About this Blog

Here you will find information and writings by Carrie Dalby, both fiction and nonfiction, as well as the ups and downs of life.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

On a Serious Note



A week and a half ago, this was the view from our hotel room (compliments of my big sister, booked weeks before the Deep Water Horizon explosion) on Pensacola Beach. Beautiful, except for a slight tea colored staining along the water line. My children and nephews played in the sand, well above possible contamination. And blessed be the hotel's pools!

But the oil has been gushing for over two months. Response is slow. Lack of nationwide support is disheartening. It might be a political statement from those with the power and money. It might be a way to show the evils of offshore drilling, by slowing the response to create prolonged damage. It might be a control game between public and private and government sectors. Heck, the oil rig might have been blown up by an enemy sub! I don't know. But I do know our waters, our land, the creatures, and even the people who call this section of earth home are suffering.

Pensacola Beach had clumpy, brown oil washing on shore for several hours. Miles of scenic beaches are now splattered with sticky grime, much more difficult to clean than the previous tar balls. No skimmers were spotted from the shore and the state government admonished the federal government to send more skimmers to protect the coast of Florida. There are only a few skimmers covering the whole state—if you call that “covering”.

Four dolphins washed ashore off Pensacola Beach yesterday. Three were successfully placed back in the water but the forth, oil clinging to its side and face, didn't survive. It made crying sounds and the rest of the pod—believed to be the dolphins who swim by Fort Pickens every morning—were jumping out of the water, trying to communicate with their lost member. A family vacationing from Arkansas, as well as other bystanders, were the unsung heroes. They shed their own tears as they worked to scrap off what oil they could with their bare hands. It's difficult enough to explain to a four year old that the gulf water is dirty and we can't play in it or build castles with the moist, easily shaped sand... but to witness the death of an innocent creature is an unforgettable teaching experience I hope to never encounter.

Bayley's Seafood, opened in 1947, is a landmark near Mobile Bay. I'm not even local but I know it's practically historic in nature among the true seafood eateries of L.A. (That's Lower Alabama, not Los Angeles or Louisiana. I've learnt me somethin' down here!) My family passes Bayley's every time we drive to Dauphin Island. Their recipes are award winning but the owners are speaking out that they might have to close. Every week there is less fresh seafood to be bought. Less items to sell to customers.

A local charter boat captain—a husband and father—committed suicide on his boat and it is speculated at this time that his worries over the oil spill (dare we assume the fact that he wasn't able to run his business as normal had anything to do with it?) were the catalyst.

These examples were taken from the first ten minutes of News 5 Wednesday night. Multiply these stories—and all those in the weeks before—by the unnumbered days that the oil will still be gushing. And then, again, by the time it takes the free floating oil to be collected, or washed up on the sugar white sand beaches of the gulf coast. Only then can we accumulate an idea of how catastrophic this is for our earth. For our wildlife. For our economy. For our health. For our children's children.

And that's not even touching on the dispersants and other chemicals being used...


On a sweeter note (let's hope this link works, you might need to copy and paste), here's a video of Norah Jones preforming "Dauphin Island" earlier this month:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NErh3OuMEzE&feature=related

Thursday, June 3, 2010

So Much to Read, So Little Time

Most of my down time lately has been spent reading. Studying is more like it. Up to my ears in non-fiction reading. Here's a sampling of titles, all from the local library:


Secret Lives of Boys: Inside the Raw Emotional World of Male Teens by Malina Saval
*Graphic language at times—the first chapter has it the heaviest.*
Over-all, a fascinating read. Boys are a lot like girls when it comes to worries/fears.



Exiting Nirvana : A Daughter's Life with Autism by Clara Claiborne Park
It's refreshing to find a book dealing with an older child on the spectrum. And one that's artistically inclined, like my son. Since I have so many informative books to read right now, I'm using this one as my light/nighttime reading. As interesting as it is, I look forward to some fluff.


1001 Great Ideas for Teaching and Raising Children with Autism or Asperger's by Ellen Notbohm and Veronica Zysk
Lots of good ideas: some old, some new. Taking notes...



The Everything Homeschooling Book by Sherri Linsenbach
Need I say more?


On a good—possibly pathetic—note, I've written over twelve chapters of Corroded. Eleven of those (89 pages) have been through the mill in the awesome critique group I'm in. Thank you, QuillMasters!
My main character is based on me as a teen, but amplified. The more she stretches her limits, the more fun (and harder!) it is to write. It's almost like reliving high school, thinking about all the “what ifs” and if I had that chance, would I have been brave (or stupid) enough to do or say something... For the most part the answer is no. And, an enormous NO for ever wanting to actually go back and live through it again.

Speaking of me as a teen: back by popular demand (well, all four people who voted wanted to see more) is a random poem from a seventeen year old me.

Lost

Crashing waves against the sand.
The tempest whirls in my head.
A soul
dragged down
by Satan's grasp
Has left the world
victim of the
sacrifice.