That urge just won’t go away
Every so often, she gets that feeling again. When she does, she scoots a little closer and begins tracing invisible lines on my forearm with her freshly polished nails, fire-engine red. She nuzzles me and sighs, as if being close to me like this is the answer to all of life’s most perplexing questions, as if this closeness is the very emblem of her contentment.
To reduce overdose deaths, start in the local jail
By Albert M. Kopak • Guest Columnist
You may have a story about Peter, while someone down the road has a similar story about Rose. Mine starts with George, my cousin who died at the age of 38 from an opioid-related overdose.
Such a tragic event will make anyone with a heart pause and reflect, but this is a special case. I am a criminologist who studies drug use in the criminal justice system, and I have thought long and hard about how George’s experience reflects our failure to implement practices designed to reduce crime, enhance public safety and strengthen our communities. We have opportunities to do a better job and change these stories.
Ethically speaking, this can be a tough job
Remember those old movies where submarines find themselves navigating through an underwater minefield, sometimes relying on skill to avoid what would be a sure death and other times surviving near misses on luck alone?
That’s what it feels like sometimes in the world of journalism as we try to make the right ethical choices. It seems almost every day we are discussing the right way to cover a story or whether some event should even be reported. Sometimes these issues are discussed at length, other times reporters and editors have to rely on gut instincts and past experience.
Coming full circle on an adventure
As a kid, I took the Blue Ridge Mountains for granted. They were always there in the background, but I never paid much attention.
What’s peace got to do with it?
By Marsha Lee Baker • Guest Columnist
Somewhere, sometime, and in some way, each of us thinks about peace. We might not call it “peace,” but we think about it. We wonder where or what peace is with questions like “Why can’t we get along?” and “What is wrong with this family?” We sense peace each time we say, “What a wonderful time together!” and “I’ve never felt so whole in my life!”
After 125 years, we can do better
Bob Savelson • Guest columnist
Thinking about Labor Day, it has been a national holiday since 1894. Consistent with the nation’s ambivalent feelings about whether organized labor should truly be part of its social fabric, the statute was signed by President Grover Cleveland — who earlier that year had dispatched federal troops to break a strike called to support Pullman car employees protesting wage cuts.
Cherry binging is a thing
One of the things I like the most about summertime is when the cherries begin showing up in the grocery stores, gallon-sized plastic bags filled to overflowing with Bing cherries nearly as big around as golf balls. It’s my own private version of the return of the swallows to Capistrano. The return of the cherries to Ingles.
We stand by our brand of journalism
It’s rare when one newspaper questions the integrity of another paper and the intentions of a hard-working journalist whose entire career personifies honesty and ethical decision-making. So we were surprised and a bit taken aback after we read Editor Robert Jumper’s column in last week’s Cherokee One Feather in which he referenced an article in The Smoky Mountain News. For that reason, I felt compelled to respond.
Finding inspiration in Haywood Early College wolfpack
Leaving Watami Sushi & Noodles on Main Street in Waynesville, I smiled at the hostess, a girl named Hannah. She responded with an expression of recognition and we chatted. Hannah is a senior at Haywood Early College (HEC). I’d met her the previous week when I taught a session on blogging. Though we’d only been together a short time, we remembered each other.
Our daughter’s gone, unleashed on the world
I can hear her up there in her room moving those enormous, orange storage bins around. They make a scraping noise that nearly drowns out her sing-a-long with the Dixie Chicks. “Wide Open Spaces.” It’s about a girl who’s leaving. Like our girl is.
There are six of those storage bins, each of which she is filling to the brim with clothes, towels, make-up kits, bathroom accessories, school supplies, assorted decorations, prized possessions from her friends, her family, and her childhood. Duckie is in there, a bedtime companion since she was 4 years old. She would clutch Duckie under one arm each night when I came in to sing the bedtime song I wrote for her to chase the demons out of her closet and out of her head.