-
Trouble logging in? Send us a message with your username and/or email address for help.
Feeling Low
- Thread starter Gidget
- Start date
Minnie
Beach Fanatic
I look at it this way, if I had a friend with beautiful healthy gorgeous hair, that people always noticed and commented on and that friend got cancer and lost all that hair, would she not still be the same person.
This is a horrific event and for someone that has been coming to this area regularly for over 30 years it is my home away from home.
But I will still come and yes it will make me very sad, to see it damaged.
But I will come and embarce everything about the area that made me it love it for so many years. The beautiful beaches are a part of that, but there is so much more also.
It would make me sadder to stay away and it makes me even more determined to help campaign to stop off shore drilling.
I am still praying for a miracle.
This is a horrific event and for someone that has been coming to this area regularly for over 30 years it is my home away from home.
But I will still come and yes it will make me very sad, to see it damaged.
But I will come and embarce everything about the area that made me it love it for so many years. The beautiful beaches are a part of that, but there is so much more also.
It would make me sadder to stay away and it makes me even more determined to help campaign to stop off shore drilling.
I am still praying for a miracle.
Gidget
Beach Fanatic
I understand what you are saying Minnie. I'll always still love it here too. 
But the friend's hair will grow back in a few months. In a reality check, it is possible that we, in our lifetimes, may never see the gulf coast as it is today. I know that sounds pessimistic and I too hope that something happens to stop it.
But the friend's hair will grow back in a few months. In a reality check, it is possible that we, in our lifetimes, may never see the gulf coast as it is today. I know that sounds pessimistic and I too hope that something happens to stop it.
Gidget
Beach Fanatic
You know A - it is wild. We came here after totally leaving our shangri-la. Seriously, the surroundings in our town weren't 30A surroundings but our place was heaven. We sold it all, and then suffered the worse winter building this place lol!! And now we are to experience our first full fledged summer - which may be a summer of clean up. And that is not what is bothering me the most. What bothers me the most is that unlike getting wiped out by a hurricane (mother nature and all that) this was a manmade disaster. And it bothers me that we are not further along with our nation's plans on alternative energy and transportation. That is what is the hardest to swallow here. That is what makes the tar all the more ugly.
Moondoggie started coming to Four Mile Village when he was 10. He is now 56. He's devastated too. I started coming when he and I met in 1980. We've dreamed of living here. We are trying hard to do the right thing by building our energy star home, being good "locals" - following rules and meeting like minded folk. We are totally pumped! And now, I feel so sad. I know in the grand scheme of things I sound like a wus though.
I'm sorry for you too - you've lived here so long and it has to just hit you in the gut!
Gidget
Beach Fanatic
Like mom used to make!
Gidget
Beach Fanatic
I gotta post this: Really well written
This oil spill shows our addiction is madness — it is time to act
Simon Barnes
I love a good oil spill. With a really good oil spill, every possibility of ambiguity is vanquished. With an oil spill, there really is no “on the other hand”. An oil spill is plainly, unremittingly, remorselessly dreadful. I love a good oil spill because there is not a single good thing that can be said about it.
I’ve been to one. I was in West Wales when the Sea Empress went down in 1996. The sweet smell that hung in the air wasn’t even unpleasant, just hideously unnatural. A scent that told you fast as intuition that the world was out of joint.
I saw three or four ducks flying over the roofs. If you were any kind of birder you could feel the awfulness of this event. These ducks were scoters, sea ducks, and they never, ever, fly over land. Their minds had been scrambled by the terrible things that had happened to the place they live in.
On the beach I saw another scoter swimming along gamely. It was up to its neck. This was a duck, for God’s sake, the most buoyant thing on the planet, and it was going down with all hands, going down even as the stinking black treacle oozed on to the shore. No one, human or duck, could be in any two minds about the matter. It was awful.
It is even more awful as the great slick slithers across the Gulf of Mexico and starts to devastate the coast of the southern United States. I’ve been there, too. I saw brown pelicans, majestic aeronauts with comic-book beaks, and roseate spoonbills, bright pink birds with a beak like a ladle. Both species, along with many others, are going to cop it from the oil.
We have a dreadful oil spill, and we say, oh, this is dreadful, and dreadful it is. And then a few years pass and we have another one. We don’t seem to be making much progress. In the United States, they had the spill from the Exxon Valdez as far back as 1989.
You’d have thought that any country would do anything to stop such a thing happening again, but here it is, happening again. It’s a different format of disaster — this is a rig, not a ship — but it’s the same old oil, and it’s here for the same old reason: because safety precautions are insufficient. It is more important to get oil than to stop occasional wallops of it polluting the world.
These spills concentrate the mind, at least for a while. They tell us that our addiction to oil is madness, that our short-term thinking is madness, that our reckless approach to containment — oil at any price — is madness. Treasure this spill: it is a rare occasion on which we can see this essential truth of the way we run our lives with absolute clarity.
We crave oil as the junkie craves his fix, and like the junkie, we will put up with anything to get it. But even for an addict, there come moments of searing clarity. A sudden revelation that this is actually a stupid way to live life. Well, the spill tells us that this is a stupid way to run our planet.
It threatens the continued existence of brown pelican Pelecanus occidentalis, roseate spoonbill Platalea ajaja and human being Homo sapiens. Perhaps it’s time we did something about it.
******
I don't think anything sums it up better. I this guy!!
And it brings this to mind. You youngin's like me remember this?
This oil spill shows our addiction is madness — it is time to act
Simon Barnes
I love a good oil spill. With a really good oil spill, every possibility of ambiguity is vanquished. With an oil spill, there really is no “on the other hand”. An oil spill is plainly, unremittingly, remorselessly dreadful. I love a good oil spill because there is not a single good thing that can be said about it.
I’ve been to one. I was in West Wales when the Sea Empress went down in 1996. The sweet smell that hung in the air wasn’t even unpleasant, just hideously unnatural. A scent that told you fast as intuition that the world was out of joint.
I saw three or four ducks flying over the roofs. If you were any kind of birder you could feel the awfulness of this event. These ducks were scoters, sea ducks, and they never, ever, fly over land. Their minds had been scrambled by the terrible things that had happened to the place they live in.
On the beach I saw another scoter swimming along gamely. It was up to its neck. This was a duck, for God’s sake, the most buoyant thing on the planet, and it was going down with all hands, going down even as the stinking black treacle oozed on to the shore. No one, human or duck, could be in any two minds about the matter. It was awful.
It is even more awful as the great slick slithers across the Gulf of Mexico and starts to devastate the coast of the southern United States. I’ve been there, too. I saw brown pelicans, majestic aeronauts with comic-book beaks, and roseate spoonbills, bright pink birds with a beak like a ladle. Both species, along with many others, are going to cop it from the oil.
We have a dreadful oil spill, and we say, oh, this is dreadful, and dreadful it is. And then a few years pass and we have another one. We don’t seem to be making much progress. In the United States, they had the spill from the Exxon Valdez as far back as 1989.
You’d have thought that any country would do anything to stop such a thing happening again, but here it is, happening again. It’s a different format of disaster — this is a rig, not a ship — but it’s the same old oil, and it’s here for the same old reason: because safety precautions are insufficient. It is more important to get oil than to stop occasional wallops of it polluting the world.
These spills concentrate the mind, at least for a while. They tell us that our addiction to oil is madness, that our short-term thinking is madness, that our reckless approach to containment — oil at any price — is madness. Treasure this spill: it is a rare occasion on which we can see this essential truth of the way we run our lives with absolute clarity.
We crave oil as the junkie craves his fix, and like the junkie, we will put up with anything to get it. But even for an addict, there come moments of searing clarity. A sudden revelation that this is actually a stupid way to live life. Well, the spill tells us that this is a stupid way to run our planet.
It threatens the continued existence of brown pelican Pelecanus occidentalis, roseate spoonbill Platalea ajaja and human being Homo sapiens. Perhaps it’s time we did something about it.
******
I don't think anything sums it up better. I
this guy!!And it brings this to mind. You youngin's like me remember this?
Last edited:
Alicia Leonard
SoWal Insider
I remember him. Every Saturday morning I used to see him. Guess I was being indoctrinated to give a sheet about where we live;-) I have lived in this area my whole life and I can't honestly say that I am able to see it any other way yet. This will impact our entire county in a way that it has never been impacted before. Hurricanes are a way of life here and I never feared them. mother nature does her thing and we rebuild. This is not like that, not at all. It is time for all Americans to say no to the special interest and corporations that are ruining our homes and we have to find a way to say it together.:angry:I gotta post this: Really well written
This oil spill shows our addiction is madness ? it is time to act
Simon Barnes
I love a good oil spill. With a really good oil spill, every possibility of ambiguity is vanquished. With an oil spill, there really is no ?on the other hand?. An oil spill is plainly, unremittingly, remorselessly dreadful. I love a good oil spill because there is not a single good thing that can be said about it.
I?ve been to one. I was in West Wales when the Sea Empress went down in 1996. The sweet smell that hung in the air wasn?t even unpleasant, just hideously unnatural. A scent that told you fast as intuition that the world was out of joint.
I saw three or four ducks flying over the roofs. If you were any kind of birder you could feel the awfulness of this event. These ducks were scoters, sea ducks, and they never, ever, fly over land. Their minds had been scrambled by the terrible things that had happened to the place they live in.
On the beach I saw another scoter swimming along gamely. It was up to its neck. This was a duck, for God?s sake, the most buoyant thing on the planet, and it was going down with all hands, going down even as the stinking black treacle oozed on to the shore. No one, human or duck, could be in any two minds about the matter. It was awful.
It is even more awful as the great slick slithers across the Gulf of Mexico and starts to devastate the coast of the southern United States. I?ve been there, too. I saw brown pelicans, majestic aeronauts with comic-book beaks, and roseate spoonbills, bright pink birds with a beak like a ladle. Both species, along with many others, are going to cop it from the oil.
We have a dreadful oil spill, and we say, oh, this is dreadful, and dreadful it is. And then a few years pass and we have another one. We don?t seem to be making much progress. In the United States, they had the spill from the Exxon Valdez as far back as 1989.
You?d have thought that any country would do anything to stop such a thing happening again, but here it is, happening again. It?s a different format of disaster ? this is a rig, not a ship ? but it?s the same old oil, and it?s here for the same old reason: because safety precautions are insufficient. It is more important to get oil than to stop occasional wallops of it polluting the world.
These spills concentrate the mind, at least for a while. They tell us that our addiction to oil is madness, that our short-term thinking is madness, that our reckless approach to containment ? oil at any price ? is madness. Treasure this spill: it is a rare occasion on which we can see this essential truth of the way we run our lives with absolute clarity.
We crave oil as the junkie craves his fix, and like the junkie, we will put up with anything to get it. But even for an addict, there come moments of searing clarity. A sudden revelation that this is actually a stupid way to live life. Well, the spill tells us that this is a stupid way to run our planet.
It threatens the continued existence of brown pelican Pelecanus occidentalis, roseate spoonbill Platalea ajaja and human being Homo sapiens. Perhaps it?s time we did something about it.
******
I don't think anything sums it up better. I
And it brings this to mind. You youngin's like me remember this?
Gidget
Beach Fanatic
Miss Critter
Beach Fanatic
Thanks for the group therapy, Gidget. All the posts are so beautiful, and indicative of how special this place and its people are. We need to learn that dominion equals stewardship, not dominance. And not just for the time that this is in the news, but hereafter. I believe that God keeps sending opportunities for learning, and they increase in intensity as each is ignored. It's time to wake up and learn the lesson.