The Great Teachers. Part Two.

The Great Teachers. Part Two.

Same essay as the post from two days ago, below, if written by a six-year-old girl. Read the first 'The Great Teachers' first. Ha. Just messing around.

Wow, it was so cool. And so strange, I dropped my sucker. I saw this pretty girl, and she told me her name was Laurie, but she talked kinda funny, because she couldn’t hear right, but I guess she got me, because she was real nice, and she talked back all fast. Not like Grandpa, who spits when he talks, but fast. Laurie told me she was once really fat, so she doesn’t eat ice cream, but when I saw her at UDF, when I was ordering my sherbert, rainbow, you know, Laurie was staring at my lips all creepy. She told me she lost 100 pounds, and I almost threw up. Whoa, I’m glad. I had sprinkles and everything.

But I have a secret. I actually met her before! When I was at a boring meeting with my mom, because my mom used to drink cough syrup I think, and it made her fall down all the time, and her face would get all blue. Don’t know why Laurie was at that meeting, but that’s when she first talked to me too loud, and I couldn’t believe she used to be chubby, because she looked like a movie star to me, and most of those people aren’t chubby, but I guess some are. And some have big butts, now that I think about it. I dunno. Anyway, Laurie helped my mom paint her kitchen, which was kind of messy with the yellow, and she talked about heaven a lot, because she thought it sounded happy, I guess. My mom kept having her over, so they were besties, and then my mom and I started going over to Laurie’s house for tater tots, but Laurie could only have five, and I always had at least ten, which made me fart so much.

We went over all the time, and it was fun, because she had some big, scary dogs, but they gave me kisses, and wow, they had bad breath. Gross. I wouldn’t go in there if I was a bad man, though, because those dogs would probably get real mad and eat you.

Whenever we went over to Laurie’s, she stopped cleaning, and we watched movies like Toy Story, which was OK, but I like dog movies or puppets better. I liked to get in my blankie and feel the fur on those dogs. Laurie always tucked me in. We hung out at Laurie’s a lot, and mom and Laurie drank coffee, which gave them bad breath, like the dogs, but I never told them because I’m not mean. Sometimes, Mom and Laurie prayed, but they didn’t make me pray, because I was too little. Laurie stared a lot, because she couldn’t hear, but she let us come over whenever, and she even gave mom a key to the house. So, one time, Mom and I went over when Laurie wasn’t home, and Mom let me fingerpaint on the wall, which was so cool. I thought Laurie might get mad when she got home, but she gave me a high five, so she liked it.

Laurie helped my mom clean and do dishes all the time. I knew she wasn’t our cleaning lady, because we never had one, but she did lots of stuff at the house for no reason at all, which sounds weird. But then, one day, we had to move back to Ohio, because my mom got sick, and we needed Grandma, because Mom didn’t want to drink cough syrup again, I think. So, I missed Laurie when we moved, but I was happy when Mom told me she was really an angel.

Now that we’re back in Ohio, Mom tells me that Laurie was a teacher too, like my teachers at school who make us line up and do the drills, then take us to the lunchroom. Oh my god, I love pizza day. I hate pickles, but my friend Becky eats them every day. Laurie would never make me eat pickles, and I bet she’s fingerpainting right now. Mom tells me that Laurie saved her life, like a superhero. So cool that I met a superhero in real life.

The other day, when Mom dropped me off at school, I heard the big people talking about babies, which I didn’t get, but I know they said people were shooting guns, and some man told some other men to do bad things in Worshington and somewhere past the ocean too. I’ve never been there, but it sounds scary. Mom was crying about Worshington and the ocean, I think, and I sure wished Laurie was there to pop in a frozen pizza, because Mom likes pepperoni. Then I talked about Laurie to Mom, and she stopped crying. Mom tells me Laurie has to be an angel for someone else now, so that’s how come she’s not coming to Ohio.

I love my teacher at school, but we had to learn on the computer for a while, which was so boring, but Mom said we had to because everyone was getting sick, so we had to stay home. But teachers are the best, teachers like Laurie, because she let me fingerpaint and eat tater tots. She never made me eat broccoli, which tastes like grass to me. I know because I tried some once, and it was so gross. I love Laurie. I hope she comes to stay on the couch sometime.

I don’t know about Worshington, and I don’t know why people shoot guns, because they’re so scary on TV, and when the cartoons explode, it looks like it hurts. But I do know I love Laurie. And after my mom met her, she never drank cough syrup again, and she stopped tripping over stuff, and Grandma let us come over again.

When I get big, I want to be like Laurie. I’ll let everyone fingerpaint on my wall. And I don’t care if they come back, because sometimes, when one girl has a sleepover, someone doesn’t get invited, and that’s OK. Laurie taught me that if I don’t get invited, I can just help someone do the dishes or clean, because that’s nice to do. Some girls always get invited, because they’re so cool, but I only go sometimes, and I don’t get mad, because I know Laurie wouldn’t want me to cry over nothing. She even let me roller skate in the kitchen, if that tells you anything.

So if the other girls invite me, I’ll show them how to roller skate in the kitchen, which is so funny. And so hard! I asked mom if we could get a big dog too, so we might go to the pound soon. I’ll have to change my after-school time, though, because I’ll need to walk the dog probably. But I know it’s part of getting bigger. I have to maybe skip my long snack and maybe grab some orange crackers, so I have time to walk the new puppy. And then I’ll show the other girls how to change the snack time and walk the puppy. Maybe, if I’m good, I can save up for a hamster too. But those cages smell bad, because Becky has one, and there’s poo all over, I swear. But I help Becky clean it anyhow, because like Laurie said one time, friends do that kind of thing.

When I look around the kitchen, I think about Laurie, because she was always banging pots around. I loved her macaroni and cheese. I will never forget it, because she always got the animal shaped ones. One time, I heard Mom and Laurie talking about how I was supposed to have a sister, but Mom’s stomach went bad, and they had to take her out and she went to heaven, I guess. Mom didn’t know I heard because I was smiling and eating the cat face noodle.

Anytime I don’t get to stay up late, I think about Laurie and how she didn’t hear right, but she made me feel better if I had a fever, and she never talked about Worshington, like the other big people, who are always shouting at me to eat broccoli. 

-- C.A. MacConnell

The Great Teachers.

Back in the nineties, through strange circumstances, I met a strong woman named Laurie (name changed). She was Deaf, but she was an adept lip reader, and she was also a member of a 12-step program for overeating. I actually met her at an open 12-step meeting for alcohol, which she also attended, not because she was a drinker; she just liked the spirit there. When we crossed paths, I was in early recovery from alcohol abuse, and she was much further down the road in her program. Over time, she had lost 100 pounds, and she was at her goal weight; she was maintaining it well, and she was dedicated to her spiritual path. We became fast friends and soon after, almost daily, I'd show up at her house unannounced, barging through the door as if the whole world should stop for me. And Laurie's world always stopped for me.

Every time I randomly appeared, Laurie smiled wide and welcomed me, no matter what she was doing. When I curled up on the couch with her Rottweilers, she tucked me in. We watched movies, hung out, drank coffee, talked deeply and bullshitted and laughed and prayed, the whole gamut. And she had a special gift -- due to her lip reading, she focused on others intently, and she was always a sharp, engaged listener. Instead of balking at my surprise visits, she gave me a key to her house. When I painted a horrible mural on the wall of her study, she praised me, and she left it there for all to see. Maybe to the rest of the world, I was a stick figure artist, but to Laurie, I was Picasso. 

Despite her challenges, Laurie never complained. Day by day, she focused on my wellness, my life struggles, and my care. No, she wasn't perfect, and both of us were fighting to recover, but she was damn raw and real. And when she noticed that early sobriety was too much for me, that I was too sick to live alone anymore, she didn't give up on me. Instead, she hunted down my family and called my parents to inform them of my current state, because I was too sick to do so. You see, Laurie was one of the angels who saved my life.

Now I consider her one of the greatest teachers I have ever known. Because great teachers never preach. Instead, they listen close, act accordingly, and reach out to others, swiftly lending a hand when they can, and then humbly backing down when it's time. And for me, her timing was crucial.

And now that I've had time for my thoughts and feelings to settle, in thinking about the world occurrences as of late -- the Roe v. Wade, the happenings in Ukraine, the January 6 hearings, and on and on, I've been mulling some things over. I believe that feelings are important but later, I look inward, because I feel that change radiates outward. Not the other way around.

As individuals, our personal experiences -- both our pains and joys -- are golden; they constantly shape who we are, and they give us the ability to help others, when used for good purpose. Such was the case with Laurie, who used her experience to help me survive at a time when I was in literal danger. And then, in an ultimate act of humility, when she knew she couldn't help me, without hesitation, she stepped down and reached out to others.

The greatest teachers I've known have taught me directly from experience. They never told me what to do. They never ordered me around or asserted any type of power. Rather, they humbly shared from the heart, and they pulled examples from their unique histories, and they lovingly showed me the way. There was no force, no violence, no disruption, no war, no upheaval, no panic. Perhaps, on the way, I encountered roadblocks or setbacks in learning, sure, but the route in these relationships rolled out smoothly. Simply, it just felt right. And through their actions, and through my observation of the positive force these great teachers created, my life was altered forever.

When I think of the people I admire, when I think of the kind of person I want to be, I don't think about anyone "out there, in the spotlight," a person with millions of followers. I don't think of the people we perceive to be in charge. Not one. I don't think of people in the news. I don't think of anyone with any kind of external power. Instead, I think of people like Laurie, people who face life's challenges, feel each and every feeling, fight to learn and grow from it, and then give back.

Because in the end, sharing experience and helping others ignites the real change. And maybe that sometimes means I need to protest. And maybe that sometimes means I need hide in the woods, stay home and write, or curl up with Rottweilers on a rainy day, so that I can recharge and later be of service. But in my observation of life happenings, change comes from the inside out. My experiences and my ability to help others are occurrences that last my entire life, whereas power, money, success, and the like, eventually turn cold. Power is fleeting. In the early stages, power and control may seem like the quick route, but the idea of I'm right, I'm in charge never lasts. Take a quick look at history; people in the so-called power role always dissolve, turning to vapor. One day, a king. The next day, a living ghost.

What lasts is this:  how can I help you? How can I save your life?

Look around. Notice the great teachers. They are quiet, often lurking in the background somewhere, steadily grinning, listening close. No media outlet introduced me to Laurie. I met her through the Spirit of the Universe, God, Buddha, or whatever you want to call it. And this energy, powered purely by love, is both in us and all around us, waiting for us to tap into it.

It's been 24 years, and I still reminisce about the way Laurie saved my life. And since then, there have been countless others. And in my book, these quiet teachers are the ones who deserve my attention, my devotion, and my praise. Look around. They are all around us, and we all have the ability to both learn from these great teachers and later become one, if we so choose. Never underestimate the quiet, giving types, for they are far wiser than the chaos and the noise.

C.A. MacConnell

You Come to Me in Pieces

Hello there. I was just working on this one, and it feels pretty good. Hope you like it. The first line is the title on this one, a little trick some poets use when wanting to blur the beginning. :) 

You come to me in pieces.

I see you inside the delivery man’s
quick lip licks, his thin-legged,
slanted stride, and the nearly accurate,
static, jerky moment
right when his bony hips
suddenly tilt, giving in to the stroke
of first sweep.
Nearby, good teeth like yours
tear through lettuce.
Fresh from detox, the church drunk
shudders in circles,
stopping only to hover
kitchen-counter-style,
soon diving in for a full plate,
arriving on time, on stage,
like you. I see you inside
the picnic table bad man;
he watches the scattered ladies,
switches open his blade, and carves
knots into faces, jerk-tugging
three tangled leashes, accidentally
slightly choking
the droopy-eyed hound dog,
the lab, and the mutt.
And then, I see you buried within
the wedding photographer’s
close-up shot squint,
or the nervous groom’s
shaky flute lip.
You must live behind some stranger’s
blue wristwatch glass,
keeping time zones straight,
scanning scenes for safety,
like a park-side, single father in coveralls –
one hand clutching the tiny, fleshy fingers
of his new-found son,
the other hand gripping a tart,
green lollipop, both
half-unwrapped and half-cracked.

C.A. MacConnell

Three Girls.

C.A. MacConnell

 

White Car Black Car

 

C.A. MacConnell

Shred It

 

C.A. MacConnell

Helping Hand.

 

I've been focused on tree shapes lately. :) They strike me as simple and beautiful. The patterns, and the light. I always feel like they're speaking to me.

C.A. MacConnell

Flashback.

 

C.A. MacConnell

F'n Rad Pedestrian Island

So I was singing along to the radio, feeling serene, driving through this pretty nice part of town, when I stopped at a stoplight, and I looked to my left, and for some reason, a woman had pulled up on a pedestrian island, (I guess that’s what you call those) and she boldly parked her car there. She was just hanging out, like there was a magical meter there for her. I guess she couldn’t find a place to park.

I thought, how hilarious, but what an asshole. But, oh no, she wasn’t the biggest asshole of the day…

THEN a dude in an old Mercedes pulled up on the island right next to her, parking there specifically to yell at her. I heard him scream, “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, PARKING ON A PEDESTRIAN ISLAND? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ABOVE THE LAW!??? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” He screamed and screamed. I couldn’t understand what the woman was saying, but she was yelling and making mad, puppet-like gestures.

So there they were. Add it up. Suddenly, there were two parked illegally. And screaming and causing a scene. Cracking up, I seriously thought about pulling up to the Mercedes man and yelling, “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, PARKING ON A PEDESTRIAN ISLAND TO YELL AT SOMEONE PARKED ON A PEDESTRIAN ISLAND? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ABOVE THE LAW???????” I started rolling just thinking about it, but then I thought, the chain might become never-ending, and we could end up with the entire universe parked on that island, and that certainly would put a hold on the economy and maybe keep the police from doing their job and such. So I drove on.

C.A. MacConnell

Some Shots from Today.

 

Section 11

Fence

Untitled.

C.A. MacConnell

Shy.

 

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Do you see it? Look close.

Storm.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Beautiful Things

Just some flash poetry for you...straight off my tricky brain to you.

Beautiful Things

Black tar,
Batman blanket,
elephant rooms,
dark circles,
utterly useless
caffeine.
Meet me in the Wal-Mart boy section.
As a kid
you napped 
in the baby
pool. Blue
and white striped --
your wrinkled
T-shirt, faded by sun and wash and sweat.
Maybe you dreamt
of a yellow slide,
a thick towel,
a sharp crowd,
and wide open,
thick-lipped mouths with coated tongues.
Perhaps you saw
a speed boat,
a winning race,
an American flag,
hidden behind
the blue and yellow. Shouting, shouting.
Announcement -- 
I uncovered
the truth --
suddenly, 
I smile, sucking down mashed potatoes.
Mac and cheese
make me sick.
Back in the day,
Marcie and I
played straight through dual chicken pox.
We made pasta
from the box.
Once, I sent you
a piano song about all of the beautiful things.
Through
the screen,
and through
my chest, I heard you whisper, Me too.
This summer,
every ridiculous
suit is on sale, and charcoal strips are facials. 
I would
drive there,
minus inflation. Yesterday, I couldn't help myself.  
I confess
I cheated on the animals. Through the screen,
and through
my chest, I heard you say, Me too. I was madly
licking butter.
 
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Graveyard Gate

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Wolf, Hiding

 

B/W film. :)

C.A. MacConnell

Fix Me, Fix You

Yesterday, I was hyper-focused on my sore neck.

Today, the neck is better, and so I'm obsessing about a tooth.

Often, I channel my worries into tangible objects, and my mind will turn every bit of focus onto something I believe I can grasp, measure, and control, such as these examples:  a flat tire, a sore throat, a money situation, my writing, a personal encounter, a work problem, and other such daily issues. More often than not, I veer toward somatic fears. But now I'm aware of it, and in some ways, being aware truly takes the fun out of it, ha.

Nonetheless, when I grab a hold of an obsession at any given time, that thing may become my focus for the day, the week, or the month, depending on redirection/distraction attempts. For a while, I'll channel all of my fears into that...one...thing. And when the fear claims the tooth, for instance, the tooth seems to hurt more. And then all I think about is the tooth, and then it's hurts even worse. Welcome to my tunnel of never-ending fear, a wild, circular ride. One thing is clear:  obsessing never helps the situation. And yet I try. And try again.

It never works. It's a temporary fix, and the fear simply festers and grows.

Because once the tooth problem is fixed, I'll grab onto something else. Depends on the moment. Hyper-focus on tangible objects has never stopped fear in its tracks, because if I don't address the bigger issues, the next day, I'll quickly pick something else, attempting psuedo-control. Often, my new focus changes as swiftly as the weather.

But these smaller focus objects and obsessions are mere symbols of the bigger monsters.

You see, my real, intangible fears rest deeper -- fear of being alone, fear of failure, fear of getting sick, fear of people judging me, fear of facing big life issues with no support, fear of long-term suffering and pain, fear of loss, fear of being trapped, and the like. That's where the real beasts live, and I try like hell to cover them up.

But the solution is simple. Now that I've written about the biggies, I can enjoy the rest of my day, because sharing it with you has cut the power of it all in half. And if you're still reading, and you can relate to these above-stated essential human fears, and you know you're not alone, then perhaps now you feel better too.

That's why we're here. 

C.A. MacConnell

Ten Minutes

Here's a poem for you today. Thoughts within ten minutes.

Ten Minutes

She chews in my ear
My tits hurt
An Italian movie star, his souped-up light fixture
Toothaches
Never a white condo
Virginia horses
Minimalist
Shave my head
Boxing
She never made it to the ice cream man
Heroin
Rigid
A dog, a quiet house
What the hell, she wants fat sucked from inner thighs and stomach, put it on the booty
Infusions and meds
Something is wrong with me
I’m sorry to the universe, and the trees
I wanted this cat to kiss me in the meeting hall last night
Wes Anderson might show up
A mask, throwing me down for doggy
Smoke and hunt for eagles
I bought the T-shirt
One cold night in the car in Montana
B, Vegas, the heart-shaped, vibrating bed
M’s house, R’s basement
The lesbian’s couch for a week
Mountains and bunks
The pool deck
Sleeping with G in the hostel yard, man we stunk
Me, A, we rolled, same birthday, street twin
Hippies on the beach
R from Arizona, never told you but I loved you
Tent in Dad’s back yard
Aging hillbilly
Fake tans make me cringe
He liked me enough to fuck me in the 90s
H never believed me
Living in a van, shitting in a bucket
On the motorcycle with B
On the parkway with J
Sitting on the stoop outside Mill Mountain
Cancel my haircut
I should’ve gone without the mask
She’s perpetually thin, no cavities
Burned my right hand
Full head of hair on that pussy
Finding a live wire
Someone would hit me with Narcan
Maybe E will remember me when she goes
Maybe someone will swoop in
When is the car bill coming
Easier as royalty
Aneurysm
In sixth grade, I was in love with a girl who gave me a book told through the voice of a dog
He would offer me money or flowers to keep me
Everywhere is hiring
Circuit speaker
Grandpa was quiet and sick
Nothing fancy, but perfect transmission

C.A. MacConnell

Bridge to Center

 

C.A. MacConnell

Rugby

 

C.A. MacConnell

F'n Rad Expression: The Smown.

Picture it. You're at the grocery store, wheeling your cart (the small, shorter kind) around the aisles like a speed demon because you only need butter, coffee, and shampoo, and it should really only be a "quick trip," although it took you a half hour to park, and you're semi-annoyed about the parking spot that's nearly a mile away, and you're not paying too much attention to the crowd, because this is a "quick trip." But wait a minute, you need sugar too. And maybe some Big K Diet Cola. And a frozen pizza. Oh, and your husband told you those mixed nuts were all gone. And didn't your daughter say she needed a headband for her hair? They're in the clearance bin. Before you know it, your cart is overflowing. By then, I'd say you're probably deep, deep into "shopper's blackout," whipping in and out of the other crazed people and stacks upon stacks of food stuffs.

But suddenly, you take one turn to fast, and you almost, let me repeat, ALMOST, run smack into the cart of another shopper. The horror. The biggest nightmare in shopping land. Humbled, you back off a little. Just a little, just to see who's going to make the next move. Now, what happens next is very curious...something strange I have noticed lately.

If you make eye contact with the person (which doesn't always happen), let's face it, sometimes, the spineless people just jerk the other way and bolt off; however, most of the time, one person or the other will mouth, "Sorry." And nearly always, the other person will make this weird expression. They sort of half smile, and it's a tight-lipped expression where the edges of the mouth are turned up, but the lips are pretty much missing they're pressed so tight, like a cross between a smile and a frown. I'm calling it a "Smown." (rhymes with "town.") It's a new expression name I invented. It's that look that people give when they really want to say, "Fuck you get out of my way," but instead, they're forcing themselves to be nice for some unknown reason that probably has to do with what their mom and dad told them to do back when they were eight, and they really don't feel like causing a rumble I guess.

Try it again. Walk down another aisle. Someone's got one of those carts with the kid's car attached to it, and they're blocking the entire snack aisle. It happens all the time. You roll your eyes and stop, waiting for that mofo to move. You look up at them and what do you see? I guarantee you will see the Smown. It's as if they want to say, "Listen, I've got three kids I'm shopping for, and I have to push around this ridiculous toy car, and you want me to move my cart?" But then they move the cart and throw you a winner Smown every time.

Try it again and again. I guarantee, every time, if you look up at the face right when you are about to run into a shopper, you'll see the Smown. I've perfected my Smown. It is the look of utter forced humility and happiness and accepted by shopping cart madmen and women everywhere. It has gotten me out of many scrapes.

Only problem I'm having is how to create that Smown when texting or typing. It might look something like this: :)( or even better, this :S

If you're bored today, notice the Smowns all over your world. At work, when someone cuts right in front of you to open the bathroom door, and they catch your eye -- here comes a perfect Smown. At Target, when someone reaches for the last purple bath towel that was on sale -- another Smown. At the gas station, when someone pulls up to the pump you wanted. Smown, every time. That creepy, tight-lipped, half-smile is everywhere. In most cases, when they Smown, you can't even see the person's lips at all. Everywhere, lipless creatures are Smowning. At the park, when some Mom's kid takes your kid's swing. Smown. At the office, when some asshole uses the last of the sugar for his coffee, then looks at you, shakes the empty sugar box, shrugs, and says, "Sorry." Ultimate Smown.

You get the idea.

Good luck today. There is Smowning everywhere. Beware.

:S

C.A. MacConnell