snow swirls about me
bites at my nose and ears
warmed is my heart

It’s been a leaky morning. It’s what happens when tears keep welling up in one’s eyes and insist on racing down the face.

I’m writing this as feelings come and go, so please forgive me for the broken train of thought.

Bill Stamps, Jr., passed away on Tuesday, March 9, as best I can gather from social media. He was a good man with a lot of demons in his past.

His dad, Bill Sr., was practically a living legend in my neck-of-the-redwoods. Knowing your dad is a popular figure in a small town must have made for some tough times as a child.

Bill also lost a brother when he was a kid. Then that same kid volunteered to go to Vietnam, serving in the U.S. Marines.

He came out of all the muck and the debris the better man. Bill offered hope, spread cheer, and showed that happiness can and always has been contagious.

Bill was also the man who wasn’t afraid to ask for divine help when the chips were down.

Not too long ago, his beautiful wife Jana was diagnosed with cancer. Bill asked for prayers of recovery, receiving them from all over the globe.

Jana has since come into better health.

Then this…suddenly Bill is gone, and Jana is without him. This is why, ultimately, I am having a leaky morning.

Bill was only a dozen years or so older than me, and this leaves me frightened. There are so many things I still want to do in this short life we each get, so perhaps, I write this, not only about Bill – but selfishly – also about myself.

Perhaps there will be more to write in the coming days, but for now, though, I must absorb this painful blow to the heart.

This comes from my former hometown…

Crescent City, Calif. Mayor Pro Tem Alex Campbell entered a guilty plea to making a false declaration of candidacy in Del Norte County’s Superior Court. He submitted the form to the County Clerk on Aug. 6, 2020, saying his residence was within the city limits when his actual home is in the county.

He faced two felony counts of perjury and one count of false declaration of his candidacy. The Del Norte County District Attorney’s office has agreed to dismiss the perjury charges, however.

Campbell is to be sentenced on April 15. He is looking at two years of felony probation, a fine of up to $20,000, and restitution of up to $10,000.

Campbell said that while he does have a house in the county, he’s been renting a room in the city limits from a friend and claims he is currently living there. He was elected to the City Council on Nov. 3 before he became mayor pro tempore in December.

Nevada’s entire Democratic Party staff has resigned.

Their action came after every Democratic Socialist of America (DSA) and the Left Caucus member won party leadership roles on March 6.

Executive director Alana Mounce announced that she and the directors of operations, research, communications, and finance have resigned. The new executive director is the former chair of the Clark County Democratic Party, Judith Whitmer.

Clark County was the center of attention during the 2020 presidential election for voter fraud accusations with more than 3-thousand instances. The primary sources of that fraud being dead voters, double voting, people who have moved out of state, and mass mail-in ballots.

Other DSA members voted into positions are Jacob Allen, first vice chair; Dr. Zaffar Iqbal, second vice chair; Ahmad Adé, secretary; and Howard Beckerman, treasurer.

The media claims this to be in-fighting between the establishment and Bernie Sanders supporters. If so, then Harry Reid is to blame for the divide.

In 2008, he forced the DNC to name Nevada the “first battlefield state” in the nation, using the caucus system rather than a primary election system. To make this happen, Reid promising his support to Barack Obama, who once elected, would stop the Yucca Mountain Complex from being used as a waste repository.

By making Nevada’s caucus the first in the nation, Reid inadvertently created an opening for the Sanders faction, who are still feeling the sting of loss from 2008.

While the media searches for a cause, I see this as a natural progression of the party. Either way, this is the real state of Nevada’s politics.

Yancy was never meant to be shot. But that’s what happened as Bill took aim at the buck, following it along as it ran.

Suddenly Yancy stood up as Bill squeezed the trigger. Tighe and Jerry raced to where the older cowboy fell.

“Oh, Lordy,” Jerry said. “I think he’s dead.”

By this time, Bill was beside himself, and panic had set in. He wasn’t sure whether he should run away or stay and help.

As Bill stood staring, Tighe gathered Yancy’s horse, and with Jerry’s help, tossed the dead man over the saddle. Frozen with fear, they helped Bill get on his horse too.

It was a long ride, arriving back at the ranch in the small hours of the following day. Quietly, Jerry entered the main house, where he was surprised to find Agnes standing in the hallway with a shotgun aimed at his chest.

“You should have called out before coming all the way inside,” she said, lowering the gun.

“You’re back early. Must’ve been successful,” Agnes added. “Let me heat some coffee up.”

“Bad news, Aggie,” Jerry blurted out, “Bill accidentally shot Yance. ‘Fraid he’s dead.”

Agnes quickly rushed to the front door. Though dark, there was enough moonlight that she could see her husband’s body draped over his favorite horse.

She gave out a blood-curdling shriek that startled everyone, including the horses. Yancy’s body slid off the horse, saddle, and all, dropping to the ground with a sickening thud as his frightened horse bucked in circles.

Jerry had to help Agnes back inside and to the couch. He fumbled to turn on the lights before stepping to the phone to call 9-1-1 and report the hunting accident.

As he finished dialing, he heard the yelling and carrying on of Bill and Tighe. They sounded as if they were in a panic.

When he turned, he saw Yancy standing in the open doorway. He had his rifle raised and aimed at Jerry.

Agnes screamed, “Yancy. What are you doing?”

“I’m about to take care of business,” he answered as he chambered a round.

“For crying out loud, Yancy, it was an accident,” Jerry said.

Jerry looked at the shotgun still leaning in the corner against the wall where the hallway and front room met. He looked back at Yancy and knew he had no chance of getting to it before he was shot.

As Yancy raised the rifle to fire and Jerry raised his arms as if to ward off the bullet, a loud blast came from outside the front door. Yancy winced, twisted, and fell to the floor.

In the dim moonlight, he could see Bill standing there, rifle in hand. A trace of smoke trailed up from the barrel.

“Let’s go,” Bill said as he turned and head to the truck, where Tighe waited behind the wheel.

“I’m sorry, Aggie,” Bill said. “We thought he was dead. Honest.”

She didn’t hear him.

Instead, she was going for the shotgun in the hallway. Jerry knew that he’d best make tracks if he wanted to live, and so he dashed out the door and dove into the back of the pickup as it bumped and bounced down the dirt road.

As buckshot from Agnes gun scattered across the right side of the truck’s bed, Jerry wondered, “Did the dispatcher hear all that?”

My Cousin Elmo says, “If they’re coming for my Mr. Coffee-maker, they better be armed with more than a sugar spoon.”

Karl had a severe disability. He had been born with a head on his neck.

His condition left the doctors amazed. They were further surprised by Karl’s survival as his head grew large, more round, and he had to be placed in special classes to help him learn to navigate a headless society.

Once Karl became an adult, he could feel the looks, stares, and repulsion his head had on his neighbors and strangers alike. He was ashamed and wished he could be exactly like them.

Then one day, Karl discovered the answer to his disability by building a guillotine.

My Cousin Elmo says, “I think I’m gonna change my name to Les White.”

They called him a nut-job and that what he was saying was nothing more than a conspiracy theory. So they canceled him on social media.

It only made him laugh. He had read the news stories, and he understood the game.

The space agency had claimed that a large asteroid was hurtling towards Earth and that it would “knock out all U.S. satellites.”

“On Friday night, the asteroid 99942 Apophis (named after the Ancient Egyptian demon serpent god of chaos) came within 10.4 million miles of Earth.” read the news article. “While that’s a comfortable distance away, scientists say it’s going to get within 19,800 miles of the planet the next time it comes around in 2029. That’s the distance between the Earth and the Moon, and it’s close enough to potentially collide with high-altitude U.S. communications satellites.”

Seven-and-a-half years later, he couldn’t help but call attention to the idea that it wouldn’t destroy satellites from other nations.

“It’s only the U.S. that’ll lose the Internet,” he said. “And it’s not an asteroid that’ll do it, it’s the government.”

They called him a nut-job and a conspiracy theorist, but then they were canceled too, so it no longer mattered. He laughed when it happened.

It came down like a bright ball of fire, then disappeared into the depth of the dark night. It was a few minutes later that a heavy thud shook our house.

Not yet 10 years old, I remember that April night in 1961 like it happened yesterday, and it still makes me sick to my stomach. Only now that Mom has passed can I begin to unburden myself and tell what happened during those three days.

After the house shook, Dad grabbed his shotgun and headed out to have a look. By this time, I was sent to bed, so I wouldn’t be in the way.

Then I heard the shotgun blasts. Curious, I got up and sat at the top of the stairs, listening and watching.

Soon Dad came rushing in. He was sweaty, pale, and in a panic, shouting at Mom to grab some towels and that he’d shot a man.

Mom did as she was told. She came in the house another couple of times to get first aid supplies before disappearing outside.

How long it was between the time I watched Dad rush out of the house with Mom in tow, I’m not sure. Soon I heard them on the front porch, where it sounded as if they were struggling to carry something heavy.

Scared, I retreated to my bed and remained there until morning. That’s when I learned the extent of what had happened.

Dad had shot a spaceman, and the ball of light we’d seen and the shaking of the house had been his spaceship coming to Earth. I could hardly believe that men-from-Mars were real.

It took another day before I caught a glimpse of this spaceman. He didn’t look like the monsters my comic books had made them out to be.

He looked so human though he spoke words I had never heard before. I thought that perhaps it was Martian or something.

I also saw his orange space suit, covered in blood, while Mom was trying to clean it in the kitchen sink. When she saw me, she shooed me away.

That night, I sneaked into the bedroom where the spaceman lay. He was dead by this time, and Mom and Dad were trying to figure out what to do with his body and were fearful that there would be an attempt to rescue him.

Though the lights were out, I could tell he had been shot and that he had died from those wounds. I couldn’t understand why his blood was red and not green like I had been lead to believe.

The next morning I watched as Dad carried the sheet-wrapped body from the house to his backhoe. Mom helped him load it on the machine and then stood crying as Dad drove into the wheat field where the spaceship had come down.

From my bedroom window, I watched as Dad placed the spaceman’s body in the ship, then push both into the hole he’d dug, before he buried them. I marked that spot in my memory after being warned to never say a thing about what had happened.

Three days after the spaceship and the spaceman’s unceremonious burial, I was in the hallway between the living room and stairs when I saw the news. I was not supposed to be there as I had been forbidden to watch it since the ship crashed on our farm.

Though he was in black and white, I knew the man receiving a handshake from the Soviet Premier. I had seen him, listened as he died, and watched as he was buried in the wheat field in front of our house.

“Who is Yuri Gagarin?” I asked without thinking.