Marianne Clay: Writer and Editor

Lancaster County Quilts You can’t look at a handmade quilt, even the simplest one, without admiring it and wondering about who made it. After all, making just one pieced quilt requires careful planning followed by hours and hours of meticulous cutting, piecing, and stitching. But, in the quilt world, serious collectors most prize the quilts made by Lancaster County’s Amish women from the mid-19th-century to the mid-20th-century. To own one of these quilts is every collector’s dream. Quilt aficionados prize the Amish quilts from Lancaster for their striking color and strong geometic design; for the fine wool fabric used into the 1930s; and for the tiny and skillful stitches done in dark thread. In style, these quilts can be distinguished from others by their wide borders, contrasting color binding, and large corner blocks. While you might already know how highly regarded Amish quilts from Lancaster are, you might not know the Amish did not bring a quilt-making tradition with them wh...

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...

FIFTY YEARS IS A LONG WAIT: ISN'T IT ABOUT TIME FOR LUPUS? AS I SEE IT By MARIANNE CLAY from Sunday, January 11, 2009, Harrisburg Patriot Eight autumns ago in her senior year of high school, my then 17-year-old daughter began struggling to get her backpack on and off. Moving her arms and shoulders hurt, she explained, because she was folding so many jeans at her job at The Gap. Or maybe, she added, she needed a new mattress. A few weeks later, when her long hair began to fall in piles of yellow silk in the bathroom sink and dark circles deepened under her eyes, I dragged her to the family doctor for a mono test. But she didn't have mono. By Thanksgiving, she'd lost her enthusiasm for play rehearsals, for being yearbook editor, and for hosting exchange students. She didn't stop, but instead of grinning and chatting about her activities, she was soldiering through. And what a tired soldier she was. During Christmas vacation, when her fingertips turned as black ...

To read my reports on alternative energy sources, make your selections from the following links: Wind Power http://www.susvalleypolicy.org/wn_files/windpublicpdf.pdf Wind Power for Home Use http://www.susvalleypolicy.org/wn_files/windathomepublicpdf1.pdf Turning Animal Waste into Power http://www.susvalleypolicy.org/wn_files/animalpowerpublicpdf2.pdf Geothermal http://www.susvalleypolicy.org/wn_files/geothermalpublicpdf1.pdf Tidal Energy http://www.susvalleypolicy.org/NewEnergy.asp?aid=1393 Listen to Radio Shows on Alternative Energy: http://www.thevoiceofpa.net/BrowseCategories_SubLevel.aspx?i=42

A Journey Like so many other women, I began a journey that seemed like a one-way ticket to hell on a witch's broomstick, I found out I had breast cancer. And to think, my journey started on one of those perfect days in early June. Spurred by the sunshine, blue sky and ideal temperature, I was retrieving my daughters' summer clothes from the top shelves of their closets, when I felt something different in my right breast. What's this, I wondered, as my fingers probed a hard little lamp. To me, it felt like a marble. Three weeks before, I had my first mammogram ever, and everything was "fine." Certainly there was no reason for alarm, and my doctors agreed with me. We all decided since I was getting married in July and since my lump was most certainly a harmless cyst, the lump could wait until after the wedding. So I turned off a little nagging voice at the back of my head until after the wedding. One hot day in early August, I left my office for a little outpa...