C.A. MacConnell
2/28/2023
2/27/2023
Electric
Hey there. Here's a cool shot I took down by an airport one day. Pretty rad, I think. :) Ah, lately, I've been overwhelmed. I'd like a vacation. The last time I had a vacation was...let's see...like 2000 I believe. I have gone on some short trips to Virginia, like every two years, but those were just one day in and out, kinda thing. Last time I was in an airplane was around 2005, I think...but that was for a specific purpose, not a real vacation. I dunno, just musing about it. I'd be cool with an at-home vacation too. I'm not too picky, for real. I'm one of those folks who likes to make no plans....some people plan vacations down to the minute. Not me. I like to go w/ the flow and do very little. I'm easily amused, that's for sure. This morning, I was amused by a little boy who was heading for the bus...he had his lunch box, his back pack, his matching outfit, and he looked over at me, waved wildly, and said, "Well, hello ma'am!" Made me smile. A little gentleman, all suited up for the school day and so proud of it too. :)
Daily, I've been working on revisions for Book Five, and it's coming along well...it's around 300 pages at the moment, but there's still a lot I want to add as well. Indeed, it is a memoir. Speaking of which, if you've known me in the past, no worries -- I will change names & features, as well as leave out locations, or I'll be vague. I have no desire to throw anyone else under the bus...I fully intend to just focus on the important aspects of my personal journey and share it in the hopes that it will help others heal. That's the goal, because when I was going through certain situations in the past, I had absolutely no guide, no book to read, and no help at times...I'd like to be that help for another if possible.
In the meantime, make sure to check out my other books...just look right on this page and click on the book cover, and it'll send you to a description and pricing and such. Or, you can see my Amazon Author Page right here.
About to get off work. Just a note to say hello and send you some love.
C.A. MacConnell
2/26/2023
Old Friend, Way Out
Old Friend
Way Out
Hey there. Two photos I took recently. Very different moods, I know. That's how I roll sometimes, and it can be tricky some days, as it is for all of us...but one thing you'll always get with me -- I'm real, transparent, and honest, whether gritty or cracking up, and I like to convey that in my art as well. I feel that these intricacies bring us together. Hope you dig them.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
2/25/2023
2/17/2023
Hollins University Main Building
I used to sit in these rockers all the time...brought me a sense of peace. This photo was taken w/ film. I've always liked it. Hope you have a good day,
C.A. MacConnell
2/10/2023
2/04/2023
Spoon
On your side,
behind me,
you were temperate,
serenely sleeping.
In front of you,
on my side,
I was wintry, twitchy,
bone pale, static,
feeling your hand
at my waist,
feeling your elbow
at my back,
feeling your pulse,
feeling your slight
weight, suddenly
awake.
C.A. MacConnell
behind me,
you were temperate,
serenely sleeping.
In front of you,
on my side,
I was wintry, twitchy,
bone pale, static,
feeling your hand
at my waist,
feeling your elbow
at my back,
feeling your pulse,
feeling your slight
weight, suddenly
awake.
C.A. MacConnell
2/02/2023
Perfect Fit
I’ve lived numerous different lives. Not in any particular order -- I've been a horse trainer, a blogger, a speaker, a yoga teacher, a musician, a music writer, a limousine “go-fer,” a homeless wreck, a drunk, a Catholic school girl, a barista, a shit-shoveler, an editor, a caregiver, a mentor, a nudist, a failed hippie (I hated The Dead and weed), a patient, a novelist, and more. And then there were other times when I was sick or lost, and I felt like I was merely "existing," when I was “in between.” Maybe I called out to hawks, horses, or the Universe for some sense of direction, and the whole world seemed so quiet.
Days became weeks. One morning, I’d put on my horse boots. Another, I’d slip into my yoga pants. Skate shoes? A flannel? Nothing felt right. I’d cut my hair, dye it black or red, or not. Maybe another tattoo, a piercing. Still, the world was weird. Summer bled into autumn, winter, spring, and it all seemed to run together, whether I was clad in shorts, sweatpants, or loose jeans. Around me, others seemed to be wearing suits, aprons, or fluorescent orange, steadily keeping time with focused schedules.
But then, maybe the car died, and after some service and random conversations, I suddenly became the “car dealership worker.” Sooner or later, something always happened. Sometimes, direction didn't appear clearly. Rather, it rolled in messily. But indeed, it rolled in.
But when I think about the moments that I loved the most, achievements don’t spring to mind. I don’t think about winning ribbons at horse shows, but I miss watching the horses canter across the fields. I don't reminisce much about hanging out backstage at rock shows; I think of the joy of the music, and the chance meetings, the times when strangers changed my life forever. And with my books, I cherish the moments when I was lost in creativity, or other times when people approached me and expressed that my words touched them, made them feel an escape, made them able to tune out the world for a time. I’ve always enjoyed getting “lost” in things, and if I can provide that feeling for someone else, cool.
When thinking about my numerous riding students, the kids who stand out are the most "difficult" ones – the girl who couldn’t remember the course, the tiny, talented one who cried every lesson, and all of the troublemakers, yes, who touched my heart. Those were the ones who challenged me, made me alter my teaching, or made me laugh. In 1996, I won a slew of writing awards, but not much later, Seattle street skaters helped me stay alive, when I was nothing but a hopeless case. In 1999, a friend took me strawberry picking when I was so ill, I couldn't even remember how to smile, eat, or blink. He smiled for me. He carried me. And he did all of this while he was sick too.
All in all, it's the small things, and the tricky flaws, that still touch me -- Evan's sharp, black-rimmed glasses; Big Mark, who gave the perfect hug, a trail tree that's shaped like a "4," a long walk with the messy geese and ducks all around, the morning Jerry dropped his plan to put my desk chair together, and yes, the sky. Always, the sky, whether blue or black. The details, the minutes -- one teen’s heavy, blue eye-shadow, the smell of fresh-cut hay – yes, the small stuff is everything.
I've spent a good part of my life seeking the "perfect fit.” But there’s never a perfect fit. Instead, beauty bleeds out from human connections and imperfections. Buried within these moments, there rests a curious thing: love.
C.A. MacConnell
Days became weeks. One morning, I’d put on my horse boots. Another, I’d slip into my yoga pants. Skate shoes? A flannel? Nothing felt right. I’d cut my hair, dye it black or red, or not. Maybe another tattoo, a piercing. Still, the world was weird. Summer bled into autumn, winter, spring, and it all seemed to run together, whether I was clad in shorts, sweatpants, or loose jeans. Around me, others seemed to be wearing suits, aprons, or fluorescent orange, steadily keeping time with focused schedules.
But then, maybe the car died, and after some service and random conversations, I suddenly became the “car dealership worker.” Sooner or later, something always happened. Sometimes, direction didn't appear clearly. Rather, it rolled in messily. But indeed, it rolled in.
But when I think about the moments that I loved the most, achievements don’t spring to mind. I don’t think about winning ribbons at horse shows, but I miss watching the horses canter across the fields. I don't reminisce much about hanging out backstage at rock shows; I think of the joy of the music, and the chance meetings, the times when strangers changed my life forever. And with my books, I cherish the moments when I was lost in creativity, or other times when people approached me and expressed that my words touched them, made them feel an escape, made them able to tune out the world for a time. I’ve always enjoyed getting “lost” in things, and if I can provide that feeling for someone else, cool.
When thinking about my numerous riding students, the kids who stand out are the most "difficult" ones – the girl who couldn’t remember the course, the tiny, talented one who cried every lesson, and all of the troublemakers, yes, who touched my heart. Those were the ones who challenged me, made me alter my teaching, or made me laugh. In 1996, I won a slew of writing awards, but not much later, Seattle street skaters helped me stay alive, when I was nothing but a hopeless case. In 1999, a friend took me strawberry picking when I was so ill, I couldn't even remember how to smile, eat, or blink. He smiled for me. He carried me. And he did all of this while he was sick too.
All in all, it's the small things, and the tricky flaws, that still touch me -- Evan's sharp, black-rimmed glasses; Big Mark, who gave the perfect hug, a trail tree that's shaped like a "4," a long walk with the messy geese and ducks all around, the morning Jerry dropped his plan to put my desk chair together, and yes, the sky. Always, the sky, whether blue or black. The details, the minutes -- one teen’s heavy, blue eye-shadow, the smell of fresh-cut hay – yes, the small stuff is everything.
I've spent a good part of my life seeking the "perfect fit.” But there’s never a perfect fit. Instead, beauty bleeds out from human connections and imperfections. Buried within these moments, there rests a curious thing: love.
C.A. MacConnell
