Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Naked Eye


What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?  Don’t think about this too long.  The worst you’ve ever seen.
Now, is that image worse or better than the image of a child who has been shot at close range with a semi-automatic weapon?
Michael Moore’s suggestion that photos of the Sandy Hook victims should be released is being criticized, and Fox News, of course, is stating that the Sandy Hook parents object.  But we know that may not be uniformly true because one mother took the governor by the hand and led him to her son’s casket. Fox couldn't reach that parent.
When I saw victims of drunk drivers at the state medical examiner’s office in Louisville, and when I sat at my microscope at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center diagnosing lung cancer, I often thought, if only everybody could see this. Seeing is believing there should be a change. Seeing firsthand is sensing the gravity of the problem, sensing it right down to your curling toes. 
If legislators could see victims of mass slayings with a naked eye, would they be more inclined to ban assault weapons?  That’s an interesting question that Veronique Pozner posed before Michael Moore.  But given the averted massacre at the University of Central Florida this week, it’s a question I hope we can answer sooner rather than later.
With my naked eye/
I saw all if I said it all/
I could see
“Naked Eye,” Jill Cunniff

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Let It Grow



I’ve just been advised I can have a 22 X 22 foot plot of land on Franklin & Marshall's property.  The only stipulation is keep it organic.
This prospect of land for a garden has given me spring fever, even though there’s still snow on my front lawn.
Lancaster soil is fabled to be among the most fertile in the country.  Yet my beautiful pine and linden and oak trees won’t let in enough sun for a proper yard to kitchen garden.  The promise of this plot of land has my wheels spinning.
What to cultivate?  How to choose?  Part of me says be utilitarian and consider what you purchase at Central Market. Part of me says be sentimental and select symbolic plantings (like wildflowers for my dear state of Texas or a rose bush for my sweet grandmother, Rose Farmer, or mint for my Kentucky Derby juleps).
As with anything in life, half the fun will surely be in the plotting and scheming.
So many decisions….
Standing at the crossroads, trying to read the signs/
To tell me which way I should go to find the answer/
And all the time I know,/
Plant your love and let it grow.
“Let It Grow,” Eric Clapton