This must be the place: Never forget what you made, what made you

It seems like a race against time.

As a longtime arts and entertainment editor, I find myself in the backwoods and along the backroads of Western North Carolina, always in search of a story. Sometimes the subjects are folks I come across over a cold beer at a local watering hole. Sometimes they’re a random name and address with a short description of what they do sent to me via physical or electronic mail. On many occasions, I’ll be simply driving and something or someone catches my eye in the distance. 

This must be the place: Every soul has a story, every story has a face

You can’t help but smile.

Watching old clips of “On The Road” with Charles Kuralt, you find yourself in a headspace of familiarity. Not so much nostalgia as it is a trip down memory lane, when folks actually looked forward to watching the news, or at least those “CBS News Sunday Morning” episodes where Kuralt was as much a part of an enjoyable breakfast as bacon, eggs and a strong cup of coffee.

Can Canton’s Colonial come back?

Many Fridays a small group of longtime Canton residents meet up informally at the town’s historical museum on Park Street as soon as it opens in the morning to peruse the artifacts and talk about the town’s tomorrow, the town’s today and the town’s yesterday.

As they do, they sometimes come to the topic of the historic Colonial Revival-style building located just across the street since 1932 — the aptly named Colonial Theater. 

This must be the place: I know I'll see you again in the long run

Somewhere around central South Carolina my mind began to drift. 

Hard times, come again no more: An evening with Scott Ainslie

Literally and figuratively, the idea of “listening” is somewhat of a lost art in our digital world. When a voice begins to share a point-of-view, usually a louder voice interrupts with a “more important” counterpoint or immediate distain for the sentiment before the initial thought can place a period at the end of a full sentence. 

That, and many-a-time folks simply have forgotten what it means to listen with intent and purpose. It’s that fleeting moment where you’re soaking in the words, emotions and mannerisms of another human being, in a sincere effort to make sense of the world within your head and outside your front door.

This must be the place: There’s a reason you should care, seriously

Sitting in a chair on a front lawn late Sunday afternoon, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, a crisp air settling into the impending night. Just about a block down the hill from Main Street in Waynesville, a handful of folks gathered in front of the Twin Maples Farmhouse for an impromptu live performance. 

‘Let the freaks take back the night…’

The further you meander down the road of life, the more you come to realize just how haphazardly bumpy and ever-rolling the trek actually is — and remains so — when push comes to shove.

The gold in the mountain of our madness: A conversation with Wayne Coyne

For the last 35 years, the Flaming Lips have gone from a fringe rock act in Oklahoma to a highly-sought-after entity in mainstream musical circles. The live performances are utterly mesmerizing, encompassing a euphoric sense of vaudeville theatre and a rekindling of one’s childlike wonder.

This must be the place: ‘Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again’

When you’re young — full of confusion about the ways and means of a “stable adulthood,” amid a hazy sense of what and who you are (or hope to become) — the idea of clarity is something you desperately want to find and obtain. 

This must be the place: ‘It’s herd behavior, it’s evolution, baby’

Cape Cod.

Well, to be more specific, the small seaside town of Chatham, Massachusetts, on the southeastern coast of Cape Cod. April 20, 1999. My family and I emerged from our old Nissan Quest minivan to check into our bed and breakfast for spring break. 

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