Final election results were delayed Tuesday night and were not posted until early Wednesday morning. Jus’ more electoral hanky-panky involving Secretary of State Ross Miller’s office?

I’ll let you decide.

Washoe County’s Registrar of Voters said this: “State software having trouble reading files for final verification of absentee ballots. Registrar’s office is working with software vendor.”

Remember though — weird stuff happened all across Nevada in 2010 and 2012, so I’m sure there’s a ‘legitimate’ reason behind the so-called ‘trouble.’ Unfortunately we’ll never really know what the real ‘trouble’ was.

It’s been over eight-years now since being fired for personally blogging my political opinion while working as a newspaper reporter. Labeled ‘unethical,’ I was subject of conversation at the local university and the world-wide web.

I honestly don’t think a reporter should be separated from their opinion, but I also believe it is up to the reporter to make certain their opinion is separate from the non-private work they present.

Recently, KOLO-TV’s Sarah Johns, had to remove a Facebook posting that supported a California friend’s political campaign. Someone wrote an email to her station manager complaining, and Sarah being the professional that she is, did as asked.

Her co-worker, Amanda Sanchez was possibly in the toughest position when it came to reporting local political news. Her sister Hillary Schieve is now Reno’s new mayor-elect and not once did I ever hear Amanda speak about her sis’ campaign.

There is also the case of KRNV’s Jon Ralston who used his television show and his blog to slam attorney general-elect Adam Laxalt time and again during this campaign season. Ralston never mentioned once his relationship with former Governor Bob Miller, the father of Laxalt’s opponent, Ross Miller.

In his autobiography, “Son of a Gambling Man,” the former governor thanked Ralston for his writing help:

“Importantly, I also thank my friend Jon Ralston… I am so honored that Jon agreed to help me in this endeavor. He provided immense help in shaping my unrefined vision of the parallels between my life’s progression and that of Nevada. He played an invaluable role in transforming a very raw draft into my life story. I deeply appreciate his help… I certainly owe him thanks for his instrumental assistance in the pages that follow…”

Finally, KTVN’s Erin Breen’s look at the various local and statewide political ads, was the best this campaign season. She went neither left nor right when it came to reviewing the facts (and fiction) of each commercial.

Sometimes the line is very clear — sometimes it ain’t.

KRNV reporter Terri Hendry made this observation via Twitter during the mid-term election celebration’s in Reno: “At GOP headquarters at the Peppermill, FOX is on the TV. At Dem headquarters, it’s MSNBC. No surprises there.”

Obviously, neither party has learned anything…

Stop trying to buy happiness.
Many of the things we desire are expensive.
But the truth is, the things that really satisfy us are totally free.
Love, laughter and working on our passions.

A Democrat friend of mine asked in an email: “What are you going to complain about if the GOP takes both the Senate and House?”

I don’t think she expected the answer I gave her.

“Plenty, since most Republicans in Washington DC are no better or worse than Democrats in Washington DC,” I responded. “The same crap will continue.”.

“After all,” I continued, “I’ve not heard nor seen anyone in either party propose a real plan to eliminate Obamacare, reign in the IRS, or halt the NSA’s data gathering programs, to name a few.”

Once I sent her my reply, I looked up the word ‘complain.’ This is the definition: “To express dissatisfaction or annoyance about a state of affairs or an event.”

Well, I’ll be damned!

Senator Harry Reid told Reno’s KRNV in April 2014, “This is not over,” following the stand-off at the Bundy Ranch. He wasn’t kidding having introduced a bill to seize nearly 1 million acres of Nevada — including land involving the Bundy Ranch.

“…Reid last month introduced legislation to withdraw 805,100 acres of federal land in Garden Valley and Coal Valley straddling the Lincoln and Nye county lines,” reported the Las Vegas Review-Journal, “a desolate area bigger than Rhode Island.”

Taking a deeper look, his plan is in lock-step with the Bureau of Land Managements plan to have 2,767,941 acres in Southern Nevada designated as ‘Areas of Critical Environmental Concern.’ According to Federal Register, Volume 79, No.197, published October 10th, 2014, the BLM has plans to close off the Virgin River and Gold Butte areas, near the Bundy Ranch, to all human activities.

Before the standoff, there was around one million acres of ACECs in Southern Nevada. Since the standoff, the BLM has applied for an additional 1.8 Million Southern Nevada acres — a 280-percent increase.

Reid, whose listed as the bill’s only sponsor, had no comment. His spokeswoman though, Kristen Orthman, said the Nevada Democrat “has long had conversations about how to protect the scenic, natural and cultural values in and around Garden Valley.”

“It’s so cold, that I can hardly feel my feet and my fingers hurt when I bend them. But continue pressing on. I’ve decided to stay as close to 395 as possible, while avoiding the towns along the way — people marauding and looting.

Several times over the past several days, I’ve seen large military trucks moving back and forth along the highway. It leaves me puzzled how they can have operating vehicle’s when none of the cars, truck or even the one motorcycle I’ve managed to find will start.

Snow falls from time to time and food is in short supply. I killed a large crow which is awful to eat, hopefully I’ll get a rabbit of squirrel soon.”

Written in faded pencil in a black and white spotted book, ‘Keeper of Flames’ had removed it from the square container, ‘Lives in Woods’ had brought him. He recognized the container as being made of plastic, something that remained in short supply since the ‘New Time Beginning’ had arrived.

The Elder, now in his mid-sixties, had been nearly 23-years-old when his world changed. He knew most everything that there was to know about the world in which the ‘Last People’ had lived in and it was his job to record this history and anything about it.

Often times, late at night as he worked over his desk, he could hear his father say, “Read everything you can and keep a journal because you’ll never know when it might come in handy.” That had been a long time ago and he now strove to teach his son the same.

The entries in the book were few and far between. In the beginning, the author had recorded the day, the date and a time for each entry — but soon that stopped and the entries took on a more primal tone.

“Managed to hide on top of government truck, jumped when it turned towards Eureka and not Klamath. Sprained right ankle. Hobbled but home.”

‘Keeper of Flames’, put the gun down and returned to the plastic box. He leafed through the Bible, the small copy of the U.S. Constitution and a dictionary, before he saw the black folded leather.

“Driver’s license,” he announced as he removed it from what he knew to be a wallet.

He returned it to the wallet and quickly turned his attention back to the skeleton that he had arranged on a long table behind him. Earlier he had noted that there was a piece of metal lodged in the up part of the man’s right hip.

“Possibly, a bullet,” he whispered as he held a chipped magnifying glass over the fragment.

Now, he could feel the burning of his eyes as tears filled their rims. ‘Returns from War,’ he declared to the others as they sat, waiting patiently to learn what ‘Keeper of Flames,’ had discovered.

“Who?” his wife, ‘She brings Happiness’ asked.

Her question went unanswered as ‘Keeper of Flames,’ turned back to the book. He quickly leafed through to the last entry and continued reading, this time aloud.

“Effed up, walked into a pot-grow, shot in the lower gut. Bowl smell. Infection. Death sentence. Found shelter in redwood tree, new as young man. Dying in Klamath. Miss Kay, Miss Mary and Kyle. Will never know what happened to them.

‘She looks Up,’ another Elder asked impatiently, “Who is it and what have you learned, ‘Keeper of Flames?’”

‘Keeper of Flames,’ removed the license and held it aloft, “In the ‘Time That Passed,’ I was a young man. I remember when the ‘Last People’ were taken as I was a part of them. My mother and I lived for three-years in a camp before being released. My father escaped and we never saw him again, though we never forgot him.”

“And?” ‘She looks Up,’ interrupted.

‘Keeper of Flames,’ calmly responded, “In the ‘Time That Passed,’ they called me ‘Kyle.’ This is the name my father, ‘Thomas’ gave me went I was born and this is my father, whom I know call, ‘Returns from War.’”.

The next day, ‘Returns from War’ was laid to next to Mary in the towns’ cemetery. The plastic box, with the Bible, dictionary and Constitution as well as the rest of his clothing and equipment was permanently displayed in the town’s “Hall of Memory,” for all to view.

Four days later, Kyle walked up onto our porch. He looked tired and said he was hungry, so we fed him what we had available.

Since our water no longer ran, I felt fortunate that I had set up a rain barrel two years before the E-M-P. Kyle drank three Mason jars full before he felt satiated.

“Where’s your family?” Mary asked.

“They went with the fed’s,” he answered.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“One of our neighbors told me,” he responded, adding, “They’re rounding people up and taking them to camps.”

I felt a cold-sweat rush over me as I thought about this.

It was time to go to ground, walk away from our home, our lives, and our security and disappear into the high desert. I already had a plan set-up in my head that if push comes to shove, we’d walk to where I was raised – the Redwood forest and the Pacific Ocean.

My plan was met with disbelief and consternation. Neither Mary nor Kyle thought it was a plan worth exploring let alone attempting.

It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t want to go, despite the hardship involved. So since they didn’t want to try, I felt obligated to stay with them, though I knew very well the possible risk of becoming wards of the federal bureaucracy.

I’m a historian – and I know what happened to my Red Brothers at the hands of the government.

Despite my family’s decision not to leave our neighborhood, I took action anyway and filled three plastic five-gallon buckets with provisions – including backpacks – and buried them in the desert beyond the nearby dirt airport. I added a Bible, a booklet on the Constitution and a dictionary, jus’ in case.

As I was walking back from the burial site, I saw the large government vehicles as they lined up along Nightingale Way. I dropped to my stomach and pulled my binoculars from my daypack and watched as Mary and Kyle were escorted by armed men and loaded into one of the many trucks.

Suddenly a swell of panic and bile over came me. After puking, I picked up my .22 caliber rifle and aimed at the driver of the truck my wife and son were in.

If they were going to be taken from me, I was going to fight for them. I squeezed off a round and saw the windshield of the truck turn milk-white as it shattered.

My single bullet was met with an overwhelming barrage of machine gun fire. The dirt, the rocks and the dust jumped as if alive in front of the berm I was hiding behinds.

Overwhelmed, my military training kicked in and though it has been more than three-decades now, I retreated into the sagebrush and worked my way back to the base of the hillside that separates Eagle Canyon from the Hungry Valley Reservation. I holed up in one of the hundreds of crevasses as I saw uniformed men search for me.

Once darkness fell, I knew two things – possibly three – but hadn’t thought yet of thought of third one. I had lost my family and I needed to find a way out of the valley and over the hill behind me.

Moving slowly and as quietly as I could, I retrieved the buckets I had buried earlier in the day and pulled together the supplies I needed to make the trek to the North coast of California. As I hoist the heavy Alpine hiking pack onto my bad back, I promise I will return for my family.

The rain had stopped by the time daylight came to the deep forest. In its place floated a heavy mist that danced among the treetops.

‘Lives in Woods’ crawl out of the hollow and stretched. He had slept wee despite being unable to lay down.

Embers still glowed lightly below the layer of ash in his fire pit. Instead of adding wood to the, ‘Lives in Woods’ stretched again, then proceeded to urinate on the blazes’ remains.

He quickly found two limbs and cut them from the tree, stripping them of any branches so they were bare. Crossing the skinnier ends of the limbs, he tied them together, then knitted his hemp rope back and forth between the branches.

Finally he carefully laid the wrapped remains on top of the rope, picked up the two ends that weren’t lashed together, and headed on to the trail. If he moved quickly, he could be back in town by nightfall.

‘Lives in Woods’ thought back to the night before, wondering still how the bones came to be inside the tree as they were. It surprised him when he realized the man was sitting upright, and that the skull was half hidden in a small ledge where it had rolled after death.

In the morning light, ‘Lives in Woods’  could see the bones were heavily yellowed, meaning they were old. Furthermore, the fact that the bones had not been dragged away by hungry beasts long ago, mystified him.

“Perhaps,” he pondered, “It is his clothing.”

After all the man’s hands bore remnants of gloves and a think layer of clothe, much like a burlap sack.  His feet also had the same kind of wrapping that covered what at one time had been boots.

And while the fire glowed, he again lifted and examined the square box. During this period, he sudden became aware of how simple it would be to open it as it had only two tiny latches that held it closed.

Though again tempted to open the box, he thought better of it, fearful he might let loose an unwanted spirit, like the ‘bleeding disease,’ that killed millions around the world, before ‘the new time’ began. “Best leave that to the Elders,” he concluded.

‘Lives in Woods’ took note of his surroundings, wanting to be able to find his way back if called upon. He was sure the Elders would want to see where the bones were found, so they could better understand why the man was in the tree’s hollow.

By the time the sun set, ‘Lives in Woods’ stood in front of the Elders lodging.

With two ‘Chuck Allen for Washoe County Sheriff’ signs in my front yard, it is hard not to tell who I intend to vote for in the upcoming election. I know, have work with and genuinely like Chuck and that helped me come to my decision.

But there is more.

While I do not know ‘Trooper Chuck’s’ opponent, Undersheriff Tim Kuzanek, I do know he has the misfortune of being endorsed by our current sheriff, Mike Haley, Sparks Mayor Geno Martini and Reno’s Mayor, Bob Cashell. This trio is problematic for me.

Last year the Reno Gazette-Journal reported that Haley wanted to “control access to assault weapons,” and “limit access to high-capacity magazines.” As for Cashell and Martini, they decided at the last-minute to endorse the ‘Sycophant of Searchlight,’ Harry Reid in his 2010 senate bid, thus helping to stick the U.S. with another six-years of ‘Pinky’s’ political treachery.

While I am able to forgive – I cannot bring myself to forget.