Photo: Brave Ones

This past summer, I was on a hike with my sis, and she took this shot. I think that this is my favorite photo of me. When I hung on to this tree, I was right in the moment.

Nature has no expectations. Nature exists, grows, supports us, and shows us how to "just be."

I want to be one of the brave ones.

C.A. MacConnell

XO

When to Wait

So I was on my way down to the gas station to hit up the 50 cent vacuum. I thought I had plenty of time, since I wasn't due at a work meeting for an hour or so. Well, I believed everything was all in order, and when I pulled into the gas station lot, I expected everything to go as smoothly as caramel syrup. Delicious. But then I noticed that a suspicious-looking girl was already parked next to the vacuum. I could hear the vacuum running, but she wasn't using it yet, which was strange.

Oh man, she was taking her time pulling out each floor mat one by one. Slowly, ever so slowly. Picture an injured turtle.

I decided to analyze her floor mats to size up my competition. They were filthy, covered in what looked to be straw. That's right, straw, like she had just fucked a scarecrow in that Chevy. I shrugged, figuring she'd be done soon.

Oh no, after the first five minute vacuum, she put in two more quarters for another round, scrubbing and scrubbing the floor mats.

Leaning back in the front seat of my car, I checked the time. Still okay, but it was getting a little tighter. Turning my head, I watched a few cars head into the car wash, wishing I was on my way through like them.

But Chevy girl was still going at it. Every now and then, she looked my way with her "day-after-walk-of-shame" enormous sunglasses on, but even then, she didn't hurry. That's right, she was picking off pieces of straw one by one while the vacuum was running. Maybe she was still a little loopy from the night before, I dunno, but it sure seemed like she was trying to clean up something dirtier than I could imagine. Actually, I could imagine it, but I'm not sharing.

Finally, she finished.

I hopped out of the car and asked, "You done?"

She looked up and said, "Yep, thanks!" Her face held a deep reddish hue, like blueberry tea.

Thanks? Thanks for what? For waiting and not complaining? Hell, she was there first. But I could tell that she felt bad for taking so damn long. From the look of her shredded, muddy jeans versus her makeup and shirt, which were still half-put together, I could tell she'd had a rough Saturday night or something. And I could also tell that her cleaning was more than cleaning. It was to cover up some other mess. I knew that "next day after the war" look. Just my guess. Or maybe she just got back from a four-hour long church service and had a roll in the straw with a preacher.

So I quickly finished vacuuming, and then I headed over to the car wash. I put the code in, and everything seemed to be running smoothly, but after "press the start button" began blinking, the screen went blank, and it read this:  "Sorry, the car wash is temporarily unavailable." Now, the problem was, I had already paid, I had already driven in halfway, and weirdly, I had just watched three cars glide right on through, no problem. So I backed out of the wash, which was tricky, and I went inside to ask them what the hell.

I explained my situation to the worker. He didn't know what to do, so he found another worker. He knew what to do, so he went outside and worked his magic, resetting the car wash, and I pulled in a second time. This whole process, between the vacuuming and the washing, took about an hour.

Then I had about fifteen minutes to get to my meeting. Thinking I was a smart go-getter, I decided to take the highway to cut out time. Right when I got on the highway, all cars came to a complete dead stop. I sat in traffic for about 45 minutes, barely moving. The whole scenario was strange -- it was a Sunday evening, sunny, and the traffic should've been light. Not so. Backed up for miles. It was getting later and later. The meeting had already started, so I just inched along the highway, listening to talk radio.

When I finally crept up to the scene of the accident, I saw a fire truck, a slew of police cars, and when I looked over on the side of the road, I could see a car resting in the woods. The entire top of the vehicle had been pried off to get the person (or people) out, and the car had obviously flipped over several times. I wondered about whoever was inside. I wondered if anyone was alive. I swallowed hard. Of course in my lifetime I've seen wrecks before. I've seen bad wrecks. But for some reason, this one -- that lone, empty, destroyed white car in the woods -- really terrified me. What grabbed at my heart was the eerie scene's stillness. There was no sign of life. And it terrified me because I suddenly realized that if it weren't for the slow vacuum girl, the malfunctioning car wash, and my long waits at the gas station, one of the people that they pried out of the wreckage could've been me.

I shivered a little, driving on, thinking about angels. I made it to the tail end of the meeting, and I realized that my time is now. As for the setbacks, the happenings that seemed like delays? Perhaps they saved my life. We've all heard people say, "Live each day as if it's your last." Aye, swallow it all, bite at the beauty, and allow the universe to show you when to lean back and wait.

C.A. MacConnell

Mimi's Plan. The Secret To Top Notch Health

Mimi was my grandmother, and at 95 years old, with her body and mind perfectly intact (photographic memory) until her last breath, she passed away three years ago. But what is interesting about her top notch health is that she never cared about any kind of beauty or health regimen. She absolutely hated to cook. In fact, she loved salt, cookies, regular Coke, potato chips, the fattiest cheese around, coffee (with Equal), BLTs, eggs, hamburgers, fries, goetta, sausage, whatever. She never cared about fat, calories, cholesterol, and she didn't drink much water, but she wasn't overweight at all. She was always the perfect weight. In fact, I never saw her drink water, and she didn't drink much of anything at all. Amazingly, her skin was lovely. I think her beauty secret was that she never worried about anything. Of course she did constantly pray for others, but as for her own health and diet, she just did whatever the hell she wanted. All the time. Each day she lived. She smoked for forty years before she quit. She enjoyed many cocktails. She never exercised a day in her life. Whenever she saw a jogger, she'd say the following:  "They sure don't look like they're having any fun."

Now I might not follow her eating habits, and I exercise, and I don't suggest this route for all readers, or any, for that matter, ha, but there's something to be said for the wisdom behind that kind of living, and I do agree with her motto:  love others, less worry, don't try so hard, let it roll, whatever works for you, who cares, more fun!



Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

Morning Sky Meditation

Be still, friend.
Ignore the itch.

-- C.A. MacConnell

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

Look Again. He's Always There.

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

The Porch Swing

I chew on the accident –
my swollen lip
that you bit last night
when we shared oranges,
sucking them down
end to end, lip to lip,
burning and breathing in
African incense.
Outside, like fresh fire,
sleet cracked the ground,
and god made more
than a dusting. Later,
we sat on the metal swing
and rocked. At this show,
my toes barely touched
the porch. With fingertips,
you played my hands,
pressing into my life lines.
I gripped the chains.
Wind whipped my hair.
I pumped harder,
and we rose higher,
until everything rattled.
I hung on like a hangnail.

C.A. MacConnell

The Day We Drank Nightwatch

Gum was stuck to the sewer
grates.
No rain
the day we drank
Nightwatch by the Space Needle,
strumming songs,
proven by prison
tattoos.
Your long-key fingers
crawled to move.
Nothing else about you
was gorgeous.
Evenings, you were fast
and jerky.
Mornings, you were slow,
shaky, slow.
You were a slick black, one-
way,
straight shot.
You were the sharpest,
most untouchable
thief.
You were the coolest,
smoothest, loaded
bullet.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Mustang, Outer Banks 2

Rooney Mara in Carol = mesmerizing!! Dicaprio in The Revenant, the same. I loved both Carol and Revenant equally for different reasons. But I sure dug Compton, man, so good. This year was full of talented performances. I've been reading and watching movies like crazy. :) I can entertain myself very easily. Actually, I'm learning a lot from the masters.
C.A. MacConnell

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: Mustang, Outer Banks

Mustang, Outer Banks

Believe it or not, even though there was a fence here, it actually stretched for miles width-wise, and it was to keep people out, rather than to keep the horses in. This was indeed a wild mustang, although he was a kind fellow. I climbed the fence even though there was a government warning posted. This was my favorite vacation ever. Also the last vacation I've been on. It was 2000. That's right, I haven't been on a real vacation in 16 years, but I feel like I take daily vacations in my head, ha. For instance, right now, I'm on Gilligan's Island. For real, I've been to that island...we went on a cruise when I was about fourteen, and we visited the island where they filmed some of the opening scenes and such of the show...it was still uninhabited, and I loved it, but I was worried about my white bathing suit looking goofy because it had no straps and a stupid-looking ruffle, and my chest wasn't really holding it up.

That Farmer poem I wrote this morning cracked me up. I was thinking about how funny it would be if someone was expecting a true love poem, and they received some crazed last line. The weirdest things crack me up. Like literally, I was sitting in my car in tears laughing about it later. Maybe you were too. That fucked-up poet would make the greatest SNL character. I have a gazillion of these ideas, no lie. Steal away. I'm just a sitting duck.

I love this picture,

C.A. MacConnell

Bleach

Bleach
soaks into fresh grout.
Lucy and her sisters
Clean like mad.
A visitor, I say, Hello, and I ask them
If I'm in the way.
It's seven at night.
My name is really Lucia, she says.

I ask them if I'm in the way.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Me + Bo the Dog

 

Me + Bo the Dog

It's love.

C.A. MacConnell

A Good Hand

She’s not playing any

War.

Maybe some stray cats suck cigars.
They like to bet.
They like to watch.
Others play poker in the
Basement.

She returns for

More.

Maybe some like to
Fish.
Maybe by the river, an all-day game
With the packed cooler,
And the bait,
And the hook.

Always, she wishes for a good

Hand.

She can’t live

With the broken zipper.
The only fix
Is the face, and some kind of

Reality, like blue
Eyeshadow.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Niagara

Niagara

My favorite line that I ever wrote in a comedy/love story is this:  "Jesus Christ, when did you show up? I already fuckin' cried out Niagara over you." A little while back, for some reason I got to thinking about Niagara Falls, and I was annoyed that I'd never been there, so I hopped in my car and drove all the way there, took this shot, then drove home. Weird, I know. This is original -- unedited b/w film.

C.A. MacConnell

Vacation Room

There's no question -- she is beneath him.
Flat on her back, licking her lips,
swimming in sheets, she is seemingly
satisfied. For miles, no one is near. Quiet,
the hours. They could be under water.

Blue on white, she buries herself
under blankets. Always, she’s on time
to meet him. True, she's always drop
dead, carrying limes. Mornings, door
service, it seems that he couldn’t live

without her. Nights, he stacks trays,
unsure how long she will last. No rain --
each dawn glows in the vacation room.
Surely, hiding will make her and break her
into the love of his life. A vision, she sleeps

cold now. But shouldn't her middle hold
less curve. Shouldn't the cut cheek slide into
the chin, stabbing the jawline. And the side
of her face -- shouldn't it hold more lines,
showing the age, the lost years etched

into another shade of eye. When will the pupil
become larger, the black giving up to a fierce,
traveling light. And when she turns, tosses,
rolls over, why doesn't her tired breathing
deepen, like the bravest at rest, like horses.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Johnny Two Dot

Johnny Two Dot

5 y.o. 16.3h dark bay thoroughbred gelding off the track. Jump:  3'3"

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Shy Guy

Shy Guy

5y.o., 16.2h chestnut thoroughbred gelding off the track.

C.A. MacConnell