"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear. - excerpted from The Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll

This phrase has been repeating in my mind a lot as the oil along with the frustrated and angry locals spew. Watching white-suited workers try and pick up an assortment of oily, gunky stuff on the beach while millions of gallons still leak, well, it almost seems like futile effort. This thing is too big to get your mind around let alone to predict what will happen.

I have been running for cover, I won't lie. As much as I adore Sam Champion, I am sick of seeing him on our beach. A lot of people here are disoriented about our now uncertain future. I met a woman in the pool today who works for the Better Business Bureau. She said that there are nothing but cancellations on the beach. People are angry because they cannot get a refund on their deposits which are in the thousands of dollars. They apparently signed a contract (in fine print no doubt) that says their money may not be refunded unless the government closes the beach. And that is not about to happen here. That beach is staying open until the last toxic minute. People are talking about ghost towns and of a way of life lost forever.

How about that Kevin Costner, though? God love him. He had to go before congress to get someone to listen and lo and behold BP bought 32 of he and his brother's machines and more to come. Costner spent 24 million dollars of his own money to build these things with his scientist brother. We owe him a huge debt of gratitude.

Liberty has been taking swim lessons every day this week and doing very well. Thank GOD for the pool, our new haven from the "siege" out there as Obama referred to it. Since we cannot do anything about the past and the future is uncertain, we are guided back into taking life one day at a time.

It feels strange to not be able to go to the beach. I tortured myself as I drove to the pool this morning, "What would we be doing if the oil spill had not happened?" We would be heading for the sound side called "Quietwater Beach" early in the morning so we could get to the crystal clear tranquil water unsullied by the crowds, so we could watch the hermit crabs totter around with their hard shells on their backs, to have the little silver fish swim around our ankles, to smell the wonderful aroma of seafood wafting from the boardwalk restaurants and the muted sounds of reggae music, to look over at the stretch of water and sky and sailboat. The puffy white clouds with that little tinge of pink on the bottom, the morning sky like something out of a Maxfield Parrish painting. The look of utter delight on my little son's face.

This is our home. This is why we love it.

Now, it is being destroyed. We are in shock and are mourning. Seeing the oil wash in on Quietwater Beach where Sam was standing just about killed me.

"Now what?" I wrote in my journal this morning. I have no answer yet.

I am past the gung ho stage of trying to do my part to clean it up. Unless you have a Hazmat suit and a gas mask, forget going over there. All I can do is watch the assorted armada move around on the big sea to try and suck up the gunk. And no, I don't think Jimmy Buffet can save us.

Our addiction to fossil fuels is a lot like alcoholism. Until you hit rock bottom, no real change can begin. And, rock bottom always involves hurting a lot of people and losing everything. The good news, I suppose, is that people will turn to alternative sources of energy eventually. New green businesses will spring up. Hopefully, we will look back and see this as the pivotal point in history when we were forced to really begin to embrace alternative and sustainable sources of energy or face ruining our planet.

I will hang onto that hope like a life preserver. Something good MUST come from this now.