The Grossness of Wondering

We were driving through the Ozarks

of Southern Missouri on a family

vacation. I had one hand on the wheel,

my wife at the time sat in the

passenger seat beside me. The two

kids were quietly observing the

scenery from the back seat. A lovely

day filled with wonder and amazement,

I said while rolling something between

my forefinger and thumb. Hmm, that’s

weird, really strange I said to my wife

as she turned to look at me curiously.

What, she asked, noticing me rolling

something in my right hand? Well, I

told he with a tone of mystery, it’s kind

of like plastic, but it has the softness

and pliability, the elasticity of rubber.

Very strange indeed. Intrigued, my wife

said, let me see...give that to me. And I

did, reaching over to hand her the object

I had been twirling so intently between

my finger and thumb. She took it and

began rolling it in her fingers as I had

done. She inspected that peculiar thing.

Huh, that is odd. Where did you find that,

she asked? I glanced over to look at her

briefly but seriously, then turned my eyes

back to focus on the road, giving her an

answer I am sure she was not anxious to

receive...I pulled it out of my nose. She

squeamishly responded with a disgusted,

Eeew!! and got rid of it immediately. I

could see she was definitely not amused.

That was my first marriage. I was amazed,

as I am sure she was too, that our union lasted

the better (or worst) part of seventeen years.

Chris Hanch 1-31-18

Lost in Translation

“Arroz con piojos, Por favor.”

You just ordered rice with lice,

the waitress informed me.

You mean, “arroz con pollo,”

rice with chicken?

My Spanish needs a bit of work,

I admitted. It took me some

time just to get the “Por favor”

thing right. On second thought,

I will have the rice with chicken,

please!

It costs a little more, but it’s well

worth it, she explained. It then

became abundantly clear to me

that there was more work to be

done. 

“Gracias!”

Chris Hanch 1-29-18

Do You Remember?

Do you remember that day,

sunny and bright, Denver,

the year two-thousand and

eight, the day Obama came

to give a rally speech to the

masses, the year he was to be

elected 44^th President of these

United States? I had my camera

at the ready taking pictures of

that historic event, the first black

American who would be elected

Commander in Chief. Do you

remember that day? Were you

there for your fifteen minutes

of fame Warhol believed would
one day come to everyone?

You stood there in long lines

with your signs waiting for his

arrival with elated anticipation.

It was your day, America’s day,

a grand day for a needy nation.

Do you remember that day?

Were you there on that bright

and sunny day as I moved in

closer, focusing my camera to

capture our hopes for a brighter

future, proclaiming fame for all

of us under one name—

We the People?

Chris Hanch 1-28-18

Squirrel Mentality

Ever wonder what animals are thinking?

Well, this morning sitting outside on my

patio, I was given some insight into my

wondering. A squirrel chirping in the

apple tree several yards away from me

waved it’s tail furiously, apparently wanting

desperately to get somewhere it needed to be.

Eventually, it decided to make a break for it.

So, in the blink of an eye, it tore out across

the open field at full speed running away from

me. Now mind you, I never had any intentions

of pursuing or capturing that creature anyway.

Besides, it was far and away more fleet a foot

(even given my best of times) than I could ever

be. Now, here is where I applied some squirrel

psychology to my personal human rationality—

I’m not sure if that guy is a track star or not,

squirrel is thinking. Could be a perfectly

harmless sort, but suspiciously, he may be

a clear and present danger to me. In any

event, I’m gonna run as if my life depends

upon it, and get the hell away from him just

in case.

Chris Hanch 1-26-18  

Lift-off!

I am not here to explain how it works,

I only know it does. I will leave the

details and particulars to the experts

and to those in the know. I am but a needy

consumer; I merely buy and use. I feed

insatiably on what is available, and for a

price is provided to me. And no, not me…

I’m not interested in your damn extended

warranty. Should it break down or become

obsolete, I’ll charge on the credit card or

take out a loan and buy a new one on time.

Simply put, and with the greatest of ease,

I’ll push the button, flip the switch or turn

the key. And bye, bye, baby, I’m gone. Lift

off, baby—practically speaking in layman
terms, I’m gone!

Chris Hanch 1-25-18

This Old House

This old house stood peeling and leaning, yet proud.

In this old house, families were raised and farmed the

land for many years.

This old house has caught the eye and raised thoughts

of when, where and why for many a passerby. Winds of

change have blown, and this old house stands no more.

Here, my friends, is the cherished preservation of history,

a portrait of how it used to be as seen by you and me

through the Magical Here and Now of Photography.

Smile and remember, tomorrow it may well be you.

Chris Hanch 1-24-18

Who Would You Say is to Blame?

Gray skies today may mean snow or rain.

Why is it we long so for renewal and

unification? There are deep oceans hidden

within us. The ladder resting beside the

barn will eventually rot away. There shall

be no climbing today. We fondly remember

the way things were, yet willingly comply

with the inevitability of change. Each day

carries a message which includes you, and

you fail to see a solution. Someone not

related to you points the finger. Me, you

ask? For the gray and the rain, this time

you accept the blame. The oceans are

teeming with fish. When the net is cast,

some will be caught, so many more are

meant to escape. Should any of this ring

true for you, don’t just stand there, turn

around and walk away...

Yes, you, I’m talking to you! Confused?

No one said this was going to be easy.
It is then you may come to understand

that this puzzle cannot be successfully
completed for it seems to be missing
far too many pieces.

Chris Hanch 1-22-18

Uniform of the Day

Here, according to my best remembering,

is how our mother dressed my two brothers

and me to go out and play in the 1950s.

I know many things have changed since

then, not the least of which is the sending

of three kids aged 4, 5 and 6 outside alone

to play. Let me know where you’re going

if you leave the backyard, she would say.

Anyway, this is how we were dressed on

any given day to go out and play: Blue

jeans by Wrangler with rolled-up cuffs;

footwear, black, PF Flyers (because they

were less expensive than the red or white);

tee-shirt, white by Munsingwear; vinyl coon

skin hat, replicated from Walt Disney’s

Davy Crockett (optional); six-shooter, cap

pistol with holster, and an emboldened

yet “Aww shucks, Ma'am” Roy Rogers

attitude—Stick ‘em up, bad guys…Don’t

even think about messin’ with me!

And my puzzled neighborhood best friend,

Larry, would have to ask, Who are you

supposed to be? (Had I worn my red felt

cowboy hat instead, I suppose Larry would

have known immediately.) Look here,

I would tell him, holding out my pistol.

It’s engraved on these genuine pearl

handles, can’t you see?

Chris Hanch 1-20-18 

More or Less, Just Words

There will come a day when I will have nothing more

to say. I shall leave volumes of vocabulary up to you

to decipher and use likewise to spread the news. Wait!

All those words never belonged to me in the first place,

you might say. Adam and Eve, Homer, Attila the Hun,

Shakespeare, even 50 Cent all spoke them before I did.

I am nothing but a copycat, a damn plagiarist, you

may accuse. And it’s true, there is nothing new, linguis-

tically-speaking, under the moon. Well, what the hell,

we are all mere copies of copies of copies, replicated

progenies descendant from millennia of generations, all

of whom can be attributed to or duly accused of passing

this vile or vital trail of verbiage along. My claim to

fame is not that I was the first at saying anything. Okay,

I may have arranged my written or spoken intercourse

with you or the world at large in a slightly unique or

creatively different way, but I certainly would never

maintain holding copyright exclusivity for that which

I have ever attempted to relay, literally or illiterately

speaking that is. Mark my words, dear friends, all of

the folderol which I have spread across this page for

certain goes without saying. Don’t you just love the

sound of that word, folderol?

Chris Hanch 1-19-18

Yesterday, Today, and Then Who Knows?

I sit here today in the midst of all that is familiar

to me. Yesterday was once today, and I moved

forward, like it or not, accepting the change. I

checked the weather on TV early this morning

to see how I must prepare for that which has

a 90% chance of happening, meteorlogically

speaking. Dressed appropriately I plan to remain

warm and secure. Otherwise, should I stay inside

with my eyes open wide, baring some sudden

metabolic malfunction, I should make it through

this day unscathed. That being said, lets discuss

all the unforseen possibilities which tomorrow

may reveal...Not! I am no fool, neither soothsayer

or clairvoyant, you see. Tomorrow is not yet up to

me. And other than saying what I need to say, in

actuality, neither is today. I do plan on making a

tuna casserole for my evening meal. Perhaps I

should have first checked the kitchen cabinet and

fridge for all the ingredients I will need. As backup,

in case something key is missing, I can always rely

on a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bologna

sandwich which I keep in ample supply just in case.

And, I’m pretty sure I have enough dog food for

another week should my pups and I survive.

Chris Hanch 1-18-18

Dream vs Reality--Differences Between You and Me

The world at sleep does not dream of you and me.

We have all had our dreams where we are at the

center of all things. It is upon awakening that we

come to understand we are alone and a long, long

way from home. Fear not, my friend, without our

thoughts where would we be? I dreamed I was you

and you were me. To dream is to be. Where is the

reality? The differences between us lies in imagining.

Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. You dream in

color, I see mine in black and white. We were both

wrong, only occasionally right. Sometimes I do wish

you were not so obtuse.

Chris Hanch 1-17-18

What It Takes Sometimes

It took many turning wheels to get me here,

and countless footsteps throughout the years.

And too, I would fly from here to there from

time to time. But in reasoning the ability to

convey my presence here to you this day is

in part due to a smart slap on my backside

the doctor initially applied to get my breathing

started the day I was born. And as well, I must

give credit to my father for a more stinging and

thoughtful rebuke as he paddled my tender butt

for taking stuff which did not belong to me. This

valued lesson in life taught me most appropriately

to ask permission first, and to always say, please.

Chris Hanch 1-16-18

A Reason for Everything

There is a reason for everything. That’s what

father told me when he figured I was old

enough to understand his reply to my asking

him, why? Still, there is so much left out there

dangling on life’s tenuous thread of uncertainty.

Take first names for instance, mine happens to

be Christopher. It’s not as common as say, Bob,

Sam, or Tom, but not nearly as rare as Ulysses

or Titus or Manfred. So, if you hear your name

called out by the hostess at a restaurant, run to

the front, waive your hands frantically, and

answer as fast as you can. You never know, there

may be another one waiting with the same first

name who is just as hungry as you. And it is then

you understand, no matter how common, they

always ask for first names in those places. They

know, unless your name happens to be either

Smith or Jones, chances are more than likely they
would mispronounce your last.

Chris Hanch 1-15-18

If Only

Had I a two-horse wagon, I would head

West and rediscover California again.

Things may have turned out differently

then. Never being quite satisfied, I may

have traveled back East and given Erie,

Baltimore and Cleveland different names.

I certainly would have planned much

more thoughtfully things which seemingly

happened so randomly. I would have

peppered the map with names such as

Butternut Falls, Indiana, Sweet Spot,

Virginia, Corn Cob, Missouri, Lazy Day,

New Jersey and so on. Had I a two-horse

wagon, things would have certainly

turned out differently. Native Americans

could have reclaimed their lands and

charged rent to the occupying pioneers and

colonists. But alas, it’s all my pie-in-the-sky

imagining, you see. Instead, I sit here in

my seventieth year trying to figure out this

text-messaging thing, in an attempt to best

explain how things may have turned out

differently for you and me if only I had a

two-horse wagon way back when. And had

I a four-horse hitch, mind you, why most

certainly I could have done a hell of a lot more.

Chris Hanch 1-14-18

That Which I Did Not Do

I did not fight in the Revolutionary or Civil

Wars. And, I have no artwork hanging in the

Louvre. The automobile, light bulb and smart

phone were not invented by me.

I had nothing to do with the construction of the

Golden Gate Bridge or Empire State Building,

although I may have given those a try had I been

alive at the time.

I hold no land-speed records, nor have I been

inducted in Baseball’s Hall of Fame. Pull any

volume of history off any library shelf and find

none of them include even the mention of me.

No symphony, unfinished or otherwise, not even

a one-note samba has ever been composed by me.

Me, me, me...I...I...I...It isn’t that I didn’t try. There

just happens to be all these other guys who are

better at what they do than I. I did win a game

of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey when I was a kid.

Some claimed that I cheated, but I won the prize.

I got to take home the cake and eat it too.

Chris Hanch 1-12-18

Of All Days, Today is the Day

To all of you, or just a few who may

be reading this today. Could be right now

today, perhaps fifty or a hundred years from

now today. In any case maybe this today

I happen to be still here, somewhere nearby

or someplace far away, but still here.

Should it be another day in the future, lets

say, I could be speaking to you from the

grave. Life we all know is sometimes

that way—today or some other, but

never yesterday. I can’t go back. None

of us can, you know, much as we may

want to. So, to all of you, or just a few

who may be reading this today, mind

you, there are do-overs, but only if

done when and where you are today.

That may or may not be tomorrow. No

one on God’s Green Earth can really say.

Chris Hanch, Today

Survival or Not

Some years ago, a friend of mine who happened to be

an anthropologist told me of her time spent living among

the Bushmen of Tanzania on the Serengeti Plains. These

were an ancient nomadic people who lived off the land,

and who at the time were rapidly disappearing due to the

encroachment of civilization and progress.

I am sure by now, some twenty-years later, most of them

if not all have been assimilated into more restricted systems

of modern-day society. My friend was in tears as she relayed

her story of these primitive yet lovely people to me.

The Bushmen were a caring and savvy people who taught

generation after generation of their children how to survive

the sparseness and harshness of their environs on the unfor-

giving savannas of their homeland.

A child of four or five knew which plants were poison and

which were edible in order to survive. At such a tender age,

they were shown where to dig for and find life-sustaining,

fresh water in an otherwise parched and arid land.

It amazes me that in our so-called advanced society today,

many of our inner-city children in the USA, shamefully yet

vitally, realize what it takes to survive the perils of their sur-

roundings in this day and age. Committed to reflexive memory,

they learn to hit the dirt or duck for cover at the sound of

gunfire. And still, far too many innocents do not survive.

We hear their stories, and over and again, we close our eyes.

Begs to question: By which standard or measure shall we consider

ourselves as civilized?

Chris Hanch 1-10-18

Reflection

Each morning as I look into the mirror, I can either be

honest about the what I’m seeing, or can choose to

glorify my ego with a lie. What I happen to witness

with my own eyes, admittedly, is a questionable matter

left to my own perception. It is then I am compelled to

decide…Oh what the hell, it’s all a crap shoot anyway—

I might as well go on. I suppose there will always be those

who are thinking that I must have been a funny looking

baby to begin with. (You, my friend, are certainly not a
sight for sore eyes.) 

Chris Hanch 1-9-18

The Me I was Formerly

What have I learned in this world

which has turned me? You may say

I am not the person I used to be.

Oh yes, age and mental conditioning

had something to do with the who

I have become—old and gray, the

cynical frame which surrounds me,

the wobbling and hobbling of an

unsteady gait I have grown to live

with throughout my days. Long

ago my train left the station,

chugging and puffing along to

its unknown destination. We are

all born fools of our own undoing

in the belief that we have it all

under control, twisting and turning

our Rubik's Cube life into its intended

aligning. All I ever did was to awaken

every morning, day after day for years

and years on end. So, what happens

then? You decide to turn around and

face another life when a stranger calls

out your name. That’s just the way it

is. It’s up to you, up to me, all of us

collectively can bask in some glory,

each accepting our share of the blame.

We have earned what we have learned.

No, I am not the person I used to be.

Look into my eyes and see. Yet, I shall

not forget the me I was formerly. And

still, albeit more cautiously, it is in my

nature to turn around when someone

calls out my name.

Chris Hanch 1-7-18

Directions to Old Age

Just because I am older and have

lived longer than you doesn’t

necessarily mean I know where

I’m going. I can assure you, I know

full-well where I have been and from

where I came.

As for me, and this may or may not

apply to you, I’d say it has been pretty

even, a fifty-fifty split—half this way,

and half that. I recall the road sign

indicating Peoria to the north and

Decatur to the south.

I ignored both and went on to St. Louis

instead. Eventually, that lead me to old

age in Kansas City and where I reside

with my two dogs today. All in all, K.C.

is a fairly decent place to be. But then

again, that’s just me.

I never really intended to stop in Peoria

or Decatur in the first place. I’m sure there

are a few old folks who did.

Chris Hanch 1-6-18

Another Lesson Learned

There was so much my dad neglected to

tell me as a child. Could be that he was just

waiting for the right time when he figured

I would be old enough to understand. (Perhaps

he didn’t have all the answers himself.) Yet, he

did teach me in his way when to be assertive,

and when to be patient—“Go for it! Wait for it;

give it time! The Earth is round, he’d tell me.

And gravity allows you to keep your feet firmly

planted on the ground.” He pointed to Orion

the Hunter outlined by the stars at night. I

couldn’t quite make out then the image he was

trying to show me. It took a few more years

before I could see a bit more clearly. “Next

time, son, ask me before you take the hammer

from my toolbox,” dad scolded, “and when you’re

done with it, make sure you put it back in where

you found it.” I was five-years old, and a sound

spanking from dad taught me that lesson, made

me realize that it was a good thing that I had

feigned making out that Orion thing. Turned out

to be one man’s vision anyway. But, I did learn at

a very young age, rather than a whooping, a little

white lie now and again didn’t smart nearly as bad.

Chris Hanch 1-5-18