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:

I used to go to the gym ... often. Then, life happened, and I stopped. However, I’ve never been gymtimidated. Yoga, pilates, boot camp, barre, Zumba, kickboxing — call me, it’s a date — as long as it’s after 6 p.m.