rossellino in Pienza, Italy; evening dining escapades at Le Coupe Chou and Restaurant Perraudin, both located in the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank in Paris; and last but not least was an elegant Mexican culinary experience we imbibed on with all the Winebirds at Chicago’s Topolobambo, where Rick Bayless, one of the best cooks in the world, spoiled our palates.

While Darrell definitely loved his food and wine, he was forever entertaining friends with his favorite and oft repeated sound bites that never failed to get a laugh. To the untrained ear they may have sounded offensive, but for those of us who knew Darrell, we understood them to be verbal missiles of endearment. His intention was to evoke a laugh. Two of his best lines came after someone said or did something he didn’t like and they were: “We know Dick and Helen. We like her” or “Diane, you slut”. Then there was his question “Are you staring at my crooked face?” (A condition he suffered on the left side of his face from a botched carotid artery surgery in his early twenties) and his subsequent belly laugh when the recipient stammered; and while Darrell never used vulgarity to show his ignorance, he loved to liven up his descriptive language with well placed F-bombs that always got a chuckle. And for his many female friends, who among you will not dearly miss picking up the phone to hear Darrell’s, “Hello darlin”?  

But the best of Darrell were the stories he told and how he communicated them. His timing was impeccable and his diction unequaled. And so in a eulogy of Darrell Gene Miller, what story do I tell? As a result of a coin flip, I will share the following:

On their first visit to Nova Scotia, Darrell and Bob were directed to a bed and breakfast, where they met and fell in love with the owner, Hilda. I suspect it took maybe five minutes before Hilda fell in love with the guys.

After coming back for a third visit, Hilda informed Darrell that Nova Scotia was a pretty special place. Perhaps to entertain him, or knowing how his mind worked, she decided to give Darrell some data to help back up her statement. Maybe it was to surprise him. Heaven knows Darrell did his fair share of that to his friends. So she calmly said, “I have lived here for over seventy years and I have only met one asshole in all those years.”

Obviously, this unambiguous statement got Darrell’s attention, knowing that in his lifetime he could count that number in the hundreds of people he knew that fit that description in the States. While Darrell’s curiosity was peeked, this was Hilda’s secret. Darrell couldn’t get her to budge, but he wasn’t going to give up.

A year later, Hilda and Darrell were guests at a Bridgetown, Nova Scotia home of about twenty people. One gentlemen was particularly boisterous spouting off about things that Will Rogers so eloquently described as “It’s not what we don’t know that gives us trouble; it’s what we know that ain’t so.”

Darrell had heard enough, leaned over, and whispered into Hilda’s ear, “Is the fellow you told me about a year ago in this house?” Hilda looked surprised, frowned, and reluctantly shook her head “yes.”

Later that evening, Darrell happened to be seated at the same table as the gentlemen in question. About half way through the meal, the fellow spoke up saying rather loudly, “You know, I think blacks in the United States had it much better during slavery than they do today.”

Without missing a beat, Darrell looked him in the eye and said, “So, do you have a hard time breathing?”

Confused, he responded, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now in the most dramatic and condescending manner he could muster up, and loud enough so that people in the other room could hear, Darrell delivered the knock-out punch, “Well, I just thought you must have a hard time breathing when your head is so far up your ass.”

While Darrell had momentarily silenced the asshole’s stupidity, the rest of the guests were in hysterics. Hilda would later tell Darrell that “the man’s” wife had been in the kitchen and upon hearing Darrell’s astute observation, commenced into a laughing frenzy. Darrell had made her day.              

While I could go on and on sharing stories about a man I dearly loved, it is now time for Darrell’s other friends to speak up. I am hoping that many of them will share on this Blog their favorite stories, memories, or just how special Darrell made them feel. Perhaps if we tell enough stories and repeat some of our more memorable life experiences with this most remarkable man, Darrell will make some new friends. And that, I know, is what he would have wanted. I love you Darrell.          

My mother, Patricia Elizabeth [Jarvis] Hoyle, was born on November 4, 1907 in White Rock, Texas – a small community that is now part of Dallas. Her earliest years were spent in Fort Worth and in the oil fields of west Texas. She was raised with two older brothers who both teased her mercilessly and protected her jealously. Brother Harry Jarvis, the oldest child, served and was wounded in both World Wars and lived much of his later life in Oklahoma. Her younger brother Tommy lived most of his short, tragic life as a jockey and thoroughbred trainer during horse racing’s “Golden Age.”

Pat, as she was called, managed to survive the turmoil that was her early life, raising two children as a single mother through a Great Depression, another World War, and a near fatal car accident – and then went on to raise three more children and spend the last forty years of her life happily married to my father, Alton J. Hoyle.

Actually Mom was not “born on election day” – simply because 1907 was not an election year. In fact, there were only three national elections (1924, 1952, and 1980) that were held on her birthday during her lifetime. However, looking back on those three specific elections will show that they were especially significant and socially evolutionary for those generations of Americans.

The election coming up on Tuesday, November 4, 2008, my Mom’s Birthday, is likely to be even more significant for America’s next generation. No matter who wins, the very fact that qualified voters have the opportunity to vote for anyone who is not a white male is extremely significant. The Democratic Party offers Barack Obama, an African-American for President; the Republican Party has chosen Sarah Palin, a woman, to be Vice-President. No matter which party wins, history will be made with our next team of national leaders.

In 1924 Mom would have been just 17, too young to vote and probably far too busy with her life to even care who the President might be.

Mom only had one real chance to vote for President on her birthday and that was in 1952. I’m sad to say that my best guess is that she didn’t vote at all (more on that later). If she had voted on her birthday in 1952 her choice would surely have been Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower. I know she voted for Thomas Dewey in 1948 and often voiced her dislike for Democrats, so there was no chance at all that Adlai Stevenson would ever get her vote.

Her next chance to vote on her birthday would have been in 1980, but I know for certain she did not. My parents were Jehovah’s Witnesses, having converted in 1952, and did not believe in participating in anything political, especially voting. So by chance, choice and circumstance, Mom most likely never voted on her own birthday in 1952 or 1980 for anyone – Republican or Democrat. Mom passed away in 1985.

Whenever her birthday fell on an election day the final results led to important historical shifts in American political history. In 1924 Republican incumbent Calvin Coolidge won easily against a severely divided Democratic Party. (Coolidge had assumed the Presidency upon the death of Warren G. Harding in 1923). The events during this period of American history were especially significant because the policies of Coolidge and his successor, Herbert Hoover (1929-1933), led the country directly into the Great Depression of 1929 and the failure of the nation’s banking system by 1933.

The election of General of the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower on Mom’s birthday in 1952 led to the end of the Korean War and to the eight to ten years of America’s modern “Golden Age.” During that period Americans enjoyed relative peace in spite of the constant threat of atomic destruction from an aggressive Soviet Russia. Despite a brief recession in 1957-58, the country enjoyed wide spread growth and prosperity. Home prices were low, interest rates were under 5% and gasoline was less than 30-cents a gallon. For most of us, the 1950s were truly “Happy Days.”

Even though she did not vote, on Mom’s birthday in 1980 Ronald Reagan won the Presidency running against a weak and poorly performing President Jimmy Carter. Reagan’s years in office saw relative peace thanks to his build up of the U.S. defense systems, the growth of computer technology, the expansion of the economy, and the beginning of the end for the Soviet Union. The fact is that most of us did well under Reaganomics. Little did we know that his administration was sowing the seeds of the economic mess we now find ourselves buried under.

This coming Tuesday, my Mom’s birthday (she would be 101 years old that day), will see the election of a new President and the beginnings of a vastly changed American society. I’m sorry that Mom is not here to see it all happen along with the rest of us. But as with each previous election that fell on her birthday in the past, I can assure you that the changes that lie ahead of us will be historic, significant, and life-changing for all of us. Even though I know that she would not be voting for either party or ever state her personal preference, I think that Mom would be very pleased to see an African-American man finally get the chance to be our President and to become the most powerful man in the world.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

He’s decided to provide a more direct outlet for his readers and others interested in Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Watchtower Society, and the progress of his next book.

Dick states that he is not trying to compete with any existing blogs that discuss the issues surrounding the JW organization.  He just wants to provide a vehicle to answer questions and get comments from his readers.  For him, this seems to be the easiest way to manage that need for two-way communication.

Dick has also announced his availability for some speaking and book signing engagements.  Any clubs or groups that would like to invite him should contact him through his website at www.RichardEKelly.com or go to his blog at www.RichardEKelly.com/blog/.  Dick will announce his schedule on his blog as his schedule begins to firm up a bit.
Dick will be spending the Winter months in Tucson, AZ.  Any book stores or clubs in that area should contact him as soon as possible.

Many of my friends have begged me to organize and publish my comments.  Let’s face it – I’m a “news fanatic” and I keep up with just about everything going on.  The difference between me and other news hounds is that I can usually “smell a rat” when the reporting just doesn’t seem to fit the facts.

So we’ll see where this takes us.  There won’t be any particular theme or primary subject.  Anything and everything is fair game and subject to my review. 

Remember, however, that it is “just one opinion” and also subject to discussion.  But it is my opinion and I reserve the right to express it.  Feel free to comment as you see fit…