I'm not really a religious type, but every now and then, when I get in my super-depressed mode, I picture a group of angels up there in Heaven, just for kicks. There they are -- a whole, white-clad group of blonds who are laughing at me and whispering, "No worries. We've got everything covered." Actually, they're not fully laughing. They're giggling. In spite of my annoying sadness, heaviness, and dark thinking, the vision always makes me chuckle a little.
I need to live in Arizona.
Anyway, in this vision, they're the stereotypical kind of angels -- wings and flowing robes and all. Some have harps, you know. Here and there, a mysterious Renaissance instrument. Not sure why they're usually blond, but they are. Little Shirley Temple curls, the works. Why not. If one is going to have an angel vision, one must go all out, I say. Fuck Santa. My angels could take him out with one swipe of a lute or dulcimer, just saying.
My point is this: all things change. Feelings, situations, people, nature, even my angel vision. Things circle back, but they're always new. What is dark will change to light. What is wet will become dry. And vice versa. Check out those trees. Yes, bare again. But soon, back to full. Might as well just hang on for the ride, because the ride changes too. One day, it's my birthday, and I'm watching a rock show, and I'm in love. Another day, it's Christmas, and I can hear the click of the heater, and I know I missed someone's birthday, but I wonder if he knows my name, and I don't really care anymore (about the name thing, not about the birthday 😀. Sometimes it's nice to just send peace and love, just to do it. I do that all the time). Live, love, laugh, be transparent, forget the rest. That's me. It's so quiet here. Peaceful. There was a time when all I heard was violent yelling outside my window, and all I felt was fear. The angels are right. See, they have it covered. If I hang on, the outsides change along with my insides.
All around me, people talk about children, families. I know none of this. I don't know what it's like to have a baby or greet my husband when he comes home from work. They talk about full-time jobs, steady, big careers. I don't really know this either. Recently, I was at a lunch where I was the only person who had never lived with anyone (besides in a dorm). At first, listening to all of these conversations, I was stumped, unsure what to say or how to add to the talk. Then I thought this: who cares. Those winged ones have a plan for me too.
My New Year's resolution -- to continue to try to fulfill God's plan for me, as best as I know how, which is hilarious and flawed at times, and to honor the differences in the paths of those around me. Maybe angels aren't exactly how I picture them, but I do believe there's something out there, helping me along.
And so I write to you. And I wish you well. I won't be celebrating really, because, well, that's just who I am.
I like this quiet. No worries. We've got everything covered.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. You might not hear from me much for a while, because while I'm working on getting my young adult book to an agent, I'm going to self publish my second book, The House of Anchor, so that's going to be a huge chore. Coming soon. :) Until then, peace out. I wish you all the love in the Universe!💜💔💝💛💙😁
12/31/2016
12/24/2016
Photo: Full Circle
Full Circle
"The wheel is come full circle." -- Mr. William Shakespeare
"Everything comes full circle." -- the film, Carol
"And I say the sacred hoop of my people was one of the many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father." -- Black Elk
One of my favorite photos I've taken. I like the shape, the color, the simplicity. I'm a fan of subtlety in art. Feels peaceful, restful to me. Hope your day brings you peace.
Prayers for you and your heart family on this Christmas Eve,
One of my favorite photos I've taken. I like the shape, the color, the simplicity. I'm a fan of subtlety in art. Feels peaceful, restful to me. Hope your day brings you peace.
Prayers for you and your heart family on this Christmas Eve,
12/22/2016
12/21/2016
Flashback: Star Attraction. Some Things Stick.
Some Things Stick
Lookee what I found. Me + Star Attraction, Kentucky Horse Park. I was 17 & he was 6, I believe. I love this picture. What a smart, good boy he was. So incredibly loving and sweet...and what a looker. I'm not sure what class this was -- Low warm up or Juniors, but I remember that we were newly showing 3'6", and we had a great show, ending up Champion in the Juniors. Winning was always fun. Hells yeah. My grad school friend Cowboy always used to say it that way, with the plural "hell"-- "Hells yeah!" I admit I stole it.
Back to the Horse Park. I also remember how hot it was -- July in Kentucky, and they waived our jackets that day (note the casual white shirt attire). Riding is the only sport where the uniform totally works against you. When you grow up doing it, you just wear it. The new helmets make sense, but back in the day, helmets were made of something like thin felt, and they were really there only for the look. No protection at all. We didn't even wear them half the time. After years of curious study, the AHSA finally started regulating helmets, and the breeches improved as far as the grip, but later, this still comes to mind: what the hell are they thinking making us wear thick, wool jackets on 100 degree days, when it's hard, physical work to ride? It makes no sense, but the jacket tradition carries on. And on. And on.
I could also tell you about the hilarious Turfway show the next year when I was in the ring, showing Juniors, and in the first class, I just spaced out and completely stopped riding around the turn somewhere, and I could tell my horse was thinking, Uh, where are we going? So right then and there, he slowed to a trot, then stopped, and we walked out of the ring. Baffled, my trainer asked me, "What happened? You just stopped riding." "I know," I said, shrugging. "I have no idea." There are no timeouts in riding, but there need to be. I took my own timeout I guess. Later that day, we turned it around though. Go figure.
My timeout, and the jackets, and the fact that we used to ride without helmets -- all of that is ridiculous. Today's truth: as in deeply loving someone, some things are ridiculous, and yet they stick, staying with you forever.
C.A. MacConnell
12/13/2016
12/11/2016
12/10/2016
Photo: Skater's Point
Hello! Happy winter. I'm gonna snuggle with my stuffed lion and watch crappy TV. Yes! One of those nights. Normally, I would be doing something extraordinary. Whatever you imagine,
C.A. MacConnell
12/09/2016
The Kind
Last night, an Old Man forced me
to smile.
Me, no more
than a furious, sticky
envelope,
a Venus fly trap.
Think of the closing view –
the dark, and the blackout, and the feel
of the tongue over teeth.
To Humans, some scissor-jaws
are ivory.
Me,
You,
the green carnivore,
the buzzing species –
All are hide and hide and…
Somewhere, a thick elephant herd,
an extended Family,
carries on.
When afraid, they dance together, turning up
dust. See the wrinkles
vice-grip those eyes.
Black. Creases. The Kind, huge
Hearts.
A wise Mother lifts her trunk, telling
Baby, Careful where you step. This season,
the Flies come out,
and the Green Ones
need them
to survive.
Seek.
-- C.A. MacConnell
to smile.
Me, no more
than a furious, sticky
envelope,
a Venus fly trap.
Think of the closing view –
the dark, and the blackout, and the feel
of the tongue over teeth.
To Humans, some scissor-jaws
are ivory.
Me,
You,
the green carnivore,
the buzzing species –
All are hide and hide and…
Somewhere, a thick elephant herd,
an extended Family,
carries on.
When afraid, they dance together, turning up
dust. See the wrinkles
vice-grip those eyes.
Black. Creases. The Kind, huge
Hearts.
A wise Mother lifts her trunk, telling
Baby, Careful where you step. This season,
the Flies come out,
and the Green Ones
need them
to survive.
Seek.
-- C.A. MacConnell
12/08/2016
12/07/2016
Photo: Main, Hollins University
Main Building, Hollins University
One time, I slept the whole night in one of these rockers. :)
C.A. MacConnell
12/06/2016
The Sidekick
All names are changed in this piece. Also, this is the best essay ever written. Ha. Okay, maybe the sidekick to the best.
The Sidekick
It started happening in preschool. Cute Brian was trying to decide who was going to be his girlfriend -- me or Stacy. The criteria was this: "I'll go out with whoever is taller." So Stacy and I lined up back to back, and I stretched my chin and stood on my tiptoes, but alas, Stacy was still taller. So Brian became her boyfriend. Fortunately, I wasn't that devastated, and I stayed friends with Stacy all the way through (our families are still friends), but I was always her sidekick.
In fourth grade, I was the sidekick to Maria. She was wiry and blond and beautiful, and her tan-toned legs stretched for miles. The boys loved her. The boys still hung out with me by default, because I was always with Maria, which was fun, but I was the one playing football while Maria was the one getting chased on the playground. I tried and tried to get attention, but I ended up waiting on Maria while she slowly peeled an orange and talked to Derrick.
In fifth grade, I got "in" with the two most popular girls -- Melissa and Janie. Melissa was the most popular, and due to a slight hint of chubbiness, Janie was a close second. They liked me enough that we all got called into the Principal's office together a few times, and my parents got some phone calls, but I didn't have 100 black Claire's rubber bracelets like Melissa, and I was slightly chubbier than Janie, so I was the sidekick. Really, I was the sidekick to the sidekick, because Janie was Melissa's sidekick.
In sixth grade, I rose in status due to loss of chub. And my best friend was Carla, and man, did I have a crush on her, like every other damn person on the planet, male or female. She was popular with the popular people, and she was popular with the weirdos. Everyone loved her. She had long, wavy, brown hair, and she liked horses like me, and she was a natural knockout. She reminded me of a thoroughbred -- long and lithe and graceful. Plus, she was smart, fun, wild, and of course, every single boy at school wanted her. On the playground, she was the best at everything -- tether-ball, running, even football. She could play like a boy and look good doing it. Every day, Carla wore this plaid, grampa-ish golf hat, and only she could pull it off. I tried, and I made my mom buy me one, but it looked ridiculous on my big head. Anyway, soon Carla transferred to another school, so there I was, a lost sidekick.
No matter. In seventh and eighth grade, I became the sidekick to Jenn and Cathy. They were the two tallest girls in the class, and they were equally popular that year. Well, they also both had quite the breasts, and I didn't. Still, we ran around together -- those two tall swans, and me, the duck.
In high school, I was the sidekick to Lisa. She was fun as hell, a bit unpredictable, and extremely flirtatious. She always had a line of boys waiting to hang out with her. I got better at my sidekick role at this point -- I even went on dates with her all the time. Constant third wheel. I never had a date. I just went on her dates. It worked out pretty well. Not sure how the dates felt about it, though. This continued throughout the rest of high school.
In college, I was the sidekick to beer. Enough said there.
So right now, I'm sitting here watching perfect-looking women on lingerie commercials, and I know that I'd look ridiculous in the clothes, even though they look awesome! I've never even stepped foot in those stores, but I'm wondering if any of those beautiful, successful women need a sidekick, because I'm great at it. Everyone has something to give! Or maybe I should have been on a talk show -- at least I could get paid to be the sidekick? I suppose I'd like to be the one on the dates, or the one being chased on the playground, rather than the sidekick, but dates are overrated.
My job is to shake them up.
But I'm laughing and mulling this all over. See, I'm guessing that every single one of those people that I looked up to -- I bet they all felt like the sidekick as well. Maybe not to me, but maybe to someone else. Haven't we all felt that envy and longing -- the feeling of wanting to be someone else? Haven't we all felt like the third wheel? Haven't we all wanted a different body, more attention, or more popularity? And perhaps some of these girls, at one point or another, wanted to be me.
We are all the same. We are all human, in our hearts. We are part of something divine. We all matter.
It has taken me 42 years to begin to find myself and stand on my own, and I'm still trudging and learning, for sure.
But make no mistake -- I'm still the best at being third wheel! Ha. I'm looking for my next niche in this area so that I can once again fulfill my role as the comic relief and intimacy distraction for someone else's date that's headed for the gutter.
19,
C.A. MacConnell
The Sidekick
It started happening in preschool. Cute Brian was trying to decide who was going to be his girlfriend -- me or Stacy. The criteria was this: "I'll go out with whoever is taller." So Stacy and I lined up back to back, and I stretched my chin and stood on my tiptoes, but alas, Stacy was still taller. So Brian became her boyfriend. Fortunately, I wasn't that devastated, and I stayed friends with Stacy all the way through (our families are still friends), but I was always her sidekick.
In fourth grade, I was the sidekick to Maria. She was wiry and blond and beautiful, and her tan-toned legs stretched for miles. The boys loved her. The boys still hung out with me by default, because I was always with Maria, which was fun, but I was the one playing football while Maria was the one getting chased on the playground. I tried and tried to get attention, but I ended up waiting on Maria while she slowly peeled an orange and talked to Derrick.
In fifth grade, I got "in" with the two most popular girls -- Melissa and Janie. Melissa was the most popular, and due to a slight hint of chubbiness, Janie was a close second. They liked me enough that we all got called into the Principal's office together a few times, and my parents got some phone calls, but I didn't have 100 black Claire's rubber bracelets like Melissa, and I was slightly chubbier than Janie, so I was the sidekick. Really, I was the sidekick to the sidekick, because Janie was Melissa's sidekick.
In sixth grade, I rose in status due to loss of chub. And my best friend was Carla, and man, did I have a crush on her, like every other damn person on the planet, male or female. She was popular with the popular people, and she was popular with the weirdos. Everyone loved her. She had long, wavy, brown hair, and she liked horses like me, and she was a natural knockout. She reminded me of a thoroughbred -- long and lithe and graceful. Plus, she was smart, fun, wild, and of course, every single boy at school wanted her. On the playground, she was the best at everything -- tether-ball, running, even football. She could play like a boy and look good doing it. Every day, Carla wore this plaid, grampa-ish golf hat, and only she could pull it off. I tried, and I made my mom buy me one, but it looked ridiculous on my big head. Anyway, soon Carla transferred to another school, so there I was, a lost sidekick.
No matter. In seventh and eighth grade, I became the sidekick to Jenn and Cathy. They were the two tallest girls in the class, and they were equally popular that year. Well, they also both had quite the breasts, and I didn't. Still, we ran around together -- those two tall swans, and me, the duck.
In high school, I was the sidekick to Lisa. She was fun as hell, a bit unpredictable, and extremely flirtatious. She always had a line of boys waiting to hang out with her. I got better at my sidekick role at this point -- I even went on dates with her all the time. Constant third wheel. I never had a date. I just went on her dates. It worked out pretty well. Not sure how the dates felt about it, though. This continued throughout the rest of high school.
In college, I was the sidekick to beer. Enough said there.
So right now, I'm sitting here watching perfect-looking women on lingerie commercials, and I know that I'd look ridiculous in the clothes, even though they look awesome! I've never even stepped foot in those stores, but I'm wondering if any of those beautiful, successful women need a sidekick, because I'm great at it. Everyone has something to give! Or maybe I should have been on a talk show -- at least I could get paid to be the sidekick? I suppose I'd like to be the one on the dates, or the one being chased on the playground, rather than the sidekick, but dates are overrated.
My job is to shake them up.
But I'm laughing and mulling this all over. See, I'm guessing that every single one of those people that I looked up to -- I bet they all felt like the sidekick as well. Maybe not to me, but maybe to someone else. Haven't we all felt that envy and longing -- the feeling of wanting to be someone else? Haven't we all felt like the third wheel? Haven't we all wanted a different body, more attention, or more popularity? And perhaps some of these girls, at one point or another, wanted to be me.
We are all the same. We are all human, in our hearts. We are part of something divine. We all matter.
It has taken me 42 years to begin to find myself and stand on my own, and I'm still trudging and learning, for sure.
But make no mistake -- I'm still the best at being third wheel! Ha. I'm looking for my next niche in this area so that I can once again fulfill my role as the comic relief and intimacy distraction for someone else's date that's headed for the gutter.
19,
C.A. MacConnell
12/05/2016
12/04/2016
Limousine Girl
Sweat-drenched, once again,
her body became
the rain to the bed,
her sudden nightly windshield.
Engine starting,
she stretched to rise,
holding her racing head,
shifting into
her fake-tan,
fake-nail,
fake-face role
with vehicles, run sheets, and chauffeurs,
and she was never anything more
than a stuck car door,
and she was never anything more
than a stay-at-home groupie.
Fifteen, going on twenty-seven,
she arranged rides
for businessmen and stars,
making sure the drivers
remembered the ice,
watching her pager
vibrate and flash,
later collecting backstage cash,
shaking hands with managers,
when they had no idea
that Mom was her ride that day,
when she nodded, frowned,
and made a note of it
when the man in shades,
the big-toothed contact,
mentioned that one car
didn't have the right juice.
C.A. MacConnell
her body became
the rain to the bed,
her sudden nightly windshield.
Engine starting,
she stretched to rise,
holding her racing head,
shifting into
her fake-tan,
fake-nail,
fake-face role
with vehicles, run sheets, and chauffeurs,
and she was never anything more
than a stuck car door,
and she was never anything more
than a stay-at-home groupie.
Fifteen, going on twenty-seven,
she arranged rides
for businessmen and stars,
making sure the drivers
remembered the ice,
watching her pager
vibrate and flash,
later collecting backstage cash,
shaking hands with managers,
when they had no idea
that Mom was her ride that day,
when she nodded, frowned,
and made a note of it
when the man in shades,
the big-toothed contact,
mentioned that one car
didn't have the right juice.
C.A. MacConnell
12/03/2016
12/02/2016
Photo: FBF, Star Attraction & the News
Just checking in. Sharing an old photo today...sharing part of my life.
When I was newly sixteen, I sold my 3' horse, Rojo (see story below), and I found this guy in Camden, South Carolina, where he was hanging out on a lovely farm, waiting for me. Dark, dappled bay, 15'3 hands, he was young & inexperienced -- only five years old -- but we were soul mates from the start. I changed his name to Star Attraction (note the star on his forehead), but at the barn, I called him another name. Well, I worked so incredibly hard, trained him up, and he became my 3'6" horse. Cool. Seems like there wouldn't be a huge difference between 3' or 3'6", but there is, oh yeah. At 3'6", the rider has to be ultra accurate. That six inches makes all the difference when jumping. A lot more difficult. Ask any hunter/jumper rider.
Strangely, I think this is the only picture I have of him. I don't hold on to things. That's putting it mildly. I get rid of everything, actually, especially when I lose a person or animal. Just my thing. But I hold on to pictures of him in my heart. I've been around many animals, but only two have felt like true soul mates to me -- this horse and my cat who just passed.
Interesting, I've always connected more with bay horses.
Other news: doing a lot of copywriting for work, which is good -- keeps me out of trouble. Also waiting on some feedback on my young adult book. Keeping things moving! Wish me luck as I continue on the road to getting published! Also in the news...a planned future visit to the eye doctor. Soon. Ugh, getting older. I had glasses at one time, but I am so ultra-stubborn that I wouldn't wear them, and now they're missing. Well, time for a new pair, and this time, there's no denying that I need them.
Here's to becoming new (and old) ha,
C.A. MacConnell