Before the holiday inbox chaos hits, take time to reconnect—not just clean. Learn how segmentation, re-engagement, and sundowning can strengthen deliverability, protect trust, and help your messages reach the people who truly want them.

When the NFL tapped Bad Bunny to headline Super Bowl LX, the backlash was instant and tired. The same “This is America” refrain, as if Puerto Ricans aren’t American or as if English is a citizenship test. But the data—and the culture—tell a different story. Spanish is the second heartbeat of this country, and Latino fans are already reshaping U.S. sports. Bad Bunny’s halftime isn’t politics. It’s product strategy.

October is the quiet window before inbox chaos. Use it to tidy your lists, pace your sends, and rebuild trust. Start where impact is highest—prune the list, then lock the rhythm. A gentle sundowning protocol respects attention and protects deliverability. Keep the cadence light, steady, and human: one meaningful message most weeks, a small spotlight here and there, and intentional pauses. Fewer, better emails go farther than a December barrage.

Continuity isn’t housekeeping—it’s stewardship. Logos and templates won’t save a department built on personalities instead of practices. When systems fail, residents feel it first: unanswered requests, slipping participation, and trust that’s hard to win back. This piece lays out a discipline of design—governance, shared access, documented workflows, true source-of-truth calendars—so communications keeps working when people change. Turnover isn’t failure; it’s inevitability. The measure of leadership is what still runs when you’re gone.

In municipal government, transparency isn’t only what you release—it’s when. Cadence is a crisis tool. A steady, well-framed rhythm of public records releases keeps the narrative anchored to facts you can stand on, instead of leaving space for rumor and performative outrage. Dump everything at once and people tune out; trickle inconsistently and they assume you’re gaming the clock. The fix is practice, not vibes: tier your cadence (normal → heightened → crisis), pair every drop with a plain-language summary and FAQ, and end with “next update on ___.” Document the triggers, roles, and review SLAs in your crisis communications playbook so cadence survives leadership changes and pressure. When the city defines the beat, it owns the tempo of the crisis—and the trust that follows.

When only a quarter of us show up, rumor becomes “record” and power moves in quiet rooms. If taxation feels like theft, apathy is the getaway driver. The real question: how do we make participation possible—and worth it—for people already stretched thin?

Why naming who did what—and when—is accountability, not a campaign.

There’s a moment almost every week when someone scolds our Cleveland Heights channels for sounding “partisan.” It usually follows a post full of numbers, dates, and proper nouns—a road resurfaced and paid for, a grant awarded, a contract executed. The verdict arrives: de-politicize your newsletter, as if facts printed on City letterhead are campaign slogans in disguise. Talking plainly about city work isn’t politics; it’s accountability. I know that in a season charged by a mayoral recall effort, facts can feel inconvenient to those invested in a different narrative. But the remedy for tension isn’t silence—it’s specificity, documentation, and an open file cabinet. Facts don’t campaign; they timestamp.

Public records are meant to be the conscience of local government — a shared foundation for accountability. But in Cleveland Heights, I’ve watched that foundation fracture. First, records were turned into content: fodder for outrage, clipped and spun until spectacle replaced substance. Now, the injury runs deeper. The record itself is refused — excluded, dismissed, or framed as dishonest at the moment of its creation.

When that happens, the very possibility of shared truth collapses. The role of municipal communication is no longer just to clarify but to ensure survival: to keep the record visible, accessible, and enduring even when others would prefer it disappear. Holding the line means carrying the record forward — not once, but over and over — until it becomes part of civic memory.

We are into the Northern Michigan deep freeze. This year came like clockwork, but it came hard and fast.

I know I, for one, am having a hard time getting into the swing of things as we are plunged into the darkness of standard time and the silence of the frozen tundra.

I have been plagued with severe allergies my entire life. Red nose, itchy eyes and postnasal drip are my standard state of being.

This time of year, it is difficult to tell the difference between simple allergies and the beginning of a cold.

Although an allergy is an immune response and colds are a viral infection, the two share a lot of symptoms.

We did a little research to help sort out what’s making you miserable. Here are a few tips to help you tell the difference.

“This is Halloween ... this is Halloween” my little heart pre-emptively sings as it feels the crisp air September air.

October is nearly upon us. Harvest season is ending, and all the creepy crawlies start to come out to celebrate the darker half of the year.

Here is a list of scares to prepare you for Samhain: