Dian' to Share

Last week brought about some sad pet stories from Lincoln County.

The story about Peanut, http://www.gastongazette.com/news/lincoln-60447-services-news.html.

And the one about the 100+ dogs taken from a “puppy mill:” http://www.gastongazette.com/articles/operation-60518-rescue-animal.html.

But I thought this blog would be a perfect opportunity to share a good animal story.

I’m a dog lover and have had many pets through the years.

About a decade ago I met Daisy. She was owned by an abusive man whose estranged girlfriend asked me to take her.

Daisy was a cutie, but she wasn’t meant for the set up I had living in downtown Lincolnton. Part Beagle, she would dig her way out of the fenced in yard and run into the street. My parents eventually took pity on the little brown dog (and me) and adopted her.

My dad was never a big fan, but he muddled through. Daisy and my mom became quite the pair.

All three of them have aged over the years, of course. And Daisy has mellowed. My dad has gotten into the routine of walking her daily and treating her like a true member of the family. The two bonded even more this summer when my mother suffered her second stroke.

Daisy has spent some afternoons at my house recently when my dad had caregiver duties. I live in a different house now, but it’s still downtown with a fenced in yard. Daisy isn’t too fond of my two big dogs. So Saturday she made an escape.

It’s been years since the old gal was on the run and we all immediately panicked.

A few frantic hours passed. The family drove around calling and looking for her. Finally, in a last ditch effort, my dad went to the animal shelter. As he described Daisy, the worker there pointed at a flyer and said, “Is that her?” And on the bulletin board was a description, a picture and a phone number.

Sarah Hovis had been running on Main Street and saw Daisy. She and her husband ran passed. But when they looped back around and the quivering dog was still there, they picked her up, took her home and made the flyer.

After two months in the hospital, my mom came home this week. Last night she snuggled on the couch with Daisy. If the considerate Lincolnton couple (who incidentally have a I Heart Dogs bumper sticker on their car) hadn’t gone out of their way, an important family member would’ve been absent for the homecoming.

Like many, I was somewhat intrigued when I heard there would be topless women demonstrating in Asheville last weekend. The location was one of several in the U.S.

I was surprised to find out that it’s not against the law in North Carolina for women, and men, to go topless. Indecent exposure only applies to below the waist… though we know it’s not socially acceptable for a woman to bare her breasts in public.

I know that Asheville has more of a free-love type of atmosphere than Gastonia, but a protest where women go topless because men can surprised me. Of course I’ve never been one to show up for a protest unless I’m writing about it.

I do, however, enjoy a good protest and think that people should be able to take to the streets and demonstrate for a purpose.

Sadly, according to the Asheville newspaper, more people showed up to eyeball the bare-breasted women than to actually participate in the demonstration for the purpose it was created.

I checked out the news stories then went on about my daily routine.

Then, minutes ago, I heard a 911 dispatcher call out about a suspicious character, he was wearing jean shorts and no shirt. I’ll be honest, I’ve noticed the toplessness of men in this area. A former coworker of mine and I used to joke about knowing it was summer in the Carolinas when you started spotting the topless men.

I know it’s humid.

I know it’s hot.

I know you are a man and can take off your top.

But with this knowledge I also ask that you do so in the proper places.

Is it really acceptable for you to walk down Franklin Boulevard topless?

Toplessness has its place and time… around the pool… around the house… perhaps mowing the grass…

I don’t want to seem like a prude, and again I don’t begrudge someone from protesting if they feel their rights are infringed upon. But I don’t really feel men or women need to strut around town shirtless.

No shirt. No shoes. No thanks!

Only two potential jurors in the murder trial of Mark Bradley Carver said that had never heard of the case.

They had never read the stories or seen the photos of Irina Yarmolenko, the UNC Charlotte found strangled to death on the banks of the Catawba River in May of 2008.

Most had followed it through news reports.

Some said they saw a few headlines but never read the articles.

These facts brought a few thoughts to mind. I know given my interest in shows like Forensic Files that perhaps I have a morbid sense of curiosity when it comes to crimes. But I also have a sense of compassion. And when I read about a young person whose life was stolen from them, I can’t help but read the stories and follow the cases… much like the killing of Zahra Baker.

It surprises me that anyone could see that subject matter and not have a need to read the story and follow the case. Perhaps that’s part of what makes me a reporter.

The other thing that sparked in my mind is the topic of media saturation.

Nearly 40 potential jurors were screened for the trial. Only two said they had zero knowledge of Ira’s death.

Some argue that the media swoops in and over-covers such events. I say that we are here to cover both victories and tragedies. This 20-year-old’s death may not compare to the catastrophe in Japan, but much like that event, it deals with a tragic death and we shouldn’t be shielded from it.

We all need to know the pending dangers in the world.

Our children need to know how to protect themselves and what people are capable of.

Our law makers need to know what dangers lurk from natural disasters and from man-made hazards.

Thanks to Netflix I finally stepped into the vampire abyss that thousands have already embraced.

Last weekend I watched the first two episodes of Tru Blood. I avoided it for a long time, but the DVD finally worked its way up in my queue until it was delivered. I spent ample amounts of time enjoying the great weather, but I took a two-hour break to do laundry and soak up the splendor of the action-packed Tru Blood.

It’s racey and thrilling and I can’t wait until the mailman brings me another red envelope so I can get my fix.

My daughter waited a little bit, but she jumped head-first into the vampire craze with the Twilight series a couple of years ago. I’m still holding out on that one. And she’s not watching Tru Blood (which I’m not all too upset about).

I don’t know much about the Team So-and-So from Twilight, but so far I like the Deep South feel of Tru Blood. The sassy blonde reminds me a bit of Buffy the Vampire Slayer – which was another show that I refused to watch when everyone else was but later warmed up to.

It’s funny. Most of us fear death, and monsters. Yet, for ages vampires have somehow been deemed sultry and seductive in movies and TV shows. I know when I was a teen I loved Kiefer Sutherland in Lost Boys. And the old black-and-white films brought that edge to the creatures of the night before I was born.

In actuality, I would imagine vampires to be rather icky. They drink blood. They’re dead. And they’re really old… which would make you think they wouldn’t smell too great or be too fashionable.

I have trouble keeping up with the latest fashions and I’m in my 30s with a teenager in the house.

The big news near here today is the murder charge against Elisa Baker.

Most of us have followed the tragic story of Zahra Baker, the 10-year-old girl who met a terrible end.

I know a lot of the story, but I still get sad when I read about it. She had so many physical obstacles and according to news stories, abuse had been reported to DSS on several occasions.

These cases of abuse that end in death disturb me. And this one breaks my heart. The autopsy report has been posted online. I’ve combed through these types of reports several times, but this one is certainly upsetting. Just looking at the diagram with shaded areas for the portions of the child’s body that were never found is a grim reality.

I’ll never understand how someone can intentionally hurt a child.

It takes a thick skin to be a reporter.

Not only do you have to write about emotional and disturbing incidents, but you get to face criticism from people all over the county and with the online edition, all over the world.

I want to interact with readers, but they can be and sometimes are harsh. Those of you who have read online comments under stories know what I mean.

This morning I checked my voicemail to find two messages. They were both from the same person. In the first message, the caller called me a racist who didn’t need to put in a story that a man was white.

I wrote four stories yesterday. I can only assume he meant the article about the man who robbed a Cherryville gas station. I described the man because he was still at large.

The second voicemail from my admirer told me what a horrible journalist I was and asked me where I went to school.

I’m not sure what I wrote that was so racist and terrible that this man felt compelled to leave two insulting messages, but I hope he got it off his chest.

I sincerely understand why a mother calls when I’ve written about her child being charged with a crime. I get why a family becomes angry with me when I write about a loved one who died under unfortunate circumstances, but I try my best to be a fair, balanced and concise reporter.

Each of you has a right to comment, call or email me on anything I report. I typically like the interaction. I guess my skin was a little thin for a Tuesday morning. But, I’m toughened back up. And really, readers are great resources.

Just yesterday someone on Facebook hooked me up with a crucial source for a story.

I love the internet. I love newspapers. I don’t always love criticism but like Meatloaf sang, “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

This is the season for house fires. We all know that. But there’s been an odd trend of people suffering their second house fire recently.

We’ve covered three different stories lately of families and individuals who are going through the horrific experience of losing everything for a second time. This is unimaginable to me.

The circumstances are different in each case, but the devastation is much the same. In less than an hour homes are demolished. Family photos destroyed. Your clothes. Your shoes. Your wedding china. All gone.

The Carver family knows this devastation all too well.

http://www.gastongazette.com/articles/family-54508-second-carver.html

This couple and their children have suffered the same fate twice. Thankfully, several Gazette readers called me after this fire and offered to pitch in with clothes and toys and furniture. I passed along all the names and numbers to the family. Hopefully a connection has been made and this family is on its way to making a new start.

Mr. Nicholson lost his life in a fire this week despite a neighbor’s attempt to save him.

http://www.gastongazette.com/articles/fire-54695-house-nicholson.html

These fires are catastrophic to the families. The only good thing I can see from both of them is that fellow Gaston County residents have offered to help. When I see people go the extra mile to give a hand up to someone who’s fallen on hard times, it gives a needed silver lining to such tragedy.

And as I write about these fires, I think about my own home and pray that I don’t ever have to experience it first hand.

It’s great to be back in the office.

After two days of working from home because of snow and ice, we’re all back at The Gazette and getting our stories in place.

I was working the phones Monday and Tuesday from my couch. It was nice to make the calls and be busy at work but be comfortable and looking out at the snow. But there is a certain dynamic to working in a newsroom. I missed it!

There was one particular event I hated to have missed while I was safe and warm in my house Monday. Some Cherryville folks decided to hold the Second Annual Polar Plunge. This year’s event, held at a private pool, was in honor of Clay Thornburg, a Hugh’s Pond firefighter and Cherryville High student recently injured in a serious car crash.

Thornburg remains in critical condition at CMC, but his friends and fellow firefighters took a light-hearted approach when gathering up donations, putting on silly costumes and jumping into the pool earlier this week.

I didn’t venture out in my little Kia to watch the spectacle, but a Gazette photographer shot a video and so did the crew who gathered for the event. I just checked out the youtube video. It’s quite entertaining. Give it a look-see. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qj_LaIg_Qw.

And of course you can view our video at gastongazette.com.

I know everyone continues to pray for this promising young man who has been badly hurt because of an unfortunate slip on an icy road. He’s been in my mind as we all jump in our cars and drive in these hazardous conditions.

Be careful, everyone.

Sometimes you need a man.

As a pretty independent woman, that’s not something I tend to utter too often. But Tuesday afternoon a Diet Mountain Dew bottle made me admit it.

A coworker sauntered by with a Sundrop and that was it. I needed a Diet Mountain Dew. I quickly went to the break room and put in my money. After one rejection, my dollar bill got sucked into the machine and out came the yellow elixir.

I returned to my cubicle and tried with all my might to open the cold bottle of soda. It wouldn’t open. I passed it over to reporter Amanda Memrick… no luck. We looked at each other and knew it was time to call in a man. Computer guru John Hoffman gave it a twist. Still no luck.

I went back to my cubicle and began prying the bottle with a pair of scissors. The little plastic band came off from the base of the cap but the bionically sealed top still wouldn’t twist. Enter the hero – Lifestyles reporter Bernie Petit. Like most men, Bernie had his trusty pocketknife securely fastened on his key chain.

After lots of determination and a little laughter, we watched as Bernie popped the top off the Moutain Dew and the green plastic cap flew into the air like a champagne cork.

The Diet Mountain Dew wasn’t quite as celebratory as a flute of champagne but it was pretty darn tasty. Bernie declined an offer to share the soda with me. So a toast to the man in the cubicle next door and his trusty pocketknife!

One of the thrills of being a reporter is meeting people and hearing their stories. You have this license to ask questions and get intimate details from strangers.

Some interviews result in funny stories, others can be disturbing.

The rare gem of an experience is to hear one of dynamic strength and inspiration. I met one of these jewels this week at Family Services of Gaston County. This woman volunteered to talk to me about her history of sexual abuse as a child.

When we took breaks from her storytelling to just talk about every day things, she would smile and laugh. The pain that once hid behind the veil of her eyes seemed nonexistent. To me this is a remarkable feat. I’ve often been told that my expressions give me away.

I’ve met many strong survivors during my career.

Each one has a story that I am honored to tell.

Each one pumps up my confidence in a person’s endurance and ability to move forward.

Each one makes me thankful for my own hum drum life and grateful that these pillars of strength can be here to lead others to healing and recovery.