Kiss.

 

I came upon this moment when I was in Yellow Springs one day, hiking solo. I've always liked it...just in the right place at the right time I suppose. Hope you have a nice evening. I think I'll get some snacks and watch a movie. Sounds good to me.

Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

Always, There is Light.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Ache

Just a li'l one for you today. Not a prize winner, ha, but I've held on to it just for the feel. Sometimes I think rules and teachings can be put aside, just for the feel. :) Have a good day. Expect a miracle, C.A.

Ache

Man,
I thought my eyes
were 20/20.

What will we
hell-yes-into-the-night-create.

I love these hours
too.

I am home,
polishing silver.

C.A. MacConnell

I've Had Hunches: Reliance vs. Control

As the past few months have been an upheaval for me, naturally, I've been thinking about change. I've always been big on routine, a subject that could be a whole essay in itself, and I delve into it in Book Five, but for now, I'll simply say this:  I'm often obsessed with numbers, cleaning, times, food choices, chairs, and the placement of all things in all environments. For instance, someone could move a paper clip on a desk, and when I walk into the room, that's the first thing I notice. Hm, something is wrong here, I'll think, and then I'll spy the paper clip, as well as the different angle of the stapler on a table, a missing pen, and a number of other oddities. Oh yes, the thoughts can be distracting, especially when I'm trying to focus on work, but they also allow me to see the details in things -- films, photographs, poems, stories, and the world in general. 

And so, I view it as a gift as well.

Anyway, I developed this coping mechanism when I was little, in my attempt to make sense out of my chaotic world, one that offered little direction in terms of life skills and managing change. I've done a lot of work on control issues, but when stress erupts, the old behaviors creep out, and instead of serving as a positive force, my repetitive notions can let loose and take a hold of me, becoming somewhat difficult to manage. I may obsess about my face, my age, my body, my teeth, and the like, and then it evolves into a whole rabbit hole of negativity.

But what's behind it all? The feeling of a need for control.

When I think about it, I suppose we all do this in certain ways. Some people try to control the universe by repetitively washing their cars, or working out, or obsessing about a career so much that the other aspects of their lives suffer. Others may adopt ten dogs, buy lottery tickets, delve into the land of constant doctor visits, or any number of other "control" choices.

Although my reaction may veer into the more extreme, it seems that I'm not unique here.

But in reality, none of us ever have control over any events, and all of these coping mechanisms are simply absurd. Because one day, when a little girl was walking to the bus, a piece of ice fell from a tree just the right way that it took her life. Another day, a strange storm brewed, and a boat capsized; the three men survived, but their lives were altered forever. After a fluke hit, a football player suffered cardiac arrest. In a random coffee shop, a scout spied a customer, tugged her shirt, and in a month, the unknown girl became a movie star. I went to Hollins University because I thought I wanted to ride horses, but I ended up diving into the writing program instead. 

The ultimate truth -- none of us truly know what the future may bring.

But herein lies something even more complex. You see, although I can't predict the future, I've had hunches.

On many walks, my gut has "spoken" to me, telling me to head a certain direction. Recently, I listened, and I saw an eagle. Such things have occurred for me numerous times, and I've both avoided danger and come upon beauty. Before I even applied to schools, I had visions of the Virginia mountains. Certain days, I've had a notion that something was wrong with a friend and seemingly out of nowhere, the person's image popped into my head, and within a day or two, I've randomly run into the person. 

Although I'm not a fortune teller, and I don't have actual control over the future, I do believe that my higher power is leading me when I pay attention. And with all of these changes going on, the fear has pushed me into leaning on my higher power even more. Fear alone can be a great catalyst, a motivator, a lovely force, when I turn it into reliance upon something greater.

Maybe today, I may regress here and there, grabbing onto some rather comical control mechanisms, but I'm also aware, and I'll allow myself to dream a bit, listen to my higher power, and know that regardless of my human limitations, my life, right here, right now, is sacred, and since I am here, still breathing, after all of my scrapes with trauma, I know that there's a reason, and every moment, something out there is pulling for you and me.

Thank you for my gifts, God. Thank you for my weirdness, because it is wonderful.

Rest assured; whether we know it or not, when led by our hearts, in the end, we're all heading toward some form of peace.

C.A. MacConnell

Full Circle

 

I took this a while ago, but it has the same feel of the day. Hope you have a beautiful one. Love, C.A. MacConnell

Sunrise, Chicago IL

 

Here's another one of my Chicago pics. Ha, I was supposed to be at a seminar. I admit that I'm not a fan of seminars or writers' conferences.

C.A. MacConnell

Bicycles, Chicago, IL

 

Hi there. Hope you have a beautiful day! It's so warm out. :) <3 to you.

C.A. MacConnell

The Last Delivery

For about a year, I made grocery deliveries all over town. One day, I was frustrated because I wasn't making enough money, and I was worried about paying the bills, and the orders were slow, which happened often, and I was about to give up, when I decided to do one more order, a ten-dollar job not too far away. The order was for diapers and Big K Cola. Cream soda, to be exact. I hit the store, stashed the goods in my trunk, and drove out on some familiar roads. Soon, I was making my way toward a wealthier part of town.

Just a few days before, I had delivered to some million-dollar homes merely a few miles away from where I was headed. Tired and nursing my injured neck, I followed the directions, but the GPS led me to a strange, gravel road marked with an ancient sign. Checking the map, I knew it was correct, so I shrugged and turned down the drive.

In my youth, I had driven down the main road countless times, and yet I had never seen this tiny gravel side street before. And what I saw next shocked me to the core. There, I came upon six, white, chipped, scarred, drooping trailers. Stacked together in a slanted row, they were half the size of a normal trailer; each one sat on top of cinder blocks. No grass, no cars, no bicycles, no toys lying around, no electric lines, no A/C units. Keep in mind that it was 90 degrees outside.

There were two doors to each trailer, and a tiny vent on each door. Other than that, no visible windows. I walked up to the first door and knocked.

"I have a delivery for you," I said.

A tiny voice mumbled, "Oh, that's probably for my neighbor. Try the other door."

In that moment, I realized that each door on either side of the minuscule trailers -- a mere six feet apart -- held one family, which meant this:  not one, but two families per trailer.

Tearing up, I knocked on the second door.

An elderly fellow opened the door, looking confused.

"I have a delivery for you," I quietly said to him.

Wearing tattered clothes, he smiled and said, "Hello," showing rotted teeth. He was as thin as paper, and he wobbled a little. He held on to the door to stay standing.

I thought about how toothaches had been some of the worst pain I had ever experienced. I peeked inside. The closet-sized space was cluttered and filthy.

Then, behind me, I heard a voice.

"Oh, that's for me," a girl said.

I turned around, looking.

A girl, around seventeen, struggled to push a stroller over the gravel, moving toward the door. She called out to the thin man, "I'm sorry. I went down to the library and ordered something, Grandpa. I hope you're not mad."

He smiled and shook his head, "No."

I set down the diapers and Big K and smiled at the girl, thinking about how she’d had to walk to the library to place the order. Neither one of them held a phone.

I breathed in and looked around. Six trailers, each with two doors. Twelve families packed in closet-sized spaces. A strong wind could have knocked these buildings down. Such absolute poverty mere blocks from affluence. And there these families were, tucked away on some hidden, gravel road. So startling and bizarre. Even though I grew up in this town, I had never seen this road before. The stark bareness of the place gave me chills.

What happened next floored me.

The girl beamed, dug into the pocket of her stroller, and she held out a five-dollar bill for me, a tip. "Thank you, ma'am," she said, waving the bill.

I hesitated.

She waved the bill again, still smiling wide, and I could tell that she was proud of the gift.

So, I honored her gift, accepted it, and said, "No, thank you." Keep in mind that in a steady year of making deliveries, I only received three cash tips. One was from this girl.

As I drove away in my Corolla, I thought about the day I treated the rust speckled across the hood. In the past, I’d punched out dents and filled in chipped paint, and it had its bruises, but I took care of it as if it were a brand spanking new Audi. And I thought about how lucky I was to have a car at all, to be able to make deliveries.

Sure, I've lived in low-income housing for many years, and yes, there have been countless terrifying and awful experiences, too many to utter here, and sure, I have experienced poor living conditions that have been a devastating beast -- despairing, real, and raw. But what I saw that day was beyond that which I had ever known. Because soon, I was going home to electricity, running water, and a clean apartment, and it struck me with a force how blessed I was.

All the way home, I whispered to myself, I have everything I need. Right here, right now, I have so much. And in that moment, I promised myself that I would write for them, and for me. And I promised myself that no matter what, I'd be proud of the work I’d done, and I’d be proud of my journey and one day, I would return and anonymously leave all six trailers bigger tips than they could ever imagine, and then I would walk away beaming, like her.

C.A. MacConnell

Conductor

 

Hello there. Good afternoon. Slow work day. Everyone else is at home! I wish I were snuggling under my Batman blanket, to tell you the truth. Hope you like the photo...one I took a while back. I really love this one. Trees are so expressive and unique. I always imagine that there are people inside of them...souls from another place or something...whispering to me. Sometimes, I admit I whisper back, and I've always felt like they're gentle, supportive listeners. Always seems like they're smiling back. May sound strange, but they tend to bring me peace, even in the dark moments. I see God in the birds and trees, in nature in general. I suppose I feel it most there. I feel it everywhere, when I'm paying attention, but I tend to be more in tune outside. Today, outside the window at work, a hawk swooped in...and then another one followed. Looks like they were gettin' some lovin' on, ha. Pretty cool to see. I admit that I was more concerned with the hawks than doing my job. :)

Just a little note from me to you, on a slow work day. Hope you feel loved! Hope you find all the things that you want. We all deserve good things.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

Untitled.

 

Mornin! I'm having trouble getting going today. Worn out, I guess. But here's a photo for you, one of my favorites. :) Love to you, C.A. MacConnell

Eagle

 

A young male. His head was just beginning to turn white. I was mesmerized, but I waved and said hi, and he looked at me. I still have chills. :) What a special walk. And yesterday, I was walking, taking my usual shortcut home, when right at my sneaky little cut-through, between a tree and a fence, right in that spot, in my usual, everyday path, there was a huge hawk, sitting on the ground, looking at me. I love these great birds so much. They are truly majestic, and every time I have a moment like this, I feel like someone up there is pulling for you and me.

C.A. MacConnell

Roadside

Hey, good morning. A short one today. I just like the wild feel of it. Hope you have a good day. Love, C.A.

Roadside

The Jaguar is broken
down,
and in the traffic's face,
I am making
wolf eyes,
feeling the speed of machine
cheetahs,
because no honest beast slows down,
and the hot air burns any cheek,
like sun-beat bars on a steel cage,
and the closest
rest stop
is five hundred tracks away,
and I wonder
where you are killing
lunch.

C.A. MacConnell

Lost Glove 19.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Rush Hour

 

Good evening. Had a rain walk this morning, and a little at lunch too. My pants were soaked all day, from the knee down, ha. My feet are still cold. It was so foggy and spooky, though; it was worth it to be out in the thunder. Sometimes you have to suffer to see the power of the thunderbird :) 

C.A. MacConnell

Untitled.

 

Maybe it's not a pro shot, but I think it's beautiful. :)

C.A. MacConnell

They revive her.

Heya. The first line is the title in this one...a little tool to make it feel as if there's no concrete beginning. A powerful little sucker. Hope you have a good day. Love to you, C.A. 

They revive her.

At half past nine,
on a gray morning, Merrily,
the middle-aged actress, reappears
from the northern emergency room.
At eleven,
in the southern hall,
recalling sixth grade,
she shakily scrawls down her number,
passing a yellow, crumpled note
to striking Dillon,
the comic from the west.
Skin half-covered in ink,
neck marked with faded anime,
right arm covered in cartoon skulls,
he has one perfect, thousand-dollar,
black and blue sleeve.
At eleven-thirty,
he leaves behind
his wife, his silver Fender, and a devoted,
starstruck girlfriend.
Ladies drink Coke Zero
in the waiting room.
Second shift. Back home, noontime,
the black, full-bred Pit Bull
still barks for him, waking
the newborn. Shutting their eyes,
his twin girls draw horses,
pulling surprise crayons
from the assorted pack.
By one p.m.,
wearing one taupe stiletto,
and a torn, purple, silk linen
suit, formerly flawless Carly
jerkily dances down the drive,
hitching her first ride
to rehab. In the adjacent, private room,
second-hand-close to three
in the afternoon, Aaron,
the lean machine,
the mechanic with curls,
falls into his first seizure,
and the frantic team rolls him
away. Following
them down the hall, Carly
peeks in at the tubes,
studying his bare chest,
his ribs, and his dirt-lined cheeks,
still smeared with grease and oil.
Suddenly shuddering sober, she
remembers…
fourteen years ago, on the playground,
he shook sand from his shoes.
Beside the burning metal slide,
in the space between
the eastern monkey bars, he
kissed her once.

C.A. MacConnell

Never Give Up.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Girl, Conservatory.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Three A.M.

 

Three A.M.

This shot was taken with film. One night in Roanoke, Virginia, I took this photo at 3 a.m...

Downtown, outside of Mill Mountain Coffee Shop, I was sitting on the stoop with my friend J., when a random, white, strange van appeared on the scene; it wasn't a creepy, rusted number, but it wasn't a shiny, spanking new vehicle either. Kind of in between. The van, and the streetcleaner, were the only two vehicles on the road. So, the noise, and the approach, was startling.

This evening was like many others. J. and I often talked until the streetcleaner came and usually, by this time of night, but for some shadowy stragglers that we knew, we were usually alone. J. owned a magic shop and on and off, he worked at the coffee place. And truly, he was rather magical, because he always seemed to appear downtown at the right time, just when I was looking for him.

J. was tall, lanky, and his hair was incredibly long and thick; it trailed down his back in perfect waves. Often, he wore a long overcoat, as well as an ancient hat with a feather strapped to the side, just above the brim. He was a striking, dreamy fellow and sure, I crushed on him here and there, but my stunted attempts were futile; he was in love with a delicate, beautiful, pale, big-eyed redhead, a pianist who drifted in and out of town. Truly, she moved like a dancer, nearly floating when she walked. Later, she and I struck up a close, deep friendship as well, and we were pen pals for a while.

J.'s car trunk was chock full of books -- everything from photography books to novels to cookbooks. Man, with those long, reaching arms, when he hugged me, it was as if he swallowed my whole being, and he always smelled good -- a mix of incense, sweet musk, and pine. There was no mistaking his smell -- earthy and unique. And he could eat a pile of pancakes. "Bloody" pancakes, as we called them, because we liked the raspberry syrup. Whenever we had any kind of gray problem, after we went out for pancakes, everything seemed to heal, and the world turned to color again -- just so, all good, all right.

Well, the pictured fellow rolled out of the van, and he jerked his head from side to side, scanning the alleys, as if he was looking for someone. He seemed nervous, frantic, and confused, and I remember drilling him for info, but I got nowhere. As usual, beside me, J. remained quiet and calm, intrigued. I did get that the stranger was from out west, and I guess he was looking for something open as well, but nada. (Every time I write the word "nada," I think of Anthony Kiedis, because he used the word a gazillion times in his memoir, Scar Tissue). This connection is forever etched in my brain, whether I like it or not.

Anyway, back to the photo. Roanoke was a close-knit, small city; everyone pretty much knew everyone else. Or at the very least, the faces looked familiar. But this guy popped in out of nowhere. Quietly sitting, studying his moves, J. and I wondered about his story, and that's when I snapped the shot. 

"Is there some place open?" the guy asked.

Right after, I looked at J., and his huge blue eyes sparked and shone, and I knew that we shared the same thought about Texas Tavern. We didn't even have to speak it, because everyone in Roanoke knew about Texas Tavern (a diner down the street that was rough, dirty, and wholly endearing). Inside, there was always a mix -- homeless people, night workers, bartenders, late night partiers, businessmen, musicians, students. One never knew. Texas Tavern was the only diner in Roanoke that was always open, and I admit I ended up there a few times, but I always regretted the feast the next day. Anyway, before we had a chance to tell the stranger about the little gem, the guy was gone.

And then I looked back at J., and he shrugged and even still, he didn't speak, and neither did I, but I knew we again shared the same conclusion -- we were alone again, and the Texas Tavern suggestion left us. And anyway, it was time for a drive on the Parkway. That was how we rolled -- with the moment and the weather.

Years later, J. rather magically appeared at my friend's coffee shop outside of Charlottesville, and she informed me that he looked much the same. Also, he had married someone other than the redhead, and he had at least one child, maybe more. Not sure what happened to the redhead, but I'm sure she's doing something quite interesting. :) She was the stuff of magic, like him.

So, here's a photo I've always loved. Although I've never known anything about the featured guy, it's a shot that not only reminds me of J., Texas Tavern, pancakes, and the time, but it also conjures up feelings about friendship, curiosity, and the stories we all have buried inside our hearts.

Also, to this day, I still wonder if J.'s overcoat was, in fact, an invisible cloak.

C.A. MacConnell

Higher Brow

We were ready to face them.

How casual we were – leaning back in heated seats,
listening to the radio's low hum, riding in the strange
car. You were driving carefully – not too fast,

not too slow, taking the turns lightly, teaching me
how to settle and sink, to welcome the ache of calm.
We were making it. On the way to the most crucial

event, lit up with talent fire, I looked out the window,
and I had a vision of what the packed party might be like –
pretty lights, round, clean, white tables, the rich, organic

smells, and a thousand flutes – glasses upon glasses
shining at flashes, and when they touched, they hit,
screaming with cheer. Everywhere, flawless smiles,

sharp shadows, quick hands gripping microphones,
dresses reaching ankles or knees, tailored pants, fitted
jackets, and the difficult height of heels. We were ready

to face them. For weeks, we had planned the perfect
timing, the shifting flame of our long-awaited arrival.
Then, suddenly, still on the road, you looked at me

once, twice, three times, then shrugged and said,
You know, we don't have to go, and I nodded, smiling,
staring straight ahead, then looking back at you,

studying your cheek, loving your fine, cut jaw,
loving the way the higher brow hugged your right
eye, loving the way that some days, the lid seemed

purple, and we both laughed, and we couldn't stop,
and again, the road, the life, the laughter, the costumes,
the sky lights, and the newly burning stars, were ours.

We were ready to face them.

C.A. MacConnell

Look again. He's always there.

Good morning. The first line is the title in this one. A simple piece, but it packs a little punch. Have a beautiful day. Hope you like the poem. Love, C.A. 

Look again. He’s always there –

the thinnest man in the sun.
Keeping time,
he throws crumbs
to any bird.
It’s true, he says.
For as long as I live, for as long
as you live,
I’ll be dusting feathers
from my jacket.
When it rains, he sells watches.
No insurance for the buyer,
but ten dollars
is all it takes
to slide one on the wrist.
That’s how Billy made it
through the winter.

C.A. MacConnell

Bicycle.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Take One.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Door.

 

C.A. MacConnell