Photo: Cleveland

Cleveland

C.A. MacConnell

The Crying Corner

Me...on Mimi's stairs after a trip to The Crying Corner

Here's an essay for you, a funny little piece I wrote a while ago. Hope you are full of love and passion. I pray that you have all the things that I want. Love, C.A.

The Crying Corner

When I was little, every Sunday, we had family gatherings at Mimi's house. The numbers were always large, as there were a ton of cousins (and sometimes random kids) running around. During the summers, we played Pickle in the side yard, searched for arrowheads in the back yard (we did find some), hid in Mimi's massive trees, swam in Mimi's pool, roamed around through the house's haunted third floor (my favorite activity), or we just stole stuff from Mimi's kitchen. There was always something edible around, and weirdly, it was certain food that we only ate when we were there. I associated Mimi's with jelly beans, nuts, American Cheese slices, and other random oddities that she always had, such as hard-boiled eggs and Fresca (Grandpa used to drink Fresca, and she bought it long after he died).

Due all of the weird food consumption and heavy playing, some kid would inevitably start crying.

Maybe there was an argument over the number of buckeyes Michael and Casey found. Or Matt might steal that last white jelly bean, something of the sort. Someone was always crying. At Mimi's, the punishment for needless crying was that we had to go to "The Crying Corner."

The Crying Corner was a designated corner in the dining room. It was on the left, the first corner of the room that appeared after leaving the kitchen's swinging doors, and whenever I even glanced at that corner, I felt a strange, horrible dread. It was as if the wall itself held on to years of tears. It sure was dark in that corner; for some reason, the window light never quite reached that section of the room. And on top of that, the worn-out, shoe-flattened dining room carpet was an ominous, dark green color.

Crying kids had to stand on that evil carpet and face The Crying Corner until the crying was over.

And when we were sent there, we stayed there, crying at the wall, because whatever Mimi said was absolute law.

It never occurred to me that at any time I could just turn around and leave The Crying Corner. No one ever realized that we could escape at any time. We just stood there and cried at the wall. No one even watched me to make sure I stayed in The Crying Corner, but once I was sent there -- and this goes for everyone who was sent there -- I never left until I was done crying. Even after I gained my composure, I still stood there staring at the wall, knowing I couldn't leave until Mimi (or some adult who had sent me there) would come over and ask me this: "Are you done crying?"

If I could keep a straight face and answer, "Yes," then I could leave. That was it. All that was needed was an end to the crying, as well as the "okay" from whoever was in charge. There had to be both key elements in play, or I knew I couldn't leave.

And I never, ever saw anyone break that rule.

Of course, at a certain age, we all grew out of The Crying Corner. Not sure how that was decided either. It wasn't like we graduated from it -- no, no -- it was more like an unspoken peace treaty.

After that, if we were bad, we had to sit in "Time Out" like the rest of the world, which was boring as hell, and very underrated. I mean, once we'd been to The Crying Corner, Time Out was cake. If Time Out didn't work, there was always Mimi's haunted third floor. I guess I didn't learn much, though, because just this past week I got in trouble for being "disruptive" in a group, and I'm still not sure if I learned my lesson, but I did have a strange craving for Mimi's jelly beans.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lost Glove 43

Lost Glove 43

Sharonville, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lost Glove 42

Lost Glove 42

Ault Park, Cincinnati, OH

Yep, this is number 42 in my collection. I love taking these simple shots. I never move the gloves. I just look for a cool angle. Hope you like it. 

And I hope you're laughing. <3

Now I'm off to a much-needed nap.

C.A. MacConnell

Wet Hooky

 Hi there. Sorry, I haven't been getting much new stuff out there...this one is from the archives. Life has been challenging, but I'll be back in the groove soon. Sometimes, you have to just...well...survive I guess. But it's frustrating; I'd love to have all of my time to create. Someday! My plan is to fine tune Book Three and release it, so look for some more news on that soon. Sweet. Hope you are well, and I hope you like the poem. Love, C.A.

Wet Hooky

Go ahead. Come
down
softly.
Go ahead. Change your mind
and spit.
I have no say
in the way the sky
leaks.
Soak me heavy.
Send bullet-hail. Weigh
my brown hair down.
Darken all the light things –
everything alive, below,
exposed.
Whatever the season,
I'll still open
my mouth, letting my lower lip
hang loose, like an old horse.
I'll still let you touch
my tongue.
I'll still wait for you
to slide over me, over everything,
turning the world
clean or nasty.
I see your wet, wide work.
I see you water
this and that ground.
Some drops dance
for a penny-living.
Some drops
wear tap shoes -
sporadic, uncertain, polluted,
pausing for thunder,
no more than damp,
distant fingertips
pressing down dirty rooftops,
making gutter music.
Some hammer it home,
making surface skin sweat,
and the people hours become
all about the weather.
Go ahead. Come down
softly. Go ahead, change
your mind.
You are employed by the sky
I've found, and up there,
that’s where I’ll look for you --
in each, full moment
when the clouds spread.
You pour,
I sip.
We play hooky
in the lightning.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Drive Thru

Drive Thru

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Rush Hour

Rush Hour

C.A. MacConnell 💞

One Buck, One Life...and a Photo: Overlook

 

Overlook
Mariemont, OH

writings from the C.A. archives. Hope you enjoy today's story. :) XO, C.A.

One Buck, One Life

Man, I was caught up. Running late, I was obsessed, trapped in busy thinking. I gripped the steering wheel. I need sleep, I miss mountains, thermal shirts, hit the men's section. That's right, I was a mad woman on a driving mission. Cat food, I'm a bad person, paper towels, Pepsi, coffee, what is he doing, what am I doing. On and on, my brain chattered. Cruising along, taking the turns too fast, I suddenly got stuck behind a mini van that was going about twenty. So I tailed Van Man, hoping that he would speed up. Oh yeah, toilet paper and gum. 

No luck. Van Man barely rolled along, repeatedly hitting the brakes, turning into a souped-up teeter totter.

I sulked in my seat, tortoise-crawling down the road. Jesus, I said to myself, watching the brake lights blink in front of me. I turned the radio on and off.

Still, the van was barely moving in front of me.

I knew that I was going to be really late.

Then, suddenly, the Van Man came to a full stop in the middle of the road.

Startled, I hit my brakes, assuming that Van Man was going to jump out of the car and yell at me for tailing him. Nervous, I waited for the attack. But I was dead wrong.

Van Man just sat there in the middle of the road.  

Frozen meals. Studying the scene a little closer, I saw a large, ghostly shape move in front of the van. I squinted; it was a huge, majestic deer -- a king-sized buck with an enormous set of antlers. He was beautiful, and he wasn't in a hurry either. Slowly, he made his way across the road, one graceful step at a time. When he almost reached the other side, he stopped, looking up. There, he stared at me, gazing through my windshield, seeming to look me right in the eye. He paused a little, fiercely staring. Then, ever so calmly, he went on his way into the woods.

This world is so much bigger than me.

And I realized that I was a trespasser in his home. If it weren't for the Van Man holding me back, I would've hit that beautiful deer. And what a magnificent creature he was. I believe in angels. That soul, that dignified buck. Dear god.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Covington Alley

Covington Alley

Covington, KY

Hey there. Hope you like the shot. I took this while I was waiting to get a tat a while back. I'd like two more.

Have a good day. I'm taking it easy. Been a wild month! 

Doing some fine tuning on my secret, still yet to be released Book Three. It's all done, all there...just needs a slick touch. And with this book in mind, I'm attempting to get a scholarship for a workshop with an agent this summer, so wish me luck. Sent out my samples and now it's just a waiting game. I find out in March.

In the meantime, to check out my others, see the following links (the feedback has been amazing <3). Most people say they couldn't put them down...

The House of Anchor (2017)

Griffin Farm (2013)

Much love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

Spiritual Awakening.

When I ran my car into a pole a few weeks ago, and I wrecked the left side, I could look at the situation like this:  Dayum, what a pain in the ass. Now my car looks like hell. Or I could look at it like this:  Guess the universe is trying to tell me to pay more attention so that something really rough doesn't happen.

When I had a bad tooth that caused me horrible pain (and still is somewhat), I could look at it like this:  Life is so tough sometimes. I'm getting old. I should give up. Or I could look at it like this:  Look at all of the love in my life! Look at all of the people who are supporting me right now!

When my parents divorced, and we sold our house, and I sold my horse, I could look at it like this:  I'm losing everything. I have nothing to hold on to anymore. Or I could look at it like this:  My parents are starting new journeys. I never liked that home anyway. My horse needs to comfort another lost little girl (and he did...he was in good hands until he died).

Yesterday, a friend talked about how he "hadn't had a spiritual awakening." Well then, I haven't either, if I considered the awakening to involve some burning bush or wonderful mountaintop epiphany. To me, the spiritual awakening involves a change of perspective. I can see the world through my "lower" eyes; that is, I can react as a base human with no thought of the bigger picture. Or, I can see the world through my "higher power;" that is, I see the larger perspective, the love and support present, and I feel and observe the presence of a guiding hand.

Star Wars nailed it with "The Force."

I have no concrete proof, but I believe there is something powerful within you and me. I believe there is innate trust and joy within us all, if we choose to shovel it out. I'm no guru, and I'm no self-help genius, but like my friend Delbert used to say, I consider myself a "spiritual gangster."

And I believe some people and animals are more in tune to this higher self than others. And I've noticed that some days for me are more connected than others. One day, I might be a negative devil full of fear, as if I'd be happy if Thomas the Train wrecked. Another day, I could be worshiping hawks, in tune with nature and all that is.

I try, I fail, I try, I succeed, I try again. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it's like icing.

What if we all reacted from our higher selves all of the time? What if we all saw the situations in our lives as positive guidance instead of setbacks?

Of course, for all of us, some dealings in life truly suck, yeah, and sometimes I just have to cry my eyes out or speed walk like a pissed demon, but I do know that when I act and react from my higher self, I feel more trusting, loving, energized, and less afraid. I feel like someone or something is pulling for you, for me.

Perhaps the spiritual awakening is already within us all. And as for something "out there," well, I have no proof, but my heart tells me it's true as well. Why not believe in something beautiful inside and out? Why not believe we are surrounded by the whispers of higher direction, as long as we hear the teachers?

Being here...this life...it has to mean something. So while I'm here, why not try and take the higher road? Sure, I get buried in the negative some days, but I'm chiseling away at this thought pattern day by day.

And wouldn't you know...some weeks, I'm even winning.

C.A. MacConnell💞💪✨

Aisle Five.

Wrote this just now. Hope you like it. Love to you. Hope you're peaceful. Sometimes I think my higher power speaks to me through random people. <3 -- C.A.

Aisle Five

His spine curves.
He bends when walking.
And then he stands taller,
shaking,
reaching for the top shelf,
stretching for the shot
like a movie man.
The gentle one asks me
where he can find
the liquid stevia.
See, it moved.
I point to the highest shelf,
but he shakes his head.
No, it's not the same.
He has glasses.
His stubble is salt
and salt and pepper.
He is slow to speak
or make a move.
Do...I...know you?
I give him a maybe.
His smile spreads
a rapid ocean
across his rough chin,
and he turns away,
shuffling,
then limping,
pushing his cart sideways,
nursing the broken wheel.
Halfway down the aisle,
he turns around,
softly looks at me
through deep-set,
blue-ringed, pitchy eyes,
and pauses there,
waiting for the world.
In a sugary whisper,
he says,
Maybe I'll come back.

C.A. MacConnell

The Viewing Room

Dark Horse

Camp Dennison, OH

The Viewing Room

Lips locked shut, you ride by the windows, staring inside. Your eyes -- blank
and round, like plastic. You are quick, moving down the ring side, your body

shifting in time to your horse's tail. Maybe you look to see why I'm resting
when there's work to be done -- bodies to groom, legs to bandage, whiskers

to clip. Maybe you look to see how I sit -- legs crossed, eating a small, packed
dinner way past the time. Maybe you want me to smile back through the thick,

shatterproof panes. Not the slightest grin spreads across your face. No gait breaks
in your horse's stride. You lean down to study the neck, and the green gelding

gives in, dips his nose down, and loosens the grip of his teeth on the bit. You spin
in smaller circles, turning your head, watching me rise. I place my fingers flat

against the cold glass, fixing my palm in a still, frozen wave, my skin blending
with window. I press the surface. I imagine pushing through, but I bring the hand

back down, swallowing the last of my late night meal, accidentally biting my lip.
Before closing, you halt and look in again. Maybe you see me lower my head,

chin against chest, hands folded in that look of feeling full. I breathe and rise.
Lifted, I slide up and out of my seat in the viewing room, giving it up.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Courage, Reward

You Will Be Rewarded for Your Courage

C.A. MacConnell