My friend H.H.R. Gorman posted an entry to her blog, ‘5 Tests You Should Put Your Story (or Characters) Through,’ that has knocked the writing socks off my feet, especially when it comes to the readability. Much of my work it seems, is hard to read and comes out at the eleventh and twelfth grade level.

To be honest, I’ve never thought about reading levels, much less the difficulty in reading what I’ve written. For me it has always been to start with a premise and continue from there.

Of the ten stories I submitted to the aggregator she provided in her posting, only one was in the seventh grade level. And I’m certain that I should be writing further below that, should I want to create any sort of popularity for myself online.

Flesch Reading Ease score: 77.4, fairly easy to read
Gunning Fog: 5.9, fairly easy to read
Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level: 4.9, fifth grade
The Coleman-Liau Index: 6, sixth grade
The SMOG Index: 5.4, fifth grade
Automated Readability Index: 2.9, grade level: 8-9 yrs. old
Linsear Write Formula: 4.7, fifth Grade

And don’t even let me get started on the Bechdel, Mako Mori, Mary Sue/Gary Stu, and the Coldsteel the Hedgeheg tests. In fact, I think I heard my computer’s hard drive laughing at me for even considering these.

Of course, the included scores verses the second sentence of this post, makes me into a liar. HA!

As I wrote H. — I have some work to do…

Reverend Greene was on fire with the word of God that Sunday morning. He preached hell-fire, brimstone, equating current happenings on Earth with the Book of Revelation.

“I was reading the newspaper last Tuesday morning,” he thundered, “And I saw where large earthquakes are striking the outer rim of the Pacific Ocean. They call this area ‘The Ring of Fire.’ And it has scientist wondering if the ‘big one’ is on its way.”

“And the way I see this in my mind is a sudden movement and the ground opens up and it will look like the Earth has suddenly developed a glowing halo, a crown of radiating light being tossed into the dark universe,” he commented, trying to describe what his vision of such an event might look like.

He added later in his commentary, “And should this happen, COVID will be the lesser concern.”

For half-an hour Reverend Greene worked the all scientific implications over, and until he saw the heads of his now-bored church members begin to bobble with sleepiness. It was the moment he wanted, needed, in order to bring his deeper message to life.

He paused for effect and strode from his pulpit across the raised floor and back again. The good reverend looked, to his many church members, as a man possessed of the word of God.

Gathering himself in front of his pulpit he began: “And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.” (Rev 19:11)

His voice boomed through the meeting hall and those that were near sleep jumped at the echo and reverberation. It was exactly how Reverend Greene saw it, part-theater and all God Almighty.

He slapped his open palm on the pulpit, making a snapping noise and again the body of Christ jumped in unison, then he added as he scanned his notes, “His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but himself.” (Rev 19:12)

Churchgoers were standing, others waved their arms, hands high above their heads and some said ‘Amen,’ others gave small prayers. As this occurred, Reverend Greene looked into the faces of those before him, certain that his message, that God’s message, was touching the very souls of these Christians.

“And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God,” (Rev 19:13) Reverend Green began with a boom in his voice, but a sudden switch happened and it sounded as if he had run out of steam.

At first congregants braced themselves for another surprise from the minister, but after ten seconds, when nothing came, they began to whisper among themselves. The preacher seemed transfix, stuck where he had halted in his sermon.

After half a minute, the woman who played the organ every Sunday morning got up, walked over to Reverend Greene and touching his elbow, asked, “Is everything okay?”

He jumped with a start, “Yes, Miss Gladys. Everything’s good.”

Looking up, he smiled at those gathered before him. He could see their puzzlement and concern in their faces.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I jus’ realized something…some might even say I had a revelation from God.”

The murmurs began to increase. One woman asked her husband, “Is he losing his mind?” He shushed her.

“And it was such a fine sermon, too” Reverend Greene sighed, “But evidently it isn’t the right sermon for this Sunday.”

He smiled and lifted his arms and with palms outward, said, “Peace be with you. And they said…”

Some of the members muttered ‘amen,’ as they stood to leave.

“Peace be with you,” Reverend Greene fairly shouted, “And they all said…”

“Amen!” rose the voice of the attendees in unison.

As he watch the last person pass through the doors, he returned to the pulpit and examined his notes. He hadn’t seen that short sentence until a few minutes ago, and it left him stunned when he first read it.

They were words that hadn’t been there when he printed his notes up for that Sunday. Reverend Greene reread it, “The Spanish word for today is corona which means crown.”

He folded the paper up neatly, slipping it into his shirt pocket, while saying “But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.” (Matt 24:36)

Bu the Reverend however, was certain about how that day would arrive.

This subject got me booted from FB for three-days after I defended myself from pretty mean attack, including the wish that I ‘would die…,’ so needless to say, I have heard it all. Guess my media credentials are not as good as the other media credentials, you know the ones that toe-the-line and fall in where they’re told…

Yesterday morning, I went down to the northwest corner of Renown Medical Center’s parking structure and took a quick look inside the Alternative Care Site (ACS) they’ve set up. Not a single patient insight, though plenty of empty beds were established.

When I got home, my online news feed was blowing up and off the charts about how Nevada Gov. Steve Sisolak is condemning President Trump for calling Renown ACS ‘fake’ in a retweet on Twitter.

“For nearly nine months, the State of Nevada has not only had to battle this pandemic, we have had to fight the President’s nonstop attempts to politicize a virus that has led to over 260,000 American deaths,” said Sisolak.

Of course, now a hospital spokeswoman has claimed that 42 people are being treated in the ACS, but none of the local news agencies have identified this spokeswoman or shown video or photographs of these patients. And of course by now, they probably have transferred patients into the facility.

“Come on, man,” I can hear Sisolak’s buddy, Joe Biden saying, “It’s only P.R.”

Sisolak went on to say, about the hospital’s staff, “They aren’t liars, as the President implied — they are heroes.”

To that I’d like to point out: No one said the hospital staff were the liars. They set up the ACS on Sisolak’s insistence and it is now incumbent on Sisolak to fill those beds and as of yet, he can’t, thus the label ‘fake,’ like it or not.

Meanwhile, the local media, lap-dogs really, are not reporting what they could clearly see with their own two eyes, should they want too. What makes me shake my head is that you can go online and see from Washoe County Health District’s own data, Renown’s ICU occupancy rate is at 59% — and that a small fraction of those are COVID cases — and even worse, according to 35 year’s worth of CDC data, Nevada’s normal ICU occupancy rate is 69% — meaning that even with COVID-19, they’re 10 points below normal.

President Trump is a liar. He had help from the Russian’s in order to defeat Hillary Clinton.

Dominion Voting machines are secure and therefore President-elect Joe Biden won the recent election with 80-million votes. Trump is simply a sore loser.

COVID-19 did not originate in China. It was a disease developed by one of the many pharmaceutical companies that is owned by Trump, because he did not divest of all his corporate ties prior to becoming President.

He has killed more people because of his illiterate tweets than all who died during the Dark Ages. And he has selected a rapist and religious zealot to sit on the Supreme Court.

As for the Trump-virus, it is set to wipe out human kind by 2031, however this can be averted if we reduce our carbon emission’s back to pre-historical standards. This is further evidenced by the overflow of local hospitals all across the U.S., and the spillage of excess patients suffering from COVID.

More proof that COVID-19 is going to destroy all we hold so dear, is the fact that ICU’s across this nation are now solely used for the purpose of treating COVID patients, as no other illness or injury is accounted for. In fact, many major hospitals in several regions of the country have developed Alternative Care Sites to handle all over-flow and it appears that even these will overflow within a day or two.

But there is good news: a vaccine is currently being developed to combat and possibly cure COVID-19. It is said to be 99% effective with the continued wearing of a face-mask, social distancing, self-isolation and vigorous washing of the hands.

The truth in news reporting has been displaced by facts and citation. Rarely, is it that someone can report on something without it being called ‘opinion’ or a ‘lie,’ even when the traffic accident was personally witnessed and the reporter tangentially involved.

This year 2020, Georgio was prepared to fly to unexplored lands that only his mind could imagine. He had done everything possible to make the long tethers as secure as possible and their ends as fragrant to the Monarch’s as he could.

Once their northward migration began, he hurried to his tightly-woven basket and waited to be carried aloft into the clouds, on on the wind. Several members of the village where he lived accompanied him because they thought he would never succeed.

“You are loco,” the men called to him.

“You are going died,” the women cried.

After several hours, Georgio was about to give up, when suddenly thousands upon thousands of orange and black butterflies encapsulated his tethers, his basket and then him. Those that watched were stunned by the bright, fluttering display.

“Go!” Georgio screamed. “Fly away!”

Then, as if of one mind, the insects lifted away, leaving the basket and tethers behind. However, Georgio was nowhere to be found.

No one had told the intrepid young explorer that Monarch Butterflies are very hungry after long migratory flights. And no one knew that these particular winged creatures were as carnivorous as vultures.

The women were right, Georgio died.

My Cousin Elmo says, “It’s time to put whiskey in my coffee, because it’s gotta be Ireland somewhere.”

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…

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.