The Lonely Rock

My wife walks somewhere between 3 and five miles each day. She’s developed three or four routes through our neighborhood that she follows depending on the length of her desired walk.

One of these routes takes her by a home that has a beautiful garden in the spring and summer months. By fall and into winter, it is cleared out of dead and dying flowers and such.

This year the homeowners left a couple of dozen hand painted multicolored ‘Ladybugs’ rocks, with a small sign reading: “Take one and give it a good home.”
Over the last few weeks Mary has brought home eight of them, placing them in our front yard’s flower bed. She has also kept me informed on the progress of the rehoming.

Finally, Mary’s told me there was one rock left, saying, “Every time I see it, I think how lonely it looks and I want to bring it home.”

“So do it,” I said.

“Okay,” said Mary, “If it’s still there Monday afternoon, I’ll bring it home.”

“Good,” I said.

Sunday morning, Mary has returned from her walk.

“Someone took the rock,” she said.

“Great,” I said.

But I could tell she wasn’t as happy as she sounded, so I asked, “How do you feel about that?”

“I think we could have given it a better home,” Mary said, adding, “I simply didn’t want to seem too greedy.”

“I understand,” I said, smiling and trying not to snicker.

“And don’t you write a word about this,” said Mary, “I already feel silly about all the fuss I made over it.”

“I think it’s sweet,” I shout back, “So I’m gonna write about it anyway.”

“Well, don’t forget to take their picture,” she said.

Well played, Mary, well played…

The Nevada Town with Three Names

A life-long friend of mine lives on Yerington. She and I went to grade school together at Margaret Keating in Klamath. She moved to Nevada when we were in eighth grade and we reconnected in 1987 after she heard me on KIIQ (KICK,) a local country music station in Reno. We stay in touch with Christmas cards and such nowadays. Diana, we need to get together for breakfast one day very soon.

In the heart of Lyon County, in the Mason Valley and along the Walker River, Yerington, Nevada began its existence as a small trading post and whiskey store called Pizen Switch, a reflection on the poor quality of the whiskey sold there. Legend has it that Jim Downey’s whiskey was of so bad that some thought they were being poisoned.

Since “poison” was a difficult word for some people to say, the term “pizen” became the verbal label for Downey’s rot gut. History has it that cowboys would say, “let’s ride to the Switch and have a drink of Downey’s pizen.”

It didn’t take long before “Pizen Switch” became the town’s first name, and to some, it still is.

Lyon County was one of the nine original Nevada counties created on November 25, 1861. It was named after Nathaniel Lyon, the first Union general to be killed in the Civil War and it’s first county seat was established at Dayton on November 29, 1861. After the Dayton Courthouse burned down in 1909, the county seat was moved to Yerington in 1911.

In 1870, a millwright by the name of William Lee homesteaded 160 acres in the area. He built a two-story boarding house where the Lyon County Courthouse Annex now stands, in order to supplement his income by renting rooms to travelers.

That same year, Lee convinced Ed Bennett, James Downey and Isaac Sims to set up businesses near his boarding house. There were a series of roads that passed through that of section of businesses that may have been instrumental in the formation of what was later known as the “Switch.”

More businesses were established over the following two years at what is the intersection of today’s Main, Van Ness and Broadway streets. Bennett eventually built a mercantile where a barbershop is now located.

Downey settled across the street and opened a saloon known as Downey’s Exchange. The saloon was at the south end of where the Yerington Inn now stands, while a blacksmith shop stood at the north end.

In the 1878, after the settlement had grown, a gentler name was in order, so the citizens agreed on “Greenfield.” Old-timers claimed that the name came from the threat of hangings in which “Greenfielding,” was the slang of the day, and thus the abbreviated version of the town’s second name.

In the Yerington Indian Colony is a granite monument to Yerington’s most famous Native American, the Paiute prophet Wovoka. Also also known as Jack Wilson, his vision of the return of the buffalo, and of the Native American way of life, was an attractive prophecy to the native people whose culture was melting away, and it was fervently believed and spread through the Indian world.

His Ghost Dance movement led to the massacre at Wounded Knee 1890. The monument that sketches his life and carries his image, stands within sight of the fields near Yerington where his wickiup was a common sight before his death in 1932.

In 1894, the town wanted its own post office, but the post office refused, saying there were too many communities in the country named Greenfield. The town voted to change the name to Yerington, its third iteration, in honor of Henry M. Yerington, president of the Carson & Colorado Railroad.

They had hoped that it would be an enticement for Yerington to extend a spur of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad at Wabuska their way. But Henry did not extend the railroad to the town and it wasn’t until the 1920s that copper mining activity justified bringing a railroad to Yerington.

In fact, it is generally believed that Henry never did visit his namesake which was eventually incorporated in 1907.

Joe Dini’s Lucky Club is a Yerington tradition, that carries with it the historical footnote that boxer Jack Dempsey helped to lay the tile floor there during his Nevada roustabout years. Years later, he became the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion from 1919 to 1926.

In 1938, there was a movement initiated by the 20-30 Club, to change the name back to Pizen Switch, but the promoters were overruled.

During World War II one of many Japanese fire balloon launched at the U.S. with the hope of starting massive forest fires landed on the Wilson Ranch near Yerington. The ranchers, not knowing what it was, attempted to notify authorities by mail, but did not receive a response until long after they had cut it up and used it as a hay tarp.

Adjacent to Yerington is the former mining town of Weed Heights. Built in the 1952 and named for Clyde E Weed, vice president in charge of Anaconda operations, with a post office being established a year later, to accommodate the Anaconda Copper Mine, the town is mostly abandoned but makes for an interesting, short drive.

Owned by Anaconda until the company was taken over by Atlantic Richfield Company, the property was sold to former Lyon County Commissioner Don Tibbals. He subsequently sold all of the property, except for the town of Weed Heights to cathode copper production company Arimetco.

Then there is Fort Churchill State Park located 25 miles north of Yerington. Fort Churchill was the first established in 1860 when Nevada was still a territory and following the Pyramid Lake Indian War.

It was in use for only nine years and abandoned soon after the Civil War. It was useful for suppression of the Paiute and Bannock Indian hostilities and to assist emigrants bound for California.

The fort was made of Adobe blocks with wooden roofs. The adobe has deteriorated substantially and the wood has since rotted away or was carted-off by homesteaders and later souvenir collectors and only a few partial walls of the fort remain intact.

Buckland station was built in 1861 using materials from Fort Churchill. It was used as a Pony Express stop, boarding house and home for the Buckland family. It is located across the highway from Fort Churchill. The Fort Churchill park includes a picnic area and a trail along the Carson River across the bridge.

In town, there are many interesting and historic things to check out, like including the Lyon County Museum. With frontier relics on display, you can browse items from dolls to shooting irons, to Chinese antiques discovered in the area. There are also a few standing structures, like a one-room, eight-grade schoolhouse and a fully stocked 19th-century grocery store.

Yerington hosts a number of annual events, like the ‘Spring Fling Car Show,’ the ‘Portugese Cultural Celebration,’ the ‘Lyon County Fair & Rodeo,’ the ‘Spirit of Wovoka Days Powow.’ Of its annual events, perhaps the most notable is ‘A Night in the Country,’ a music festival that is popular with visitors and locals alike.

Last night as I walked my dog, I looked up into the heavens, admired the stars, pondered the creation of the universe and I wondered to myself: what are the lyrics to ‘Blinded By The Light?’

Hidden Along the Superhighway

Wow wee! A computer crash and a treasure trove of written material hidden in the folds of the Internet, and that I thought was lost forever.

It’s like having a whole bunch of new stories to post. Some are actually journal-type entries from 2008 while others are poems that I jotted down in 2001 and 2002.

Needless to say, I’m so tickled. Please be ready to read.

COVID Deaths Rise in Lyon County

Carson City Health and Human Services (CCHHS) is reporting four additional deaths due to COVID-19 in the Quad-County Region. Two of the individuals were Lyon County residents and two were Carson City residents.

Currently there are 751 cases in Lyon County with 62 active cases. Of the 751 cases, 673 people have recovered, however 16 people have died from the disease. As a whole Nevada has seen 137-thousand COVID-19 cases, including 83-percent of the states prison population having become infected, with over two-thousand deaths blamed on the virus.

To this end, Nevada announced that it has entered into a $10 million contract with Quest Diagnostics for COVID-19 testing through December at state prisons and veterans homes. It remains unknown how the money will be divided between the two targeted groups.

On Friday, Nov. 20, Gov, Steve Sisolak issued new restrictions under what he called “Stay at Home 2.0,” Nevadans were urged to not go out in public unless absolutely necessary, not gather with those outside their households, to order groceries for delivery instead of going to the store and to pick up food curbside instead of dining at their favorite restaurant. Employers were also being asked to have their employees work from home as much as possible and to host meetings virtually instead of in conference rooms.

Private gatherings are to be limited to ten and can include people from no more than two households. Public gatherings limits will also be reduced from 250 people to 50, including churches.

Masks are required at any time you are around someone not part of your immediate household, including during private gatherings inside and outside.

Other restrictions include:

  • Reservations are required at all restaurants and bars that serve food for in-person dining. Fast food restaurants and food courts are exempt from the reservation requirement. Restaurant and bar capacity was reduced from 50 to 25 percent, and there can be no more than four patrons at a table.
  • Capacity at gyms, fitness and dance studios is reduced from 50 to 25 percent. Patrons must wear a mask at all times, unless actively drinking. If the activity is too strenuous to be done while wearing a mask properly, people must seek an alternative.
  • Casino capacity has been reduced from 50 to 25 percent.
  • Public gatherings are limited to no more than 50 people, or 25 percent of fire code capacity, whichever is less.
  • Arcades, art galleries, aquariums, racetracks, bowling alleys, mini golf, libraries, museums and zoos all are reduced to 25 percent capacity.
  • Big box stores that have more than 50,000 square feet must now have monitors at public entrances to manage capacity.
  • A pause on all adult and youth sports tournaments.

In addition to individual and workplace action, Sisolak asked that colleges and universities communicate with students and faculty that they should avoid any gatherings on campuses and in homes. He did not make any specific requests of K-12 schools, including whether or not schools should discontinue in-person learning if the upward trends continue.

Sisolak’s stay-at-home request, however, did not apply to tourists, who the governor said should continue to travel the state while following all coronavirus health and safety protocols. The state’s tourism-driven economy came to a halt earlier this year when casinos were forced to shut their doors for several months and remains battered as visitors have been slow to return amid the pandemic.

CCHHS is also reporting 34 new cases and 25 additional recoveries of COVID-19 in the Quad-County Region. This brings the total number of cases to 2,869, with 2,119 recoveries and 30 deaths; 720 cases remain active. They continue to work to identify close risk contacts to prevent further spread of the disease.

CCHHS is continuing to offer drive-thru COVID-19 testing and flu vaccination events for Quad-County Residents only. Those from other counties will be turned away. For the flu vaccine, CCHHS is contracted to bill most insurances.

For uninsured we ask for a $20 administration fee; however, no one will be turned away for the inability to pay. CCHHS is not contracted with Tricare or labor unions. Testing is free of charge.

Events are first come, first served, no appointments or reservations.

The Nevada COVID-19 Mitigation and Management Task Force met with nine counties, including Lyon County, flagged for having an elevated risk of transmission of COVID-19. Lyon County’s Assessment/Action Plan remains the same with a main focus on messaging from local County and City leaders to correlate issues and actions that need to be taken from the community.

The task force said that all counties, regardless of risk level, must maintain the statewide baseline mitigation measures, including wearing face coverings, limits on gathering sizes and capacity in businesses. Additionally, all counties must continue to follow the criteria on gatherings and youth/adult sports outlined in Directive 033 and Directive 034, respectively.

A Quickie of Three Things

They came for me at 3:15 a.m. once again. I don’t know who ‘they’ are but its always about the same time that I wake up in the morning and then can’t get back to sleep.

This time ‘they’ came with a little more mischief in their hearts (if they have one or any.) Precisely at 3:33 a.m. my computer, which was turned off at the time, decided to crash.

The data log says so. Only lost four news articles that I had been working on and had not saved to the cloud or elsewhere.

Spent all day from around four in the morning till jus’ after 6 this evening resetting the thing. Could not get rid of that damned Microsoft Edge.

It’s like a cancer that infects everything. Finally, I’m back online.

But not before I forgot to bring my notebook and pens from outside – the ink in all of my pens has turned to sludge. Thank goodness for pencils and manual pencil sharpener.

Mary Greger, 1937-2020

How many times did Mary Greger run me out of the library? There’s no way to tell.

Mary is one of the many people that made high school, a place I thought of more as torture, a good experience. And I think she knew my dislike for school.

She was the head librarian at Del Norte High and that library was my hiding place. You see, I did a lot of skipping of classes all four years and when it was storming out, who wanted to go hang out in the woods around the parking lot and get soaked.

It was like a cat-and-mouse game. Why?

Because while working for the high school annuals, I could never get a photograph of her for the yearbook. Frustrating at 16 and 17 for sure, but well worth the chuckle at 60 years of age.

(While researching back ground information, I learned that she never had a photo of herself in any of the annuals from my time in high school. Sneaky!)

This morning I went to the online edition of the Del Norte Triplicate’s obituary section and I immediately recognized. I have nothing but warm memories of her catching me perusing the book shelves in the far corner from the main desk and her chastising me for missing whatever class I was skipping.

Oddly, she never tattled on me, not once. Instead, I’d go to the bathroom, then wait for her to go into the back and I’d slip in again, jumping the turnstile.

Oh, the look on her face when she’d catch me in that far corner, leafing through yet another book, once again!

Doris Whalen, 1926-2020

Age doesn’t matter, not even at 94 years, it’s still hard to lose a person who has had any kind of influence on your life. That’s the way I feel about the loss of one of my most important high school English teacher, Doris Whalen.

This was a woman who didn’t pull punches. She said it like she meant it and meant exactly what she said.

“You can do so much better, Mr. Darby,” Mrs. Whalen would say to me. “You’re smarter than this, you simply don’t apply yourself and are lazy.”

And she never said it in anger or with any meanness — jus’ honesty.

Ouch, at first, but I she told me that so often I eventually let it go in one ear and out the other. And Lord knows, she was SOOO right about me and school work.

“I can’t stand the ‘Lord of the Rings, and I won’t read it” I told her one time, being rebellious.

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Whalen stated. “That’s the assignment and whether you read it or not is up to you.”

I didn’t and she promptly gave me the ‘F’ I had earned and deserved.

Her husband, Mike (yes, I was allowed to call him that behind closed doors as a kid, but never in front of other students) was easier to get along with. He was like a secondary counselor, who urged me to get out there and put my nose to the grind stone.

And he could take a joke, too. I talked him into letting me draw around his two pointer fingers using his coffee cup.

First, I did each finger separately, then slightly spaced apart, yet side-by-side, than the two fingers together. Finally, I set the cup on top of them and walked out of his office.

I can still hear him shout, “Tom!, Tom! DARBY!” as I closed his office door and walked down the hall.

Mrs. Whalen, on the other hand, would never cotton to such shenanigans. She was all business about teaching and we students, learning.

Waiting till the last minute to do, to complete, to turn in an assignment was something she could always tell I had done. And the one time I did do the assignment ahead of deadline – the only time – she gigged me for my spelling, my grammar and my inability to type.

D+ was the highest grade I ever mustered from her English class. Argh!

But, because she laid down the law, something I rarely heeded at the time, her words stuck to me like paste. I finally got my act together and stopped my laziness, I applied myself, I busted my ass in other words.

Twenty-years after barely graduating, I saw her for the first time. It was at the 20-year-class reunion and it was areal pleasure to see and talk with her.

Gone was the authority of the classroom. It was replace by a genuine desire to know how I was doing, what I had been doing with myself for all those years and if I had any plans.

She was nothing like the Mrs. Whalen who wouldn’t let me or others, as I found out that evening, get away with crap in class. She was happy to hear that all of us were doing well and were making lives for ourselves.

And though I’ve incarnated myself several times over the years from service member, paramedic, radio jock, cop, news reporter, cowboy, and such, I’ve always had a zest and a yearning to write and that is what I’ve done. And there has rarely been a moment that I haven’t heard Mrs. Whalen’s words echoing like a gentle whisper some where in my head, driving me forward, to do more and better with my words.

She believed in me when I had absolutely no clue what I was about. How did she know?

Simple. She was Mrs. Whalen.

And while I don’t know this for certain – I think she knew back during that 20-year class reunion that I still hadn’t read the book, “Lord of the Rings.” But I’m very certain that she knows now.

Brent Boynton, 1956-2020

Only a straight, unsuspected punch to the gut could be any worse than walking into our house and looking at the local television news for the first time in weeks, and then realize they’re discussing the death of a friend. That’s exactly how I learned of my long-time friend Brent Boynton’s passing.
They say he battled COVID-19 for the last couple weeks of his life. My heart breaks for his wife, Patricia.

The first time Brent and I met, it was 1998, and he was working for television station KTVN in Reno while I was working for the American Red Cross. He and his co-anchor Jennifer Burton were kind enough to spend an entire afternoon with the Sierra Nevada Chapter, teaching us how to communicate with the media.

We had a great time and Brent and I clicked right away. Later on, I went to work for Lotus Radio and he moved to KOLO, also a Reno TV station.

Our first opportunity to really work together came in 2005. He was U.S. Congressman Jim Gibbon’s Congressional Communication Director and I was reporting for the Daily Sparks Tribune.

Sadly, we didn’t have an opportunity to work at the same station, either TV or radio, but we did stay in touch. Eventually, he branched out teaching journalism class at University of Nevada, Reno, where he also earned his master’s degree in Mass Communications.

While he had a commanding presence, he also had a minute for everyone and a way of making people feel comfortable. Over 15 years years ago, I was at one of the lowest points in my life, having been fired from my job at the Tribune and the subject of some serious online bashing.

The morning after it happened, he called me at home. He had heard all about it and his first question was, “How are you was doing?”

He reassured me that it wasn’t the end of life and that the best thing I could do for myself was to turn off the computer and find a good book and read. He could have dismissed me, gone about life, but he made a conscious effort to show me that I mattered.

Unfortunately, I was able to return the favor when the TV station he was working for yanked him from the air and fired him. He was embarrassed and felt ashamed, but I reminded him that it wasn’t the worse thing that could happen.

Then in 2013, I got the boot again from my broadcast job and once again he called simply to see how I was doing. It’s those moment that mean so damn much to me.

Born in Pampas, Texas, in 1956, Brent got into broadcasting and journalism at the age of 15.  After high school, he got his bachelor’s degree from University of Texas of the Permian Basin, having studied both Education and Telecommunications Business Management. He was also a member of the Nevada Broadcasters Association Hall of Fame and an Emmy-award winning journalist.

The local media learned of his death after the news was posted on social media from his former KOSA-TV co-anchor and current Arizona state Sen. Victoria Steele. The two had a son together.

He jus’ turned 64, too.

Worth the Mask

laying on my bed
with thoughts of dying
no…
not suicide
simply dying
giving my spirit back to
God
i have company
my dog
he lays next to me
he does not move
perhaps he thinks
of dying as well
new restrictions
but nothing works
liberty failed
pandemic
abundance of caution
sheep
wolves
shepherds
which one am I
none
one cannot protect
if no one will not…
will not…what
want that protection
my protection or
the wolfs false protection
cannot fight the mask
she wants it more
more than liberty
death is preferred
to the agony of seeing
loved ones led to
a slaughter
quiet is the room
now
quiet is the broken
soul
as it fades
that
even my dog
faithful companion
has left my side
for
death is not his
thought and he
leads the way
for such is the
struggle
of living in the
now
and that now
is no longer
worth it or
worth the mask

Body Bag

Clawing at the air and the belief that I am suffocating, that’s how this particular night-terror ends. And that’s how it ended last night, too.

Neck wounds are a tricky thing, and it was obvious that he had a neck wound. He was sitting against a shattered tree stump when I heard the shout, “Doc, up!”

Since he was still able to talk to me, I helped him lay down where I could make a better assessment of his injuries and apply hemostats. Six or seven in place and the bleeding was under control.

The Skipper had already called for a medivac, so I settled in for the few minute wait that we would have. I checked and double-checked for any random bleeders, but found none.

“How bad is it, Doc?”

“Bad, but I think you’ll live.”

“Feels like half my neck is gone.”

“No, jus’ a flap, a big opening from one side to the other.”

“Gonna look ugly, isn’t it.”

“Hell no, man — the women are gonna be falling all over themselves to see you your sexy war wound.”

Laughter.

The thump of the helicopter rotor blades made their dull echoing appearance somewhere in the sky to the east of us. It would be on the ground in minute or less.

The Marine had his eyes closed and I felt for a pulse. None.

Immediately, I began CPR, asking for assistance from the Corporal kneeling by us. I push the injured man’s head back as far as I dared and gave him a solid breathe.

His eyes popped opened and he looked at me with surprise. Astonished myself, I automatically felt for his pulse again and still there wasn’t one.

“Damn, dude, I thought you had died.”

“Well, shit, Doc – I thought you’d gone queer for me.”

Laughter.

Two US Army medics arrived with a litter and cut the comedy scene with seriousness. They package him for a quick load and go as I gave them all the particulars, including the skinny on the guy’s faint heartbeat.

A couple of days later, I see one of the medics at the FOB.

“How’s that Marine with the neck wound?”

“Dead.”

There was nothing else he could say. There was nothing else I needed to hear.

The remainder of the day I wandered around doing my job in a sort of stunned autopilot, thinking and rethinking of what all could have gone wrong since leaving the L-Z. So deeply lost in thought, I honestly cannot recall eating or even going to the chow hall.

It wasn’t until that night, after lights out, that I had a frightening thought: they missed his faint heartbeat while triaging him. And then I asked myself, “What if he was still alive when they put him in a body bag?”

I awoke later, clawing at the air, in the bag, and thinking I was suffocating.

Marshmallow

“Did you hear about the man who dreamed he was eating a big marshmallow?”
“No, what happened?”
“He woke up and his pillow was gone.”

That’s a joke I learned when I was nine-years-old. Funny then, corny now, but still enjoyable in its simplicity.

Fifty-one years later, I have a rather risque return on this same joke. And depending how blue your sense of humor is, you may find it funny, you may not – either way – consider yourself warned.

It was vivid dream, a sex dream, where I was committing cunnilingus on a woman. As I was doing this I recall, inside my dream, tasting what I thought was a dry tampon and that this taste was manifesting as bits of cotton in my mouth.

Waking up a few minutes before my alarm, and still more asleep than awake, I could actually feel small pieces of roughage in my mouth. So I got up and went into the bathroom where I proceeded to rinse my mouth.

The second that Scope mouthwash touched the tip of my tongue I winced in pain, but I continued rinsing anyway. At the end, I saw little flecks of dark fiber in the basin and upon inspection of my tongue, a large reddish raw spot on the tip.

I knew immediately what had happened.

By this time Mary was up and straightening her side of the bed. I quickly joined her, attempting to hide the large wet spot on my pillow.

But she saw it anyway and asked in a not-so delicate tone, “What the hell happened to your new pillow case, Tom?”

Trying not to seem too flustered, I quickly lied, “I was dreaming that I was eating a huge marshmallow.”

Contact

Nothing much had changed from the years I’d actually been in the military. Going out at night, ‘taking a walk’ beyond the safety of the perimeter, the corpsman handed out pills meant to keep everyone alert.

Now, like then, I never found the need for them.

The smallest noise not recognized would amp me up more than I could almost bear. And then I’d find myself hoping that I wasn’t the only one who had noticed it.

And should a couple of rounds be fired off in the distant dark, that same darkness would be there, kneeling on my chest. I had completely forgotten what my fear tasted like: bitter, metallic, guilty.

Back then, I carried a rifle. On this tour, I had only some pens, two notebooks, my elderly Canon AE-1 and 35 canisters of Kodak film.

There would be no killing for me on this tour. However, I knew I was a prime target and that didn’t leave me feeling any more comfortable.

This part of the world was familiar to me as I’d been here before. But it was also more deadly now then it had been, when I first touched boot to it.

Before my military escorts picked up me along with their four other guests, I found myself asleep in a smallish, dilapidated motel room that cost me ten-bucks American. That first night I was so exhausted that I simply dropped out.

The next morning following a cup of kahwah, some crisp pakora and a bowl of spicy lubya, I wandered around a three or four block area. It was a welcomed relief to see US forces populating the street corners, adding some sense of safety to my well-being.

That second night, amid sporadic small arms fire, I found I couldn’t sleep. So with my room window open and moonlight shining in, I studied the old map that hung above my narrow bed.

‘Old’ because while it was of the same country I’d once been a secret guest of, and again found myself in, it was in Cyrillic script . Though I couldn’t read the script, I knew it from my previous experience.

The universe has a way of rendering some persons safe, I’ve learned. That’s why this narrative is so short.

It is easy to catalog of bits and piece of overheard ‘before and after’ conversations:

“I can’t wait to get me some.”

“Shit, you’ll be too scared to even lift your weapon.”

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

Silence.

“I was so scared I shit myself.”

“Yeah, and if that’s the worst thing either of us do, we can count ourselves luck.”

“You mean you were scared too?”

“No, I mean I shit myself too.”

Laughter.

But the hard  thing is the memorializing life when the chips come down.

The four other and I rode in a Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected light tactical vehicle or MRAP. And like so often is the case, military vehicle’s are subject to SNAFU’s and this one simply stopped running and we were forced to wait for another ride.

“Contact!” a Marine shouted as we were off-loading our gear.

Scrambling, I found the far side of the road and a thin strip of land strewn with small boulders. Where everyone else raced off to, I had no idea.

The flash was enormous, the sound deafening. So loud was the blast that it left my ears ringing for the next three days.

One killed, two injured, including one of the journalists. While I was sure I had a concussion, the reporter lost his thumb and the first three fingers to his right hand, leaving only his pinky intact.

As the Corpsman worked on the Marine, I tended my civilian counterpart. Once all hostilities had been squelched, I learned everything I’d brought with me had gone up in the ensuing blaze of the MRAP.

Within the hour, we were enroute to the FOB that we had left earlier in the evening and while the two more seriously injured were flighted to a larger, better equipped facility, I was taken to an uncomfortable gurney, given a medical once over, followed up by a full head-to-toe physical, two days later and shipped out of country.

What a bust. No story, no concussion, and only ringing of the ears, which had already subsided.

My days as an embedded reporter were finished and I found myself homeward bound. As I sat in the window seat of a commercial airline, crossing the blue-green expanse of Pacific ocean, I found myself daydreaming and wishing that I had ‘procured’ that old Soviet map, squirreling it away in my duffel bag as a memento of my failed adventure.

Nevada Maintains Deaf Ear to Brothels

Thousands of employees in Nevada lost their jobs when businesses shut down mid-March. While most other industries have been able to resume some level of operations, Gov. Steve Sisolak has indicated that the state’s brothels are “not on his radar” to reopen.

Services allowing physical contact around the state have been allowed to resume service, with tattoo shops, estheticians, and massage parlor open since May. However those in Nevada’s legal sex industry say they feel they’re being ignored.

Nevada is the only state to allow legal prostitution, but state laws requires such activities to take place in a licensed establishment in a county with a population of less than 700,000. Clark County is the only Nevada county to exceed that population count, while six other counties, Carson City, Douglas, Eureka, Lincoln, Pershing, and Washoe, have outlawed legalized prostitution. Among the 10 counties where brothels can legally operate, none operate in Churchill, Esmeralda or Humboldt.

The Mustang Ranch Brothel was closed in 1999, but owner Lance Gilman reopened it in 2005 and currently employ 49 people. Those full-time employees include security, kitchen staff and chefs, bartenders, housekeeping staff, cashiers and “parlor hostesses” who manage in-house operations.

However, in addition to the 49 staff members, there are several hundred legal sex workers who work at the brothel on a rotating basis. Legal sex workers are independent contractors and not employees, and this status has made it more difficult for those workers to receive supplemental benefits while out of work.

Unemployment benefits have not been immediately available to independent contractors during the first months lock-down, and although the Pandemic Unemployment Assistance (PUA) was eventually extended to workers with this classification in May, but not all legal sex-workers have been eligible this assistance though. Furthermore, the brothels, themselves were not eligible for the Small Business Administration loans that many businesses took advantage of earlier this year.

Gilman, however did manage to secure Paycheck Protection Program (PPP) loans for the Wild Horse Saloon, the restaurant attached to Mustang Ranch. Additionally, Gilman’s business was eligible for federal small business grants distributed by Storey County.

Storey County, where Gilman is also a county commissioner, is the only county that participated in the grant program.

Yet even after receiving the PPP loans Mustang Ranch employees had to be furloughed and contractors were denied the supplemental income from these loans. And without unemployment benefits, many women in the industry are turning to creative options to make up for lost income, including phone sex lines and cam work.

Sisolak has said that he doesn’t know how people would social distance in a brothel, stating instead that it is up to brothel owners “coming up with a plan,” however every submitted plan has been met with silence from the state.

Gilman first submitted reopening plans in May to the COVID-19 Task Force and the Local Empowerment Advisory Panel which is supposed to help develop reopening guidelines for Nevada businesses. He also submitted a letter, with the plan attached, to the Governor’s Office of Economic Development. However, Michael Brown, the office’s executive director, responded only by saying the reopening request, might “be considered at a future phase in the State’s re-opening plan.”

Gilman’s reopening plans includes procedures for screening employees, customers and contractors, limiting the number of customers and contractors in the building, sanitizing procedures and mask use requirements, and procedures for containment in the case of a positive test or failed screening. His proposal would also allow the brothel to operate without physical contact, essentially allowing the non-sexual escort services currently allowed by the county to take place within the brothel facility.

And while the bar would also remain closed to customers, the kitchen would be able to prepare food for guests, which would then be packaged and delivered to rented rooms. The letter also indicated that the brothel had been implementing safety protocols prior to its official shutdown.

“We took temperatures at the door with trained personnel, we took temperatures of every employee and every working lady prior to starting their workday every day,” Gilman said in the letter. “We use gloves, alcohol wipes and all forms of sanitary protocols. These are everyday standard procedures.”

Meanwhile, hundred’s of jobs and million’s of dollar remain lost to Storey County and others as the state struggles over what needs to be done regarding COVID-19 and legal brothels.

Awake Now

“Who would be calling at two in the morning?” his wife hissed as she reached for the phone.

Awake now, he listened.

“What?!” she exclaimed. “How should I know – we live 400 miles away from the ocean!”

She slammed down the phone.

“Who was that?” her husband asked.

“Some woman,” she answered.

“Well, what did she want?” he asked.

“To know if the coast was clear,” she answered.

Really awake now, he simply laid there.

The Blonde started crying after the doctor told her she was going to have twins.

He tried to console her asking, “Are you not happy about having twins?”

“It’s not that,” she answered. “It’s that I don’t know who the second father is.”

Three Drunk Mice

They bravely approached the rickety old card table like they owned the place. As mice, I am supposing that they really did own it, as no one, I am told, had visited their dark, dungeon-like world in three or four years and that’s generations to a common field or church mouse.

At first I didn’t see or heard them as they joined me at the table. Nor did I realize they were even there till one was bold enough to move to my right to see what it was that I was scribbling in my note book.

“Nothing of interest,” I imagined him saying as he rejoined his small posse.

Now that I knew that they were there, I couldn’t help but eye-ball them from time to time, to see what they might be up to or interested in. Fortunately for me I didn’t have any food, or I might have found myself swarmed like the rats did to the various humans in the movie, ‘Willard.’

Unfortunately, from my tres amigos, I had liquid reproof in an all-purpose metal flask tucked in the side pocket of my bib over all’s. And while I had intended it for medicinal purposes only, I saw no harm in sharing a small amount with my new friends.

The first dribble from the flask into the metal lid went down fast with all three. Now they grew excited and raced across the table, over my hands, over the newspapers and my notebooks.

I offered a second dribble, filling the lid as full as possible.

Again it was met with a certain greedy haste. And again, all three three mice sprinted from here to there and back again.

I couldn’t help but laugh a their carnival show-like antics jumping, flipping. spinning, and bouncing to-and-fro.

Then the smallest one of the three, sat up on his haunches and shook his head so vigorously that he toppled over the edge of the card table to the rocky floor below. While I jumped up to see if the poor thing was okay or if the fall had broken its neck, I swear I heard the other two, as they looked over the precipice from where their mate had gone, laughing and guffawing.

By the time I got to where the mouse had fallen, it was gone, and by the time I returned to my seat, the other two had vanished as well. The furry little miscreants, while in their throes of hilarity and cuteness had also robbed me of the lid to my flask.

A quick walk around the table and I found it where they had dropped it in their panicked flight to avoid the foot steps of the invading human.

“Jus’ for that,” I chided them with full gusto, “No more for you!” and I turned the flask end up, downing the content.

I never saw my old chums again, concluding that blind drunk, they were sleeping off the effects of my gift, which serves them right.

Sanctum

“Down the hall and to the left, that door,” she pointed as she escorted me to the ‘stack,’ her term for where all the old newspapers and magazines lay unmolested.

Anywhere else, am certain, it would be called the ‘morgue,’ the place where old, dead newspapers are left, numerically cataloged to die in pieces, and in peace, withered away by time, ravaged by mice and pack rats or simply forgotten and sealed off from the rest of the known universe. In this event, whatever one might call it, it was an old, but well framed mine shaft, hidden some 15-feet beneath the floor of the towns public library.

I am marveled at what I’m seeing!

The shaft is not very deep, much more a hollow then anything else, less than 50-foot by 30-foot and around 8-foot in height. It is then that I realize that dug-out is purpose made and it makes me smile.

“A secretive piece of heaven, hardly visited,” I whispered unknowingly.

A metal folding chair, a seat filled with a light layer of dust held parliament mid-room, waiting for my company. It beckoned me to drag the rickety and tattered card table, a long-time companion, sitting still folded and dirty covered over, to keep us all company.

It feel like home, the one we ate at as children while the older folk sat at the big table, enjoying Thanksgiving and Christmas turkey. I shared the memory aloud and I believe it felt grateful for the long forgotten jog it felt of days such as that.

Above me swayed a single light bulb. It too, along with the green enamel pan-shade, were touched by the ever present dust of age and forgotteness. I spent a few minutes cleaning both and eventually having to feel my way to the stair case, up and out, because the bulb could no longer live with out its outer garment of filth.

Unceremoniously, the librarian tossed the now dead bulb in the trash and handed me a new one. She felt no concern for the aged bulb and I had to turn away before I said anything, knowing it was her family and not mine, for I’m but a visitor to her bookish Queendom.

New bulb in place, I moved quietly through the four aisles of papers, each cased in a heavy wooden frame and guarded by a chicken-wire window. Each top paper is coated in a fine grit, thicker than the grit that has found its way between the hundreds of pages beneath it.

I sneeze as the finer silt becomes airborne and I know I am right where I must be and in love.

Eighteen-fifty, the oldest broadsheet I will find and I am joyful as I sit down, my friends surrounding me and we enjoying one another and our contemplative company. My mustered-colored Carhartt coat still on, a flask of brace from the chill tucked in my bib-over all pocket and I feel like I have all the time in the world, as I read and take notes.

From time to time, the light above me sways causing my casted shadow to quiver, dance and dodge among the stacks of magazines and century-old penny-dreadful reading material. It too, my shadow that is, is enjoying the freedom we have found underground.

And while I can see them, I know tiny eyes are watching me, curious as to what the human beast is doing and might do should one of the small rodents grow brave enough to investigate the activity that its generation, and the one before, has never seen. Courage in a mouse doesn’t take much time to muster as I find three visitors seated at the edge of the card table watching me and each without fear.

They are my company in this chilled room, a secret garden that I’ve been given privilege to behold. Soon, I am jolted from my lettered revery of a kind female voice reminding me that the library closes in 15-minutes.

Folding up the table, I also fold the chair, whereby I place them against the far and bare wall. I imagine that they will chat among themselves, along with the mice and now-handled newspapers and magazines of the day a visitor came and stayed all day.

I draw one final breathe from the antiquated air, pull the door closed and leave a fantasy world behind me.

Commie Tommy

The hum of the steel-belted radials on the gray gravel ribbon of highway and vibrations from my trucks engine are still with me as I easy myself back onto my bed. Two-hundred-ninety miles two ways, two overnights and it is good to be back home again.

It’s amazing the length that I have to go to in order to find an open library with a catalog of old newspapers and magazines. Because of COVID fears, Nevada is again heading towards full-closure and I had to race time and distance to complete my desired task.

The first night, I arrived a little late, so after checking into my tiny motel room I set out to the local McDonalds for dinner. I went left out of the parking lot on foot since I’d seen the restaurant about four blocks back as I was coming into town.

My dog, Buddy was a happy companion that evening. He did not have to eat the dry dog food I had waiting for him in the truck.

A quiet night followed as I watched a station out of Salt Lake City and learned no more about the world than I would had I left the idiot box off.  We slept well and come the next morning, I took Buddy for a walk and prepared his food.

He’s a good traveler and comfortable being by himself.

Entering the old library building, I had to wear a mask, having to keep it on until alone with nearly 170-years worth of old newspapers and magazines. Dust from decades of storage and disuse filled the air, the odor of aged paper and ink waft about the small cellar room as a single bare light bulb in a pan-shade, hanging from above, swung slightly as someone walked along the floor, my ceiling.

Like Casablanca, romance and a touch of melodrama.

On and on, piece by forgotten tidbit: Gus Richards escapes vigilante justice but does 10-years in the Nevada State Prison; Three miners fend off a rabid coyote with a slab of bacon; and the first time a palm prints was used as evidence in a court trial. And though I’m no closer to knowing if Wyatt Earp really did bartend in Goldfield or if the Hole-in-the-Wall gang pulled their final bank job in Winnemucca, I did fill a notebook and a half.

I also found the information I was hoping to locate. Yay, me!

By the time I left the library, it was already dark and the wind was blowing bitter and I found myself shivering before I could get my truck door open. Once back at my room, coat on, I took Buddy for a walk out back of the motel, then fetched him more dog food and fresh water, before going to get myself something to eat.

This time I walked to the right as I left the motel and towards a Burger King which was only a couple of blocks away. I would not make it that far.

Past the narrow alleyway that separates the motel from its neighbor, came a bzzt…bzzt…bzzt, the unmistakable sound of a neon sign trying to fail. And I couldn’t fail to see it, bolted fast to the wall above a door, its red and white glow beckoning me to enter the tavern within.

Darkness to darkness greeted me as I slip through the doorway and moved to the bar. The dark was soon replaced by a few low hanging lamps above four deserted tables, a lengthy glow along the bar displaying the distilled drinkables and the pallid and  ever radiating glare of a television tuned to FOX News.

I had entered ‘conservative territory’ and suddenly felt at ease, but not quite at home.

And my fortune showed good as I heard ‘buy the house a round,’ while taking a stool. The voice was lost at the end of the bar where two men sat, huddled in conversation, drinking and smoking.

Quick, so as not to miss out, I said quietly, “Whiskey, neat.” And as fast as that, my night begun its sideway spin.

Several shots in and listening to the hot-air gas-bags talk about proof here and proof there, I found myself getting pissed. Talk, more talk, all talk, nothing but talk and not a shred of physical proof.

“Effing blowhards!,” I complained loudly at the TV. “Show me some goddamned proof or jus’ shut the fuck up.”

Quietude, so quiet that I am certain even the TV went silent following my outburst.

As I forced myself to glare at the tube, I could feel eyes burning their way through me. I dared not move my head to look at any of the men, including the bartender, who also stared at this interloper who dared to spout a misaligned opinion.

Finally, “What’s your name, Bub?”

Here it comes I think, as I answered, “Tom. Yours?”

“Gary,” came the voice in the dark.

The silence was long and loud as I sipped my drink.

“You gotta problem with Trump?” the voice identified as Gary asked.

“Not him,” I answered, “But all his fucking talking-heads. They talk a good game but have nothing to show for it.”

“Well, let me tell you something Commie Tommy…” came Gary.

I interrupted, “What’s that Gary the Fairy?”

Downing my drink in a single gulp, I stared into that dark portion of bar, where no one moved, no one spoke.

Finally, the bartender commanded, “Come on — you need to leave.”

I did and there was no tip for him.

Outside, the wind was now a gale and bitingly cold, even with the jacket I had on. The outside lights to BK were off and looking towards Micky D’s, I concluded it was too far to walk and risk getting picked up for ‘public intoxication,’ though I was no where near drunk.

My thought process is such that I wouldn’t put it passed the bartender to ‘drop a dime’ saying, “I kicked a belligerent drunk guy out of the place and he’s walking south on Idaho Street.”

Instead, I headed to my room where Buddy was happily waiting. He was really biting at the bit and needed to get outside, so we rushed out back of the motel once again.

As he took care of his business, small flakes of snow began pelting us.

Done and back inside, I stripped and crawled between the sheets wanting to warm up and fall asleep. The wind though insisted on visiting and it grew noisier by the minute.

It had found a small space in the window frame to whistle and whine. Then it buffeted my motel door, which I was fast to learn, hung loose in its frame.

“Womp, womp, womp,” it banged in and out at each new gust.

By this time Buddy was on alert, all hackles, growling and half-barking at every sound. I couldn’t get him to quiet down and began to worry that someone might complain.

Finally, I grabbed one of the two chairs that accompanied a small table, and slipped the back of it under the door handle and hefted it into place. The door stopped rattling and a certain peace came to the room.

Finally — time for sleep — or so I thought.

After an hour, I found my self still awake. So I grabbed my cellphone and though not my intention at first, I proceeded to burn up all my available data, picking online arguments, trying to get others to understand how stupid it is to listen to a bunch of gas-bags on TV, radio and newspaper and never see a piece of physical evidence.

Meanwhile Buddy maintained his low, vicious sounding growl all night and into the early hours of morning. Needless to say, I was half-exhausted by the time we left the room.

We stopped and got breakfast at Taco Bell and before crossing that long, lonely, wide-open space of land, the great Nevada basin, where the only broadcaster I could pick up was an all talk-radio station. Not even the Christian radio station, the one I can always count on, was clear of hissing static.

And guess what the talk-radio gas-bags were yammering about? All the evidence the Trump team has on hand, proving that the election was rigged.

Aargh! Off went the radio and I continued my lengthy journey homeward brooding in silence.

Back in town, I had one more stop to make: the veterinarian hospital to pick up the cremains of Yeager. I backed in to a parking spot, and since they are allowed only so many people, if any, inside the clinic, I called to let them know I was there.

While waiting an old, white-faced black lab came out with one of the technicians, who handed the dog’s leash to it human. Buddy saw the elderly pup and went crazy, whining, crying and jumping from the back of the cab to the passenger seat and back again.

“Oh, Buddy, I’m sorry,” I said, knowing he’d never understand, “But that ain’t our Yaeger.”

It didn’t help. He continued his fit, which caused my heart to ache.

Gladly, I was called to the door to pick up the box I’d arrived for. As for Buddy, he eventually settled down.

An now that I am home and resting, laid back and relaxed on my bed, I find myself thinking about a kid I knew and how he came to our home for dinner once. I can still see him sitting in a chair we had in the corner of our living room.

I also recall the dogs dancing about him, excitedly trying to entice him to pet them.

However, he refused, clearly uncomfortable with their presence. Thinking back, I knew that something was off about him, especially now, since he’s in prison for the rest of his life.

Drowsily, I scratch Buddy behind his ears as he lays next to me.

From the REAL Reporters Notebook…GAK!

Lots of times I must rely on my reporters notebook in order to maintain any sense of organization. This last weeks notes nearly got out of hand, so I thought I’d share them with you…

Virginia City’s Veterans Day a Success

The annual Veteran’s day celebration came with a slight twist this year because of COVID-19. The Veterans Day Cruise as it was known was opened to walking groups and vehicles.

“We felt it was important to find a way to show veterans that we appreciate them and that we care,” Deny Dotson, Tourism Director for Virginia City Tourism Commission, said. “We wanted to do something in a safe way that adheres to the current guidelines, but demonstrates our appreciation for those who serve our country.”

Participant lined up at the Fourth Ward School, located at the junction of U.S. Routes 342 and 341 at C Street and proceed south through town.

And just in time for the event, personnel with the Nevada Army Guard’s G Company, 2/238th Aviation Unit returned home following a tour in Afghanistan.

“All 60 soldiers in both rotations of the 2/238th Aviation unit’s mission to Afghanistan are home safely in Nevada,” said SFC Erick Studenicka of the Nevada National Guard.

The soldiers had been in Afghanistan for the majority of this past year performing medical evacuation missions. Their return marks the conclusion of their mission with Operation Freedom’s Sentinel.

A demobilization ceremony had been scheduled for Friday was canceled due to COVID-19 concerns.

Storey County’s DMV Closes Temporarily

The Storey County DMV is closed until further notice with no reason given. Residents are asked to visit dmvnv.com for other DMV locations and online services.

Meanwhile COVID Numbers Climb

Carson City Health and Human Services is reporting 369 new cases and 26 additional recoveries of COVID-19 in the Quad-County region. Of these 369 new cases, 343 are prisoners in the Warm Springs Correctional Facility, bringing the total number of cases to 2,638, with 1,948 recoveries and 27 deaths; 663 cases remain active.

The breakdown of numbers for Storey County are 26 people, with four of those being active cases and the remaining 22 listed as recoveries.

New COVID Hotline Number

Carson City Health and Human Services (CCHHS) has announcing a new phone number for the Quad-County COVID-19 Hotline. Starting Tuesday, November 17 the phone number will be (775) 434-1988.

The hotline is staffed Monday through Friday, 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. The change is required to handle the volume of calls regarding questions about COVID and the number of people interested in being tested.

CCHHS will continue to offer testing to Quad-County residents with and without symptoms. Drive-thru COVID-19 testing events are for Quad-County residents only, all others will be turned away.

Residents can call the Quad-County COIVD-19 hotline at (775) 434-1988 to be assessed for testing. All COVID testing offered through Carson City Health and Human Services is free of charge.

Dayton Chamber Awarded COVID Cash

The Dayton Area Chamber of Commerce and Visitors Center has been awarded $14,150 by the Nevada Commission on Tourism, the as part of the COVID-19 Rural Recovery Grant Program to print 40,000 Dayton and Mound House map and brochures. Earlier this year, the Chamber was awarded $3,500 for 10,000 maps.

The grant increases the amount of maps to be printed and now includes a wider distribution area that covers northern Nevada, Reno, Carson City, north and south Lake Tahoe, three Welcome Centers, in addition to 140 sites in the California Gold Country.

Sisolak’s Friday the 13th

Nevada Gov. Steve Sisolak has tested positive for COVID-19. He’s the third person in his office to test positive for the virus. Two weeks ago, the governor’s office announced an unnamed Carson City-based staffer had tested positive for the virus. While early October, Sisolak’s COVID-19 response director Caleb Cage also tested positive.

New Deputies on Duty

Nevada Peace Officer Standardized Training ceremony saw three new Storey County Sheriff’s Office deputies graduate. Congratulations deputies Doston, Smiley, and Heffner. We look forward to your service to the communities.

People Helping People

The Silver Springs Senior Center would like to thank the Over The Hill Motorcycle Club for their very generous donation of $500.00 to go to help purchase Christmas Presents for our home bound Seniors.

Burn Permits Available

Storey County Fire Protection District has begun issuing open Burn Permits for the fall season 2020 through the Spring Season of 2021 and are valid until the last day of March 2021. To renew a permit from last season or to request a new Burn Permit, please call Station 71 directly at 775-847-0954. All new burn permits require a site safety visit.

Holiday Garbage Pick-up

Waste Management said that there will be no collections on Thanksgiving, Christmas Day or New Year’s Day. Please note: This is specific to Virginia City only. The Rainbow Bend/Canon General Improvement District and the Industrial Park area off USA Parkway will not be affected.

Seasonal Closures

The Historic Fourth Ward School Museum and Archives has closed for the closed for the season and will reopen to the general public on May 1, 2021.

Local favorite, Tommy Knockers, the bar, has also closed up for the winter months. No date’s been set for reopening yet.

Lyon County Makes International News

We have it on good authority that the Asian news media is keeping an eye, not only on Nevada as a whole, but Northern Nevada in general, as they follow the outcome of the Silver State’s US Congressional election.

“Rep. Steven Horsford of the 4th Congressional District and Rep. Susie Lee of the 3rd Congressional District defeated their respective Republican opponents in what were considered two battleground races in Nevada,” writes Christina M. Oriel, managing editor of the Asian Journal Weekly Newspaper.

Horsford, a Democrat and former state senator became the first African American to represent the Silver State in Congress, received 50.8 percent of the vote in his bid for another term. He beat out Assemblyman Jim Marchant, who received 43-percent and Libertarian candidate Jonathan Esteban who took 2-percent.

His district covers southern Lyon County, most of northern Clark County and all of Esmeralda, Lincoln, Mineral, Nye and White Pine counties.

“Thank you to the residents of Nevada’s 4th district for reelecting me and I am so incredibly honored to continue serving #NV04 in Congress,” Horsford wrote in a Twitter post.

Meanwhile, Republican Rep. Mark Amodei of the state’s 2nd Congressional District easily won reelection with 56.4 percent of the vote defeating Democratic challenger Patricia Ackerman.

More on the Asian Connection

According to Asian and Pacific Islander American Vote (AAPI,) a nonpartisan civic engagement group, there are more than 209,000 eligible AAPI voters in Nevada, about 11 percent of the state’s electorate. According to the 2010 census, it is in Nevada that their numbers have been increasing the fastest.

Robin Titus Reelected to Caucus

Members of the Nevada Assembly Republican Caucus have unanimously re-elected Dr. Robin Titus to be Caucus Leader for the 81st Legislative Session. She was first elected to represent Nevada’s Assembly District 38, which includes part of Lyon County, in November, 2014 and was reelected after winning the Republican primary election in June.

Titus has represented her district in three regular and two special sessions.

Nevada’s Democratic Supermajority Defeated

Republicans will return to Carson City next session with three more Assembly seats and one Senate seat, stripping Democrats of their supermajority in the lower chamber and narrowing their majority in the upper one. Democrats still maintain a 12-9 majority in the Senate and a 26-16 majority in the Assembly.

Bad Luck on Friday the 13th

Nevada Governor Steve Sisolak recently test positive for COVID-19. He continues to isolate and monitor symptoms. The only symptom he has experienced is mild head congestion. Sisolak has been discussing a second closure of the state as COVID cases increase.

COVID Cases Continue to Rise in Lyon County

The Nevada COVID-19 Mitigation and Management Task Force met with eight counties flagged for having an elevated risk of transmission of COVID-19 including Lyon County.

The county’s been flagged for more than two weeks with an elevated disease transmission having experienced five weeks of COVID test positivity higher than 8 percent of people tested and a cases rate per 100,000 population greater than two hundred. The latest report shows where the majority of those positive cases were from:

  • Contact with a COVID case (58 percent or 87 cases)
  • Visiting a grocery or retail store (32 percent or 48 cases)
  • Eating at a bar or restaurant (18% or 28 cases)

There were also two cases associated with the Mason Valley Residence outbreak during this period.

County Manager Jeff Page advised all Department Directors and Elected Officials to have employees work from home where possible. All Lyon County Offices will remain open until directed otherwise.

Meanwhile the state’s task force has approved the county’s action plans has also requested to have additional information from OSHA and Department of Business and Industry be included in the next report.

New Fernley Senior Center Opens

Lyon County and the City of Fernley are celebrating the opening of the new Senior Center and Human Services Office at 105 Lois Lane, behind the Fernley Depot. The project is the first part of what is eventually hoped to become a community center complex. The 18,000-square foot, $8.6 million facility replaces the old senior center on West Newlands Drive, but is only partially open to the public because of COVID-19 restrictions.

Lyon County School District Spawns Winners

The Nevada Association of School Boards 2020 Awards has recognized four Lyon County School District employees. Josh Wiley, at Silver Stage Middle School, ‘Innovative Educator of the Year;’ Billiejo Hogan, principal at Fernley’s East Valley Elementary School, ‘School Administrator of the Year;’ John Stevens, ‘Individual School Board Member of the Year;’ and Wayne Workman, ‘Superintendent of the Year.’

Dayton Man Sentenced to Prison

A Dayton man who robbed a Lake Tahoe home has been ordered to spend up to 3-8 years in prison and must pay back $657,984.78 that he stole. Miguel Guevarra Gacuma, 31, admitted looting the home’s safe while he was a home healthcare worker.

Road Work Continuing

Overnight lane closures are underway on Interstate 80 between Vista and Mustang through Nov. 27, as the Nevada Department of Transportation (NDOT) resurfaces the interstate for enhanced friction and driving safety. Meanwhile, lane and ramp closures are in place on USA Parkway near Interstate 80 while NDOT completes repairs to a raised concrete median damaged in a previous crash.

Thanksgiving Travel in Nevada

Thanksgiving travel is expected to see a slight dip this season as coronavirus cases surge. AAA Nevada anticipates a 10 percent decrease, marking the largest one-year decrease in anticipated traffic volume since the 2008 Great Recession. So far, there are no statewide travel restriction in Nevada.

Trebeck

Our daughter-in-law is an operator for Lyft and Uber. Yesterday afternoon she was driving by the Grand Sierra Hotel/Casino in Reno, Nevada when she saw only a portion of the property’s electronic billboard.

From her vantage point all she could see for the few seconds she had to read the billboard were the words, “Rest in Peace…Trebeck.”

Where the first name was had been blocked from her view. For the next few hours she picked up and dropped off people, all the while puzzling over Trebeck’s first name.

“I could have Googled it, but that would be like cheating since it was right there on the tip of my tongue,” she said. “I kept thinking ‘it’s a four letter name,’ like Mike, Bill or John, but nothing was ringing a bell or sounded right.”

Finally, she decided to call it a day and head for home. Once there she immediately asked her husband, Kyle, “What’s that Trebeck guy’s first name?”

Kyle asked, “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “I’ve been trying to remember it all day.”

Half-smiling and ready to laugh, Kyle returned, “What is your first name?”

“Alex,” she answered.

He walked away as she screamed, “Alex Trebeck! That’s it!”

Aggregated Headlines from Various News Outlets

We’re being told to ignore was what our eyes see, our ears hear, and our gut instinct screams by the propagandized news corporations and social media, and I am sick of it…

• Military Ballots Found in the Trash in Pennsylvania—Most Were Trump Votes
• Arizona Voters File Suit to Restore Their Ballots Cancelled Over Sharpies
• Michigan USPS Whistleblower Claims Late Ballots Received Backdated Postmarks
• 4 VOTERS Older than the Oldest Human Being Alive Today Voted in Michigan Including One Man Born in 1850
• Hundreds Of Absentee Ballots In Detroit, Pennsylvania Missing, Not Delivered By Postal Service
• Joe Biden Boasts Of ‘Most Extensive’ Voter Fraud ‘In The History Of American Politics’
• TENS OF THOUSANDS OF BALLOTS Dropped Off in USPS Boxes at Detroit Absentee Ballot Processing Center at 3:30 AM After Election
• Pennsylvania Attorney General States Outcome of Election is Predetermined, Calls Election For Joe Biden Before Election Day
• Pennsylvania County Official: Thousands of Mail-In Ballots May Be Lost
• Florida Postal Employee Charged with Stealing Mail-In Ballot
• Bags Full Of Stolen Ballots Found In Seattle Suburb
• Wisconsin Authorities Investigate Absentee Ballots Found In Ditch, As FBI Probes Discarded Pro-Trump Ballots In PA
• Nearly 50,000 Ohio Voters Received Wrong Absentee Ballots, Officials Say – CBS Pittsburgh
• Texas Poll Watcher Testifies On 2020 Voter Fraud In Houston, Has PHOTOS
• Biden’s Texas Political Director, Other Democrats Accused In Illegal Ballot Harvesting Scheme

Where Does Poo Come From?

My son, Kyle was jus’ a little guy at the time, perhaps four, maybe five years old. He didn’t talk very much because of his autistic spectrum, so when he did speak, we were very attentive.

One morning as I was helping him get dressed for the day, he looked at me and asked, “Daddy, where does poo come from?”

“Okay,” I recall thinking, “Weird question – but I’ll answer it as simply and as best I can.”

Carefully and slowly, I explained how by eating food, chewing it into little bits, and by swallowing it goes down our throat and into our belly. I further told him that the food turns to a soup in our tummy and then drains out towards our bum and it eventually turns to poo, which is like the left overs our body can’t use.

The look on the poor child’s face is one that I will never forget. He seemed puzzled and disgusted all the same time.

“Does that make sense?” I asked.

Rather than a yes-or-no answer, Kyle countered, “So, where does Tigger come from?”

My brain completely shutdown at that point as I stared blanking into the eye’s of my young son.

Fernley Man Killed in Solo Vehicle Crash

While I hate doing them, in my opinion, these sort of stories are important to the community…
The Nevada Highway Patrol continues to investigate a deadly crash that took the life of a Fernley man.
Twenty-two year old Gregory Blackburn was heading eastbound on Interstate 80 around 1:55 am Saturday morning, Nov. 7 when the black 1996 Dodge Ram he was driving struck a light pole and over turned near mile marker 42. Troopers said that Blackburn drove off the right side of the road before encountering the pole.
Blackburn was unrestrained at the time of the crash and as a result, he was partially ejected from the cab of the truck and pronounced dead at the scene. No other vehicles are believed to be involve.

Bumped into a mannequin and said, “Excuse me.”

After realizing it was a mannequin, I laughed, saying, “Thought you were a real person.”

Then I realized I was still talking to the mannequin as it it were a living person.  This is a whole new level of weird – even for me.

Safe Passage

With darkness falling earlier, I’m now taking my walks shortly after the sun has set. There is a small spot up the road from where I live that I like to drive to for these evening outings, as rarely am I ever disturbed by anyone.

It also helps that there is a small pioneer cemetery tucked back off the main roadway and very few people seem to remember or even know that it is there. And while I don’t usually walk through the hallowed ground, I can skirt it and enjoy it’s quietude all the same.

Hey, sometimes I freak myself out, so I find it much more manly to avoid the scare, then having to explain why I frightened myself.

Last night though was different. I could hear the voices of teen children echoing from someplace inside the cemetery grounds.

Worried that they might be vandalizing the remaining headstones and the still standing wooden markers, I quietly approached the voices. Three young girls were huddled together nervously giggling and talking, and obviously spooked about something.

“Hello,” I called.

They shrieked but remained where they were.

Again I called out, “Are you girls okay?”

“We’re too scared to continue through the cemetery,” one answered back.

“Okay,” I said as I continued towards them, “I’m right here and I’ll help you get out of here.”

As I came into their view they seemed quite relieved and rushed over to me. Each huddled against me as if I might be their great protector of the ‘things that go bump in the night.’

“It’s okay,” I said as I quickly found the narrow trial to the far side of the cemetery.

“Will you walk us the rest of the way home?” one of the girls asked.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I answered.

“Why not?” asked another of the girls.

“Because this is as far as I can go,” I said.

“But we’re scared of the dark,” the third girl pleaded.

“So was I at one time,” I smiled, “Back when I was still alive and not trapped in this cemetery.”

Never had I seen three teens disappear into the night screaming like a trio of wild banshees before, but if you ever get the chance, let me tell you, it is well worth it. Doubt they’ll be visiting that cemetery at night again.

First Solo Hunt

At 87 years old, Angelo Whitlow is still a powerfully built man. Known better as Angie or Ange, he is not one given to wasting words so when he told me this story, I sat up and listened intently.

At 87 years old, Angelo Whitlow is still a powerfully built man. Known better as Angie or Ange, he is not one given to wasting words, so when he told me this story, I sat up and listened intently.

“It was my first time hunting by myself,” he said. “Before this day, I used to accompany my dad or one of my uncles, but I never had gone alone.”

At 14, Ange finally got his first hunting license and it was decided that he could go with the men and they’d all go their separate ways. With him, Ange carried a 1903 Springfield, given to him by his father’s eldest Uncle.

“Still have that rifle too,” he said.

As he had learned over the past two deer hunting season, Ange set about finding a game trail and then a quiet place to sit and wait. On that day, he found a fallen log that faced an open field some 200 yards wide, filled with tall grasses and a trail clearly etched through the vegetation.

“After sitting there for was seemed like forever,” Ange said. “I saw movement slightly beyond the trees out in front of me.”

It was a white tail deer.

“I quietly slid the bolt back and slowly moved the rifle around so I could bring it up to my shoulder at a moments notice,” he said. “The deer was so close I was certain I wouldn’t miss, all I was waiting for was a clean shot, with no trees in the way.”

The deer moved slowly and with some caution according to Ange. He was surprise when the head of the animal poke out beyond the trees.

“As it’s head came clear of the trees, I could see a rack of 12-points and then my heart leapt in to my ears making it hard to concentrate. That’s how excited I was,” he said. “But then it looked at me and I was sure the jig was up and he’d go dashing into the woods and I’d be out of luck.”

But then things got weird as the buck stepped out of the trees fully and turned to face the teenager.

“I knew it had seen me,” Angie stated. “But it came out and into the open anyway, and then it turned its body so I couldn’t get a good shot at it and I certainly didn’t want to shoot it between the eyes because I wanted that beautiful set of horns.”

Ange shifted in his seat and sipped at his coffee before continuing.

“It bowed its head twice at me. I thought it might be some sort of challenge and that it might charge me and I would have to shoot it, horns or no horns,” Angelo said. “Then it came straight at me and you know what?”

“What?” I said without thinking, knowing that interrupting an Elder was bad form, not to mention, impolite.

“I froze,” he smiled. “I couldn’t even lift my rifle as all thought drained my head and strength from my body.”

He took a sip of coffee, shook his head and chucked before continuing.

“I sat there, dumbstruck, knowing I was about to be gored, killed, when suddenly the deer dipped his head and raked the tall grass at a dead run,” he said. “That’s when the mountain lion that I didn’t know was stocking me, sprang out of concealment and with a hiss and growl tried to swipe at the deer as it butted it with its horns.”

Still, Angie said, he was frozen in place.

“The two moved clockwise, the buck with its head down and the cat, spitting and hissing,” Ange said. “Till finally that had come a half circle so that the buck was nearer me and the cat was where the buck had been.”

Angelo describes the scene as a ‘Mexican stand-off,’ as the buck and deer challenged one another.

“But it was that cat that blinked first,” Angie said. “Must’ve decided my skin and bones wasn’t worth the fuss. It surrendered, turned and darted off into the woods to the far side of the field. I could see spots of blood on its side and butt from where the buck nailed it.”

The buck stood with its right flank fully exposed and blowing hard, winded from the short battle, according to Ange.

“Then it looked towards me, turned its back on me and with it white tail flashing that danger signal, bounded off in the opposite direction from the cat,” he said. “I finally came to my senses, got up and making sure that cat wasn’t following me, made my way back to the station wagon where I stayed put.”

Angelo didn’t go out for the remainder of the season.

“That was enough excitement for me for that year,” Ange said. “But I never missed the chance to go deer hunting after that again, except during the Korean War when I was drafted and sent overseas to fight for my Uncle Sam.”

ds, so when he told me this story, I sat up and listened intently.

“It was my first time hunting by myself,” he said. “Before this day, I used to accompany my dad or one of my uncles, but I never had gone alone.”

At 14, Ange finally got his first hunting license and it was decided that he could go with the men and they’d all go their separate ways. With him, Ange carried a 1903 Springfield, given to him by his father’s eldest Uncle.

“Still have that rifle too,” he said.

As he had learned over the past two deer hunting season, Ange set about finding a game trail and then a quiet place to sit and wait. On that day, he found a fallen log that faced an open field some 200 yards wide, filled with tall grasses and a trail clearly etched through the vegetation.

“After sitting there for was seemed like forever,” Ange said. “I saw movement slightly beyond the trees out in front of me.”

It was a white tail deer.

“I quietly slid the bolt back and slowly moved the rifle around so I could bring it up to my shoulder at a moments notice,” he said. “The deer was so close I was certain I wouldn’t miss, all I was waiting for was a clean shot, with no trees in the way.”

The deer moved slowly and with some caution according to Ange. He was surprise when the head of the animal poke out beyond the trees.

“As it’s head came clear of the trees, I could see a rack of 12-points and then my heart leapt in to my ears making it hard to concentrate. That’s how excited I was,” he said. “But then it looked at me and I was sure the jig was up and he’d go dashing into the woods and I’d be out of luck.”

But then things got weird as the buck stepped out of the trees fully and turned to face the teenager.

“I knew it had seen me,” Angie stated. “But it came out and into the open anyway, and then it turned its body so I couldn’t get a good shot at it and I certainly didn’t want to shoot it between the eyes because I wanted that beautiful set of horns.”

Ange shifted in his seat and sipped at his coffee before continuing.

“It bowed its head twice at me. I thought it might be some sort of challenge and that it might charge me and I would have to shoot it, horns or no horns,” Angelo said. “Then it came straight at me and you know what?”

“What?” I said without thinking, knowing that interrupting an Elder was bad form, not to mention, impolite.

“I froze,” he smiled. “I couldn’t even lift my rifle as all thought drained my head and strength from my body.”

He took another sip of coffee, shook his head and chucked before going on.

“I sat there, dumbstruck, knowing I was about to be gored, killed, when suddenly the deer dipped his head and raked the tall grass at a dead run,” he said. “That’s when the mountain lion that I didn’t know was stocking me, sprang out of concealment and with a hiss and growl tried to swipe at the deer as it butted it with its horns.”

Still, Angie said, he was frozen in place.

“The two moved clockwise, the buck with its head down and the cat, spitting and hissing,” Ange said. “Till finally that had come a half circle so that the buck was nearer me and the cat was where the buck had been.”

Angelo describes the scene as a ‘Mexican stand-off,’ as the buck and deer challenged one another.

“But it was that cat that blinked first,” Angie said. “Must’ve decided my skin and bones wasn’t worth the fuss. It surrendered, turned and darted off into the woods to the far side of the field. I could see spots of blood on its side and butt from where the buck nailed it.”

The buck stood with its right flank fully exposed and blowing hard, winded from the short battle, according to Ange.

“Then it looked towards me, turned its back on me and with it white tail flashing that danger signal, bounded off in the opposite direction from the cat,” he said. “I finally came to my senses, got up and making sure that cat wasn’t following me, made my way back to the station wagon where I stayed put.”

Angelo didn’t go out for the remainder of the season.

“That was enough excitement for me for that year,” Ange said. “But I never missed the chance to go deer hunting after that again, except during the Korean War when I was drafted and sent overseas to fight for my Uncle Sam.”

Adventures in Reporting

“And just like that, she was gone.” – Forrest Gump, 1994.

It’s one of the many classic lines that come from that movie. In this case, he’s talking about ‘Jennie,’ the girl, turned woman that Forrest has been in love with all of his life.

It’s also how I’m feeling about writing at this very moment. I’ve spent my morning fighting off the urge to give up on all four news articles that I’ve been working on since last Tuesday.

But as much as I wanted too, I couldn’t walk away from the task at hand, especially with the deadline being this evening at 5 pm. Aargh, though – as I am frustrated.

Between a state agency threatening to shutdown a small business owner that I jus’ interviewed, to not having the last name of an important person for a story, to others being ‘out of town,’ unable to speak on the phone or provide a quote, to a law enforcement agency telling me to ‘check Facebook,’ because that’s ‘all the information we’ve have released,’ and you get the picture.

“And that’s all I have to say about that.”

Practical Deception

They race from the Left,  trickle from the Right, flow from the Middle. Each and every one screaming that I’m lying, spreading falsehoods and am a poor loser for having posted about the ‘taking of names’ and ‘re-education camps.’ These are nothing more than pandering idiots and Internet trolls attempting to obfuscate what can be seen clearly.

It feels wonderful to be asked, if not lectured, to ‘reach out’ to our neighbors and loved one and talk about anything but politics. That’s exactly what failed Democratic Presidential candidate Pete  Buttigieg tweets.

Isn’t that the sweetest thing ever? But don’t be fooled!

However, Buttigieg’s ‘former’ national surrogates director Emily Abrams wrote something remarkably opposite before her account went private:

 

These are people not to be trusted, and friends and loved ones need to be made aware of how these people are deceivers, even if there is a risk of losing contact with them. Our nation depends on honesty.

Dear Democrat:

Go ahead, keep telling everyone how it is time to heal the nation. We have your number, my patriotic friend.

While you are at it, tell that man or that woman, who for no fault of their own, were subjected to looting, arson and other forms of violence, simply because they owned a business. Explain to the widow or widower and the orphans, whose wife, husband or parent, a law enforcement officer, was murdered because your party believes them to be oppressors.

Tell us how we are to heal knowing that the national media, all the way down to the local media are in the pocket of your fellow politicians. Please explain clearly, how aiding those contributing to social unrest via the corporate broadcast agencies, you so bitterly hate, are going to affect a proper healing or that by social media censoring peoples voices is going to clear the way back to our founding document.

Please, explain how ensuring a woman can have an abortion is a pathway to health or healthcare. Speak up when you address the fact that it is unconstitutional for the federal government, through taxes raised via the American citizen or business, is what is written in our founding documents.

Keep telling the American people that you are on their side. I, for one American, am tired of the pandering and would prefer you simply call me an enemy of the state, a Socialist state and soon to be Communist state, where only a handful of people, leaders as you are so quick to call them, will have power.

As an enemy of the state, I am still free to speak my mind and even up to my quickened death. You on the other hand have forsaken your liberty for the power of a party and you shall die the slow death of a non-person, not to mention a non-patriot.

I am calling you as I see you…a liar and a fraud, and that thief who comes in the middle of the night.

Dear Republican Party:

You did not gather 71-million votes, President Trump gathered those 71-million votes. And while, you have enjoyed election cycle after cycle talking about the ‘big tent,’ it is Trump who filled that tent in one cycle.

Trump, though his actions of Making America Great Again, created the most diverse, widest and deepest part of the entire American electorate consisting of every creed, color, race, gender, ethnicity and orientation. It is a truly color-blind coalition of middle America patriots and middle-class voters that cuts through the political special interest groups.

You are the GOP, the Grand Old Party, but we are the new party to behold, the MAGA party, and you did not create us. You need to be very well aware of what you’ve brought to the political arena with you: ‘Republican in Name Only’s’, ‘Never-Trumpers’ and endless pandering to the Democratic Party.

You’ve allowed ‘Deep State’ actors to stay entrenched in their bureaucracy, you’ve failed time and again to halt known corrupt politicians and former politicians, letting them to get away with violating the US Constitution, you let the Democratic party hold sway over the Congress with endless and expensive investigations and hearing, and allowed with very little push back the impeachment of a President, when he had done nothing wrong, while allowing another president to side-step Congress and the Constitution with no negative outcome. We say SHAME ON YOU!

Your days may very well be numbered because we know what you have and have not done for the American peoples.

Let It Begin with Me

Where this ends, I don’t know – but, God, let it begin with me.

Yesterday, I read a tweet from New York Senator Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC) demanding the taking of names and the collection of ‘negative comments’ on social media about Democrats, et.al., with the idea of placing dissenters in ‘reeducation camps.’ That’s deadly rhetoric.

 

AOC, and others, don’t fully understand that many Americans, both men and women, young and old, able-bodied and disabled, mentally sound and those of us with PTSD, etc., have a lot of experience standing in the gap against hostile forces. What few of us ever dreamed is that we’d be standing the gap against fellow Americans.

We’ve taken and oath to protected and defend the US Constitution against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. Many bureaucrats have failed to understand that we take that oath seriously and further, no one ever told un-oathed us at the official termination of service to our nation.

Jokingly, I wrote that when the COVID-19 pandemic was foisted upon the American public, some people’s survival instinct was to rush out and buy toilet paper. Others of us went to the store and bought an extra box of ammo.

We are not all the same.

Further, I posted this: Psalm 97: 1-3 (NIV)

1 The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad;
let the distant shores rejoice.
2 Clouds and thick darkness surround him;
righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.
3 Fire goes before him
and consumes his foes on every side.

This is my war song, my death song.

So where does this end? If this nation, that is to say its people, collectively and as a whole do not stand up for the US Constitution and the major wrong that has been recently done to it, we are either finished as a nation or we will be scrambling to survive in a fully realized third-world nation.

But I do know where it will begin – with me, and with others like me. So, please begin taking our names, our social media statements, for there is worse waiting for you sowers and reapers, and it lays in wait behind every blade of grass across our great nation.

The Three Envelopes

Mary had jus’ left for the store. I stood on the porch, waving at her as she drove away

In my hand was the mornings first cup of coffee, already half gone. Ahead of me, on the nearest side street came a woman neighbor.

She was dressed in a ground length goose down coat, the kind that have separate chambers meant to trap one’s body heat inside the garment. On her feet were what looked to be a pair of ‘knock-off’ Uggs and atop her head was a rose-pink shower towel, wrapped tight to keep her still wet hair from falling.

About five-five, maybe around 135 pounds, in her mid to late 30’s, I thought of her as a good looking woman. We had waved at one another on occasion and said hello, but that was about it.

As she rounded the corner, she saw me and gruffed, “Damn husband forgot to take the mail before heading to work this morning.”

With that she waved her right hand, displaying the three envelopes she was carrying. Nodding, I continued to watch as she stabbed each one in the slot with a methodical madness.

As she punched each envelop through the gap, her towel became more and more loose, till it was beginning to fall off. Still I watched as she yanked it free, bowed herself back and forth twice, flicking her hair forward and backward, then wrapped her dishwater-blonde tangle back in the towel.

She turned and saw me watching, “Well, that wasn’t very sexy, now was it?”

“Oh, contraire chère femme,” I smiled, lifting my cup high in salute. “It’s always sexy to watch a  woman flick her hair about before wrapping it up like that.”

She laughed and continued walking. Then she stopped mid-stride and turned almost perfectly across from me.

Before I knew what was happening, she flipped open her coat, exposing her fully naked self. All I could do was stupidly lift my coffee cup in salute to her and grin like an idiot.

And a quick as that, she was hiking back the way she had came.

Then I lifted my cup to my lips to take another gulp of coffee and found it had grown cold. It was time to go inside and heat it up.

Bonanza Barfly

She stepped out of the Bonanza Club along ‘C’ Street and walked to the rough hewn post I was intending to lean on. She wasn’t much more than thirty, but looked to have come directly out of the late 1950’s.

The woman wore a pair dark blue jeans without back pockets and which hugged her hips tightly. Her blouse was a red and gray checkerboard pattern with a thin collar and short mid-arm sleeves with perfectly hemmed cuffs.

Her hair was a light brown and coiffed in the manner that reminded me of Jackie before her husband was killed in Dallas. In her hand, she held a small leather hand bag and I heard her open and close it with a click.

Then I heard the flick of a lighter and as I glance over I saw a glint of gold as she lit a cigarette and took a lengthy drag of it. A couple of seconds later, I watched as a curl of thin white smoke curl from her nose and around her face.

I knew in an instant she was smoking a non-filtered cigarette, the same as my mother had when she was still alive.

When I finally looked at her, she had dark brown eyes that matched her hair. Her lips were bright red and her alabaster skin was flawless, save to a touch too much rouge on her hit and full cheek bones.

“God,” she cheerfully exclaimed, “I needed that.”

I simply chuckled as she took another puff of her cigarette.

“Business looks like it’s going good,” I said.

“Boy is it,” she said. “I can hardly keep up.”

I heard her puff again at her cigarette.

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “Lots of places are having a hard time financially because of this COVID stuff, but I guess you already…”

My son, Kyle interrupted me, “Dad, who you talking to?”

I glanced at him as he leaned forward of me and looked at the post on which I leaned.

Then I looked back at the woman. She was no longer there.

“I guess only to myself,” I answered.

He smiled, “I think you’re losing it,” and laughed.

I laughed along with him, but as I did I thought about going inside the Bonanza to see if she were there, but in the end decided not to.

“Best to leave well enough alone,” I told myself, as Kyle and I continued walking down Virginia City’s wooden boardwalk.

Quit Worrying

As Mary and I sat at the kitchen table this morning, I asked, “What if things don’t get any better?”

“What things?” she countered.

“We’re still struggling to recover from 2008,” I said. “What if we’re never able to get out of the hole, ever?”

“You need to quit worrying about it,” she said.

“But what if this is all there is for the rest of our lives?” I continued.

“This is probably as good as it gets,” she smiled. “And it is gonna get worse from here on out.”

“Well, that’s joyful news,” I said.

“So quiet worrying,” she returned.

PA Woman Contradicts DHS Website

The deep state is so deep that not even the information Department of Homeland Security has put out on their government website is free of the label, ‘propaganda.’ Following the links given to #PROTECT2020 RUMOR VS. REALITY you will see clearly this posting:

Reality: Election officials provide writing instruments that are approved for marking ballots to all in-person voters using hand-marked paper ballots.

Rumor: Poll workers gave specific writing instruments, such as Sharpies, only to specific voters to cause their ballots to be rejected.

The post goes on with so-call facts:

Get the Facts: Election jurisdictions allow voters to mark ballots with varying types of writing instruments, based on state law and other considerations such as tabulation system requirements. Poll workers are required to provide approved writing devices to voters.

Although felt-tip pens, like Sharpies, may bleed through ballots, some election officials have stated that ballot tabulation equipment in their jurisdictions can still read these ballots. Many jurisdictions even design their ballots with offset columns to prevent any potential bleed through from impacting the ability to easily scan both sides of ballots.

If a ballot has issues that impact its ability to be scanned, it can be hand counted or duplicated, or adjudicated by election officials, who use defined procedures such as chain of custody to ensure protect ballot secrecy and integrity. Many states additionally have “voter intent” laws that allow for ballots to be counted even when issues such as bleed-throughs or stray marks are present, as long as the voter’s intent can still be determined.

However one Pennsylvania woman offers up a different story than what DHS claims is untrue.

Nece Hawke posted to her Facebook page, “I am so upset. This year is the very first time in my life I have voted. The church I went to vote at only had Sharpie permanent markers to fill in our votes.”

She goes on to explain, “The machine took my paper and it was gone. It did not say accepted or invalid. My paper was gone.”

She later learned the truth about using a Sharpie when voting.

“Found out that you should never use permanent markers to fill in the circles for voting. Your vote will be invalid,” she said.

“I am so sad and angry over this,” Hawke added. “I put in a complaint on the state of Pennsylvania government web page about this issue, plus contacted President Trump though his web page at the White House.”

So far, no one from the State of Pennsylvania or the Trump administration has reach back to Hawke.

Meanwhile, Twitter and Facebook continue to disrupt Trumps feed by adding warning that the information is not factual, including known activities of poll workers in Pennsylvania.

“We have claimed, for Electoral Vote purposes, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania (which won’t allow legal observers) the State of Georgia, and the State of North Carolina, each one of which has a BIG Trump lead,” tweeted Trump on Nov. 4 at 1:58 pm. “Additionally, we hereby claim the State of Michigan if, in fact, there was a large number of secretly dumped ballots as has been widely reported!”

Fatal Crash in Douglas County Under Investigation

Troopers from the Nevada Highway Patrol responded to a head-on collision on US-50 near Douglas County mile marker 3, Tuesday evening, Nov. 3 at about 6:25 pm. At the scene they found a black 2011 Dodge Ram pickup, that had been traveling eastbound on US-50 and approaching a right curve in the roadway, while a gray 2003 Honda Element was approaching the same curve westbound.

2011 Dodge Ram/NHP

As the truck entered the curve, the driver crossed over the double yellow center line and into the oncoming travel lane, hitting the Element. The driver of the Element, Peter Dykeman, 34, of South Lake was declared deceased at the scene.

The driver of the truck has yet to be identified by authorities. The crash is being investigated by the Nevada Highway Patrol Northern Command West Multi-Disciplinary Investigation and Reconstruction Team (M.I.R.T.)

From an Adoring Fan

Earlier today, a person named KRoss posted to my WordPress blog: “Hi there. Please post the sources and proof of this information. Thank you.”

My answer was short and to the point, “No, KRoss — you go look it up and verify it for yourself. That is your duty, not my job.”

I’m assuming by what they followed up with, that I made them angry. That wasn’t my intention, but I’ll take it as KRoss created a new online email address jus’ for me at “Tom Darby’s retarded.”

Isn’t that sweet?

Anyway, after telling KR that it was their duty to research my article and not mine, this was their intelligent comeback: “No this is literally your job as a journalist you dumb bitch (sic)”

I replied: “Oh, so that’s how it is. I already gave you what you need to do your own education of yourself. But you are too lazy, or perhaps ignorant of the fact that we are each responsible for our own intellectual property. And if name call is all you can resort to then it is you that has the problem and not me, nor the rest of society.”

Please feel free to email my newest pen pal KR at rossosk2009@yahoo.com and please tell them that the “retard” loves the address and attention, but still won’t do their research for them.

Note of Record Regarding the US 2020 Election

After citing a clerical error, Fairfax, Virginia switched 100,000 votes from Trump to Biden. Meanwhile, all of the precincts in North Carolina have Trump leading and state officials refuse to call the election.

Wisconsin suddenly discovered over 112 thousand Biden ballots between 3:30 am and 4:30 am, further the state now has more votes than registered voters. Michigan gained 138, 339 ballots for Biden after they stopped counting last night, finding none for Trump.

Six states in which Trump had sizable leads, including Pennsylvania, decided to stop counting ballots on election night. At 1:30 am, Trump had a 10-point lead in the ballot count, however state officials refused to call the election in favor of Trump.

On the other hand, Hawai’i was called early for Biden, despite not a single ballot count being officially offered. And now, Nevada has decided that they won’t have all vote counts in until Thursday or possibly November 12.

Twitter decided to delete President Trumps tweet on election night claiming it held deceptive information.  Meanwhile, Republican LeeJoe Lay, running for the District 16 Senate seat in Idaho had their Facebook account deleted not once, but twice.

And when you see a disclaimer about voting information below this post, know that interference continues to play out all across our nation.

Democratic Party of American

From Wikdpedia, the free encyclopedia...

The Democratic Party of America (DPA) is the name that was popularly given to members of the Democratic National Committee (DNC) and by extension to the regime through which the DNC rules the United States of America.

The DPA was slowly built up in the urban streets of of the US during the early 1960s, under President Lyndon B. Johnson and supported by both the DNC and the Republican National Committee (RNC). Although the RNC originally fought against Johnson and the DNC, both parties came together at the signing of the federal Civil Rights Act of 1964.

The DPA regime, while remaining low key, was highly autocratic, totalitarian, xenophobic, paranoid, and repressive. Many deaths resulted from the regime’s social engineering policies and the 1619 Project, which was aided by universities, media and politicians. The goal of the DPA was to strip down and disregard historical facts as they had been taught, and suffuse the education system with ‘lesser’ known, but as highly important facts that proved that the United States of American, through its founding was an agent for slavery and corporate capitalism, designed to maintain the power hold over those of color or sex.

In the 1970s, the DPA was largely supported and funded by the DNC, receiving approval from various nations that also held the world view that the US was nothing more than a suppressive colonial state. It is estimated that at least 90% of the foreign aid which was provided to the DPA through the DNC came from Communist nations like Russia, North Korea and China.

In the 1980’s the regime was removed from power when by an overwhelming majority Ronald Reagan was elected president of the US. and he quickly moved to destroy most of the DPA’s infrastructure. The DPA then fled underground and reasserted itself again within the ranks of major universities and media news outlets. Entrenched, the DPA began is systematic reeducation of children, often with parental permission.

By the early 1990’s, with the US fighting on behalf of the small principality of Kuwait and against the nation of Iraq, whose leader Saddam Hussein, had at one time been under the employ of the CIA, and whose then-director was now the President of the United States, George H.W. Bush, the DPA stepped up it reformation techniques, presenting a mass front using broadcast television, music and lifestyle shows and both broadcast and print media to topple the Bush Administration. This led to the landslide election of William Jefferson Clinton, the one-time Governor of the State of Arkansas.

Under Clinton’s leadership, the world saw several conflicts designed to bring about world peace. Many of these conflicts directly but discreetly benefited both the Clinton’s, the DNC and as the titular head, the DPA. With Clinton’s guidance, long term relationships were established with Russia, North Korea and China as sanctions were put in place to punish Corporate America for growing its wealth beyond a point were the US peoples were ashamed of their nation.

However, prosperity would not last as another Bush was elected to the White House. This time, George W. Bush, the son of George H.W. Bush lead the greatest corporate raid in US history, taking for himself the wealth of Wall Street and destroying several banking and lending institutions along the way.

Further, under his leadership, he created a conflict in both Afghanistan and Iraq, where he stated our purpose was to battle terrorism, but instead made both ‘wars’ a proxiship for the oil industry and opium, thwarting President Richard Milhous Nixon’s supposed ‘War on Drugs,’ and lynch-pin of the Republican Party’s platform.

It wasn’t until the pivotal and reformative election of a ‘young, clean, well-spoken black man,’ by the name of Barrack Hussein Obama that the DPA finally find the courage to step out of the shadows and into the public spot-light. Over time, and with the guiding hand of the Obama Administration, the DPA was able to fully utilize openly the US education system, the various and ever-changing platforms of broadcast and print as well as the then-under appreciated social media platforms being created in the Silicon Valley of California.

With simple to understand catchphrases like, “If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor,” “Yes, we can,” “You didn’t build this,” and “Lean Forward,” Obama assured his popularity with the mainstream media, which had by now began to see the fruits of its labor grow beyond even its ability to maintain its neutrality.

After eight years of ‘by-the-boot-strap’ growth that saw the overhaul of the nations healthcare system, the infusion of cash to sanctioned nations like Iran and the growth and popularity of North Korea, Syria and Greece, the US elected a ‘Trojan Horse,’ by the name of Donald John Trump. Having been an entrepreneur and real-estate magnet between the early 70’s and through the second decade of the 2000’s, Trump became the ‘dark horse,’ who through manipulation of corporate monies and assistance from the former Soviet Union, beat Hillary Clinton, wife of former President Bill Clinton for the presidency in 2016.

Obama would die of lung cancer, due to chronic cigarette smoking in 2042.

It was widely known that Trump had ties to Vladimir Putin and other lesser Communist sympathizers, having made several under the table deals with these agents, who at one time were allies of the DPA and were now operating in tandem with other forces outside the US, to halt the spread of democracy, but undermining both the United Nations and the European Union.

In power, the movement’s ideology was shaped by a deft mixture of Vladimir Lenin, Karl Marx and Mao Zedong ‘s philosophy creating a better form of government and widely known and taught as ‘democracy.’ and in which the Party Center defeated other regional elements of its leadership. Due in part to its secrecy and changes in how it presented itself, academic interpretations of its political position vary widely, ranging from interpreting it as the “purest” Marxist–Leninist movement to characterizing it as an anti-Marxist “peasant revolution.”

Its early leaders and theorists, most of whom had been exposed to the heavily Stalinist outlook of the French Communist Party developed a distinctive and eclectic “post-Leninist” ideology that drew on elements of Stalinism, Maoism and the postcolonial theory of Frantz Fanon. In the early 1970s, the DPA looked to the model of Enver Hoxha’s Albania which they believed was the most advanced communist state then in existence.

Many of the regime’s characteristics such as its focus on the urban peasantry rather than the rural proletariat as the bulwark of revolution, its emphasis on Great Lean Forward-type initiatives, its desire to abolish personal interest in human behavior, its promotion of communal living and eating and its focus on perceived common sense over technical knowledge appear to have been heavily influenced by Maoist ideology. However, the DPA displayed these characteristics in a more extreme form.

While the DPA described itself as “democratic in nature” once it was in power, some communist regimes, saw it as a Maoist deviation from orthodox Marxism. The Maoist and Khmer Rouge belief that human willpower could overcome material and historical conditions was strongly at odds with mainstream Marxism, which emphasized materialism and the idea of history as inevitable progression toward communism.

One of the regime’s defining characteristics was ultranationalism, which combined an idealization of the pre-1619 era, in which Europeans had never set foot on US shores, and the current era of the 2000’s with an existential fear for the survival of indigenous persons and those seen living outside the scope of normal society, to wit: transgendered, pedophiliacs and other persons of color or sexual orientations, which had historically been liquidated during periods of Colonial intervention. Once in power, the DPA removed Caucasian, Judeo-Christian Conservatives (both men and women,) their offspring and extended family from any notable position within the federal government. The same attitude extended to the party’s own ranks, as senior DPA figures were removed from the leadership despite extensive experience.

These person’s were often killed, then buried in unmarked mass graves.

Among these were professors, teachers, medical doctors, theologians, historians, media personalities, movie and television personalities, known Conservative/Constitutional sympathizers, low level politicians, like mayors and council, board members and even three elected dog-catchers. The ‘cleansing,’ as it was known, was a purge developed to leave the party as purified of outside forces as possible.

The DPA’s economic policy, which was largely based on the plans of capitalism, focused on the achievement of national self-reliance through an initial phase of agricultural collectivism. This was then used as a route to achieve rapid social transformation and industrial and technological development without assistance from foreign powers, a process which the party characterized as a “Super Great Lean Forward.”

The party’s General Secretary Nancy Pelosi strongly influenced the propagation of this policy. She is reportedly to have been impressed with the self-sufficient manner in which the Mexican people of California, worked and lived, believing their transient life-style of moving from one farm to another during planting, growing and harvesting season was a form of primitive communism. Her theory developed the concept that the nation should take “agriculture as the basic factor and use the fruits of agriculture to build industry.”

In mid-2021, following the loss of President Trump to former-Senator and once-vice-president Joe Biden, China President  Xi Jinping stated that Pelosi’s belief that collectivization of agriculture was capable of creating “a complete Communist society without wasting time on the intermediate steps.”

Thus with Xi’s encouragement, society was accordingly classified into peasant “base people”, who would be the bulwark of the transformation; and urban “new people”, who were to be reeducated or liquidated. The focus of the peasantry as the base of the revolution was a product of their status as “petty-bourgeois radicals who had been overcome by peasantist romanticism.”

What became of Former President Trump and his family and extended relatives is unknown.

The opposition of the peasantry and the urban population in DPA ideology was heightened by the structure of the US’s rural economy, where farmers, ranchers and small business had historically suffered from indebtedness to urban money-lenders rather than suffering from indebtedness to landlords. The policy of evacuating major towns, as well as providing a reserve of easily exploitable agricultural labor, was viewed positively by the DPA’s peasant supporters as removing the source of their debts.

The governing structure of DPA was split between the state presidium, the cabinet and the party’s own Politburo and Central Committee. All were complicated by a number of political factions which existed in in the early 60’s but manifested strongly in the mid-to-late 70s. The leadership of the Party Center, the faction which was headed by Biden, remained largely unchanged from 2021 to 2023. It was during the first months of 2023, Biden was taken ill and his Vice-president Kamala Harris was sworn in as the 47th President of the United States.

Her ascension to the White House was seen as a greater victory than when she was sworn into the office of the vice-presidency in 2021. Because she was not only a woman, but a woman of color, she rivaled even that of Obama, who in 2008, was elected the first Black president.

Between 2023 and 2024 there were several powerful leaders who were demoted, and many other figures who had been associated with the pre-2000 party arrested and executed. Pelosi, Chuck Schumer and other’s eventual execution would be followed by that of the majority of 70’s and 80’s cadre of DNC and RNC cadre. The Party Center accomplished this by forming an alliance within the government’s several agencies, namely the FBI and the Bureau of Land Management.

In Washington DC and other cities, the DPA told residents that they would only be moved about “two or three miles” away from the city and would return in “two or three days.” Some witnesses said they were told that the evacuation was because of the “threat of foreign terror attacks” and they were also told that they did not have to lock their houses since the police would “take care of everything” until they returned.

If people refused to evacuate, they would immediately be killed and their homes would be burned to the ground. The evacuees were sent on long marches to the countryside, which killed thousands of children, elderly and sick people. These were not the first evacuations of civilian populations by the DPA because similar evacuations of populations without possessions had been occurring on a smaller scale since early 2020.

On arrival at the resettlement camps to which they had been assigned, evacuees were required to write brief autobiographical essays. The essay’s content, particularly with regard to the subject’s activity during the post 2020 election, was used to determine their fate. Military officers and those occupying elite professional roles were usually sent for reeducation, which in practice meant immediate execution or confinement in a labor camp.

Those with specialist technical skills often found themselves sent back to cities to restart production in factories which had been interrupted. The remaining displaced urban population, as part of the regime’s drive to increase food production, were placed into agricultural communes.

The latter’s holdings were collectivized and citizens were expected to produce three tons of food per acre. The total lack of agricultural knowledge on the part of the former city dwellers made famine inevitable.

The rural citizen were often unsympathetic, or they were too frightened to assist them. Such acts as picking wild fruit or berries were seen as “private enterprise” and punished with death.

Laborers were forced to work long shifts without adequate rest or food, resulting in many deaths through exhaustion, illness and starvation. Workers were executed for attempting to escape from the communes, for breaching minor rules, or after being denounced by colleagues.

If caught, offenders were quietly taken off to a distant forest or field after sunset and killed.

Unwilling to dismantle Obamacare, the regime turned to traditional medicine instead and placed medical care in the hands of cadres who were only given rudimentary training. The famine, forced labor and lack of access to appropriate services led to a high number of deaths.

DPA economic policies took a similar course. Officially, trade was only restricted to bartering between communes, a policy which the regime developed in order to enforce self-reliance.

Banks were raided and all currency and records were destroyed by fire thus eliminating any claim to funds.

Commercial fishing, cattle raising, chicken farming and hunting game animals were banned by the fall of 2025. By then, Harris has secured the White House once again as the titular head of the DPA.

Regulations made by the politburo also had effects on the traditional American family unit. Though the force-change on families begun in the mid-60’s the regime’s new focus was in increasing a younger population and one of the strictest regulations prohibited sex outside marriage which was punishable by execution. However, many arranged couplings were allowed and often through the use of partners who were children themselves.

While the uptake of the DPA was through gentle indoctrination within the classroom, that soon morphed into functional historical and motor-skill illiteracy, such as cursive writing. The DPA chose to “eliminate all traces of the US’s colonialist past.” This eventually lead to the full control of all of the information that the people received, while spreading the revolutionary culture among the masses.

In practice, primary schools were not set up in many areas due to the extreme disruptions which had been caused by the regime’s takeover, and most people felt that their children were taught nothing worthwhile in those schools which still existed. Beyond primary education, a number of technical courses were taught in factories to students. However, there was a general reluctance to increase people’s education in and in some districts, police were known to kill people who boasted about their educational accomplishments, and it was considered bad form for people to allude to any special technical training.

People were encouraged to call each other “friend” and to avoid traditional signs of deference such as shaking hands, nodding or even waving. Language was also transformed with the invented of new terms which were coined with reference to George Orwell’s ‘1984,’ and Aldous Huxley’s “Brave Knew World,” though because of a lack of reading literacy, few understood the reference.

Many American’s crossed the border into Canada and Mexico to seek asylum. From there, they were transported to refugee camps and eventually returned to the US where they were sent to reeducation camps or simple executed.

The DPR arrested, tortured and eventually executed anyone who was suspected of belonging to several categories of supposed “enemies”, including the following:

  • People with connections to former the US government, foreign governments or the military.
  • Professionals and intellectuals, including almost everyone with an education and people who understood a foreign language. Many artists, including musicians, writers, and filmmakers were executed.
  • Members of the clergy of any faith were executed.
  • “Economic saboteurs” as many former urban dwellers were deemed guilty of sabotage due to their lack of agricultural ability.
  • Party members who had fallen under political suspicion: the regime tortured and executed thousands of party members during its purges

According to academic sources, the most widely accepted estimates of excess deaths under the DPA range from 1.5 million to 2 million, although figures as low as 1 million and as high as 3 million have been cited; conventionally accepted estimates of deaths due to executions range from 500,000 to 1 million, “a third to one half of excess mortality during the period.”

However, a 2035 academic source, citing research from 2021, indicates that execution may have accounted for as much as 60% of the total, with 23,745 mass graves containing approximately 1.3 million suspected victims of execution.

While the period 2021 to 2028  is commonly associated with the phrase ‘the American genocide’, scholars debate whether the legal definition of the crime can be applied generally.

Pelosi and Senator Chuck Schumer were one of the first senior leaders to be purged. Meanwhile, numerous US intellectuals, professionals and students who had fled the US while Trump was in power, returned from overseas to support the revolution. These returnees were treated with suspicion and made to undergo reeducation, while others were executed

In 2022, the center ordered the elimination of class enemies, this resulted in the expulsion and execution of numerous people within the party who were deemed to be of the wrong class. In early-2024, Harris inspected several communes discovering that commune leaders deliberately disobeying orders from the center. Many of those leaders were removed, jailed and later executed.

In September 2022, Hillary Clinton who had been tasked with writing a history of the party, was arrested as a result of disputes over the foundation date of the party and its reliance on Communist support. Under torture she confessed that the date chosen was part of a plot to undermine the party’s legitimacy and was then executed.

Also in that month, with the US economy underperforming, the center ordered a purge of the ministry of commerce, Hunter Biden, the former president’s son. Biden confessed to having been recruited by the CIA in 2018 and because of this, the entire Biden family was purge.

Fearing an up rise, the center ordered a pre-emptive invasion against many communes on 18 April 2026. Forces looted and killed 3,157 civilians, with only two people surviving. In 2029, President Harris was removed from office, as the last ‘Commander-in-Chief,’ and on April 22, 2030, months short of her 66th birthday, was executed and her body dumped in a mass grave outside of San Francisco, where she had been the one time district attorney.

Currently, the United States, under the direction and control of the DPA, has retained its United Nations seat.

The author of this fake-Wikdpedia page was later arrested, interrogated, admitting he had sympathies and leaning for the US Constitution. He was later executed. His body has never been located.

Rain Drop

yellow and red leaves swirl in the november breeze chilled and free falling gently apart and together in bunches and separate i heard him take his finally breath ragged and labored till his soul did snap away and become wild once again and into that changing of greater space and as i opened my eyes to see and as i opened my mouth to cry a single droplet of blessed rain filled with all that the world can give and that God does create danced on my dry and flaccid tongue and yet and yet my thirst for knowledge never slaked and how my eyes burned with liquid fire and only now can i feel that near-blue sky as it collapses over earth and me into that majestic hue of orange and purple turning black as the coat of the dog and friend i lost in this early mornings quiet and so when you cry bitterly for him cry a bitter tear for me too

As the Dust Settles

After hours of searching, I cannot find any actual video footage of the Biden bus being stopped or attempted to be pushed off the road in New Brunsfels, Texas. (If I am missing it, please paste a link, because I haven’t seen it.)

What I do see is a small white car try to force a large black truck off the road, but the driver of the truck pushes the white car out of its lane. I think we are once again seeing a propaganda job, being told what to see, rather than allowing our eyes and brains to observe and seeing what really happened.

And I’m even using their footage because none of the social platforms are allowing an unedited copy of videos to be shared. When are we gonna turn off the unethical media and social media?

Also, note how quiet the media/social media has been about a US Spec Force operation that rescued an American citizen from terrorist/kidnappers a couple of days ago. Don’t want to let the current administration have any real ‘good’ press. I mean, God forbid that the truth be told by anyone in the news department.

To prove my point, I went to YouTube and the only US published video of the story comes from FOX News, and that ain’t saying much.

Are you tired of the bullshit, yet?

Ring My Bell

As I sit here checking my FB, waiting for Nevada’s number one legal sex-worker to reply to me, I can’t help but tap out a few meaningless words about my early morning.

As for the sex-worker (we don’t call them prostitutes anymore,) she’s my new hero as she is suing Nevada Governor Sisolak because he is disallowing the brothels from re-opening. And I’m fairly sure you know how I feel about Herr Sissy-lick.

Brothels are legal in 15 of 17 Nevada counties, though not all have them. So, since it is a legal trade plied in the state, it is a business that needs rightful consideration when it comes to re-opening.

Even Sunday mornings are full of interest…

My Samsung not only has me perplexed, it has every technician at AT&T scratching their head, too. It doesn’t ring when someone calls me, unless it is my wife, my son, daughter-in-law or a friend who lives in Arkansas.

Neither does it show the phone number of the caller, save for those afore mentioned persons above. This means I cannot respond to most texts, because the phone has no idea what the return number is and if anyone leaves a voice mail, unless they state their number, I cannot call them back unless I know who they are and I have their number on hand.

Case in point, I have a friend named Barb Y. Her husband died last August and I’ve have been trying to help her by getting her connected with county and state welfare.

Problem is that she changed phones, phone number etc., and though she keeps calling me and texting me, I have no way of returning her texts or calls. Worse yet, the last I spoke to her she was being moved and damned if I know where.

So, Barb – if you by chance read this – no, I am not ghosting you, but please, could you leave a phone number in your next voice mail or text. Also let me know where you are physically so I can come to you.

Then there is this…

The elderly Italian that lives east of us, the one who collects military memorabilia and to whom I sold my United Nations beret and crest to, passed away yesterday. Piero was 89-years-young.

His daughter, Alessi came by to let me know and to return the beret and crest. I offered to return the money he paid for it, but she declined stating that he’d want me to have it because then I’d remember him.

Damned shame, he was a joy to talk too, though I had a hard time understanding him as his accent was so full. Alessi is going to take him back home to New York (I thought she was going to say Italy) to be laid to rest in the family plot next to his two brothers.

I know I keep saying it, but…fucking 2020!