Marianne Clay: Writer and Editor

Eminent domain should be saved as a final resort BY MARIANNE CLAY No one knows what the lawsuits stemming from York County's unsuccessful attempt to create "Susquehanna Heritage Park" through eminent domain will total. But the financial fiasco sounds a warning to other communities. "The county made a big mistake in seizing land for a park by eminent domain and we've got to find a way to extract ourselves from our legal mess." county Commissioner Chris Reilly said. The public taking of private land, he believes, should be reserved for essential services, such as roads and schools, and only as a last resort. While Reilly and the other two commissioners now in office never supported the public taking of private land for a park, they are stuck with its fallout. "We're trying to figure out what it's going to take -- what number is needed -- to put this horrible mess behind us," Reilly said. "The guess estimate is $15 million to ...

For My Father: A Forgotten Fairy Tale Hazy wish, misted dream sifts through the night's long care. An enchanted sky slants into your bed You shiver, though yet unaware. The castle window curtain drifts from lacey green to love blues. Its velvet deepness calls a sigh of paisley hues. Vague and tangled from dusty age, the words are hard to see. While a weary piper tramps below And clamors out his plea. So, sit upon the stuffed divan Serve your cakes and ale. Not since the day you grew tall, have you heard a fairy tale. (Except for this blog, this poem has never been published.)

A Dog Remembered Like a lot of good things, Chuckles came into my life by chance. Fifteen and a half years ago, I was standing at the top of of a 10-foot ladder hoping to patch a crack in a 14-foot ceiling. Outside, a dozen car horns blared. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of a dog cowering in the middle of the busy intersection, so I clambered down the ladder, the three flights of stairs, and out the door. There, tying up traffic, was a half-grown dog, so thin every rib was outlined. His brown and white fur grew in sparse patches. Mostly, I saw a skinny bit of pink flesh that barked. When I scooped him off the pavement, he trembled. Of course, I told myself, I'll take him to the S.P.C.A. But first he needs to eat, to rest, and to stop trembling. He also needed to grow some hair. Later, I'd bring him to the animal shelter. Chuckles, whom I named for his particular combination of silliness and soulfulness, knew better. He stayed for the rest of his long doggie lif...