Finished Connie May Fowler’s Memoir this early morning. (As I’m writing my own Memoir I’m reading all I can find.)
A Million Fragile Bones is an excellent first-hand account of the BP Gulf Oil Spill. Chilling. Connie May had done what I’ve aimed for: build me a safe place to be crazy. She’d built a sweet life that pleased, and healed, her on Alligator Point – a sand bar in the Gulf out from Tallahassee, Florida. Then she had to endure watching her natural habitat destroyed by oil and the poisonous Corenit dispersant used to hide BP’s oil sins. A ghastly tale. She, and husband, are gone to Mexico to rebuild.
Is it too late for people (U S People to take back control of companies (patriarchal men) run by greed and profit? I’ll not see the end of this struggle. But I will do what I can – my continuing small cry.
I’m glad Connie May Fowler suffered and exalted through this portion of her life. We have witness. Even terrible tragedy can have its learning side; Connie May writes on page 115, “Loss is not a cold, lightless grave. It is life.”