Timelessness Today

All of a sudden, I have become

aware that after a lifetime of

nearly seventy-two years, today

is the day I have waited for so

long. Gone are those rigid

military days of hurry up and

wait. No doctor’s appointments

to keep, no sweaty-palm time

wasted at the DMV, no 8 to 5

rigors to maintain. Today, I get

to be nowhere in particular,

neither on time nor too late, the

satisfying place of peaceful

achievement where nothing ever

waits, and where one is fitfully

in place, never running ahead

or falling behind to be anywhere.

For joy, dear readers and hopeful

achievers of this glorious state,

timelessly and immemorial,

tomorrow promises the same.

Chris Hanch 9-30-18

More Words of Wisdom

Infancy and ignorance eventually grew me into a

skeptical wise-ass maturity. Even bad choices and

mistakes I’ve made unwittingly got me to the old

and infirmed grouch I turned out to be. In my prime,

from the floor up, I measured by the inch an admir-

able length of six-foot, three. Today, I stand shrunken

and withered considerably, endowed with all this

wisdom yet far less fit physically with my limited

and waning capability. Even though the age-old

rebuke, “Grow up,” no longer applies to me, and in

my irreversible condition, that affords me little conso-

lation or relief. These days I find the lines of my life

sensibly rhyme sometimes, and sometimes not. And,

as for those touted “endless possibilities” thrown about

all too liberally, those likewise no longer ring true for me.

Give me my recliner, some Beethoven and a good book,

and I’ll shut the hell up.

Chris Hanch 9-29-18

My Life Unfurled

The Grand Canyon happened eons ago.

The Mighty Mississippi preceded me

and is guaranteed to continue flowing

long after I’m gone.

I’ve seen Greece and Italy up close, and

not one day of history has changed.

I’ve never taken first place in any event

you may have recognized, never sang

Aïda on the Metropolitan Opera Stage.

In fact, I’ve been the sour note in every

chorus of Happy Birthday I’ve attempted

to sing.

I kissed a monkey once and still I could

tell it preferred over-ripe bananas as a

treat instead.

In my lifetime I have taken in more of

Earth’s precious oxygen than likely I

have rightly deserved.

I have plodded along trails having left

every stone of consequence unturned.

I’m older and retired now and, my friends,

the end zone is close at hand. I could have

used a baseball metaphor instead, but I never

excelled in that sport either.

I am the guy who forgot the punch line to the

funniest joke you may have never heard.

Remember, the one where a priest, a rabbi and

a Protestant minister walked into a bar…

(Perhaps an Imam was with them too.)

Anyway, you’ve got to see the Grand Canyon

should you get the chance. It is amazing!

Chris Hanch 9-28-18

The Fight, a Case for Words

The prize fighter takes a pummeling in the ring.

Round three and nine more to go.

He won’t say “Uncle” or throw in the towel,

but he’s thinking this here opponent I’m facing

is beating the living crap out of me. I’d better

bob and weave.

Saved by the bell this time.

Swab the cut opened above the swollen eye;

“Give ‘em hell with your right,” his trainer cries.

Round four and more of the same.

Arms and legs become a lead-weighted drain.

A flurry of jabs to the face, a left/right combination

to the gut and a lightning-bolt uppercut to the jaw.

And our hero goes down for the count...Six! Seven!

Eight! Nine! Ten!

Staggering to his feet and wobbly at best to stand,

the ref grabs him by the gloves, pushes him back, and

flailing arms, calls for an end. TKO the judges rule

unanimously.

Whatever possessed me to describe such a thing as

this pugilistic combat in the ring? Personally, I am

repulsed by a blood and guts beating such as this.

Admittedly, I have had (and mostly lost) physical

scuffles in my time, but I’ve never been paid to

fight in my life.

Simply put, this morning I sat down to write, and the

words “pummeling” and “pugilistic” came to mind.

Don’t ask my why.

That’s just the way it works sometimes.

Chris Hanch 9-27-18

A Message Today for What It May Be Worth

Each day I wake. It’s either a gift or a mistake. I am

here, nonetheless, and I'll take what I get either way.

Do I have something to say this early in my day? I need

to sort through the jumble of my still half-baked brain

and its state of not-quite-done consciousness.

No, no, not the same thought again. I’ve expressed that

idea before. Perhaps a different way of expressing what

I’ve thought before.

A bright ribbon or bow, perhaps, to adorn the old and worn,

that which has been used a thousand times before. Finding

a unique way to excite and titillate, and hopefully entice

the curious to open and see what the contents of this pack-

age could possibly be.

Surprise! It’s a paisley tie I received at Christmastime, one

according to my taste is far too hideous and gaudy to be

worn by me. And for you, well possibly, there are no words

to adequate describe.

So, you may be asking yourself, how in the world of com-

mon sense does this relate to what I may or may not wish

to impart to you with my words today?

There’s always a choice, you know: re-gift that which has

been re-gifted to you, or throw the damn thing away. Skip

the design if you will, the combination of colors does some-

what compliment your eyes.

My part in this exercise is done for today.

Chris Hanch 9-26-18

Hopeful Possibilities

Some will claim all the glory days are gone.

The gold mine has played out, so let’s move

along. A younger mind and keener eyes may

see things far differently—life is abloom with

treasurer, hope and possibility. This is how

our species manages to somehow carry on.

There are still dreams to be lived, my friends,

stellar legacies to be made. Hold out hope that

new art, music and science are on the horizon.

We humans have an innate tendency to invent

and innovate. Earth, hopefully, is not the last fron-

tier open to renewal and exploration. There are

children today who lift their eyes skyward, and

in the darkness of night, visualize countless points

of light. There will be no denying those who shall

grow to place their hopes and dreams on won-

drous starlit discoveries. And speaking for older

folks out there like me who did what we could,

it makes us proud to see hope for our youth in

the future, and to exalt the sterling realms of

their boundless creativity.

Chris Hanch 9-25-18

Some Old Age Days are Just That Way

Who knows, it could be a paper cut which

aggravates me today, or loud music coming

from neighbors in the apartment next door.

Who can say? Could be the sweltering heat

and humidity which stifles and depresses me.

I’ve grown to an age where curmudgeonly is

an appropriate adjective which modifies the

elderly me I now happen to be. No longer can

I jump for joy, counterfeit a smile or tactfully

pretend some bull-crap pleasantries. In my youth

I used to wonder how the aged and infirmed

got this way? Passing time, and lots of it, I say.

And perhaps you too shall see by misfortune of

the draw should you live to be arthritically

advance and mentally challenged such as I have

unwittingly grown to be. Just kidding. I tend to

exaggerate a bit these days. Don’t mind me. Just

remember to leave me be while I’m napping

peacefully. Wake me when it’s dinnertime, but

only if there’s something good like fried chicken

and mashed potatoes to eat. Who in hell am I

kidding...I live alone. A bologna sandwich is

about all I am willing and able to rustle up on

my own. For that I needn’t bother putting in

my teeth. Damned paper cut, anyway.

Chris Hanch 9-24-18

Something About Grand Kids

Something About Grand Kids

Most folks in the know will agree that

grand kids are special. For certain, mine

are to me. Now, don’t get me wrong,

even though for the most part, I’ll admit,

babies are adorable creatures, cute as

can be, but I find myself gratified to see

how they have grown into young adult-

hood, having developed their own

uniquely individual personalities.

There are some resemblances, physical

features and characteristic traits, I see

in them which quite naturally through

biology likely came from me. I’ll take

some credit due for the good and accept

my share of the blame for the genetic

flaws they unwittingly claim.

One thing I must concede is that they are

their own people now. They have become

responsible for the lives they have chosen

to lead. Oh, I don’t mind handing out free

advise now again, especially when I see a

pitfall which I myself may fallen into when

I was young and wet behind the ears as

they may be in all probability. Besides, old

farts such as I still have the need to impart

our sagacious wisdom now and again.

Mostly though, on those all too rare special

occasions when we are gathered together in

one place, I have a plaguing curiosity to ask

them, how things are going ? Naturally, my

query carries a hope that they will tell me

what they may be up to which sounds by all

accounts familiar to me, something recklessly

stupid I too would have done in my youth.

Chris Hanch 9-23-18

Humanity, the Evolution Revolution

Humanity, the Evolution Revolution

Humanity. There is a long and winding line

which stretches from the beginning to this

place we’re in today. The insect, reptile,

fish and mammal, should they have the

capability to explain, could rightfully claim

the same. And too, the flowers, grasses

and trees could state their plea had they

been endowed with such ability. Uniquely,

mankind was infused biologically with

reason, the uncanny ability to comprehend

the progression of life and its complexities.

In the natural order of things, all have pro-

pagation and survival of the species pro-

grammed into our DNA. Humanity, is the

only genus who gives himself reason to go

beyond reproduction in order to multiply

and continue his kind. Realizing math and

science were too cumbersome for my cere-

bral acuity, I developed a fervor for the arts.

And beyond my original design and utility

for procreation, I have given myself practical

reasoning to press on. Some of my anthropo-

logical kinsmen have taken to other mothers

of invention: Some have become royalty,

holding power and sway over societies; some

dictate their will and make war. Inventors and

scientists extend and enhance or desecrate our

lives. Lawyers and politicians, well, some are

meant to obfuscate and aggravate our tenuous

earthly situation. Ever sit awash in serenity on

a clear and sunny autumn morning, contem-

plating all the natural and man-made which

surrounds you in the everyday? Ah, Humanity.

Here we are strung along this long and twisted

line somewhere between simple reproductive

utility and the complexity of our self-worth

and reasoning. That’s where the Ego comes

into play with the omnipotent gods of our

own imagining to lift us up beyond reality.

Chris Hanch 9-22-18

Something About Fame

The young man attending a cartoon

class I was teaching asked me if I had

done anything famous that he might

know. Have you ever seen the comic

strips Peanuts or The Far Side, I asked

him? Everyone knows those, he smiled

in reply. Well, I went on, I had nothing

at all to do with them.

And then there was the time when an

acquaintance of mine wondered why my

writings had not made me famous and a

millionaire? I had no explanation to share.

I can’t tell you how often I have been told,

you’re paintings are good enough to hang

in museums and make you the big bucks.

It’s a gift, I’m often told.

I am gratified by these comments, and a bit

embarrassed at the same time. About a year

ago while conversing with a man I know, I

asked him if he remembered that apartment

fire in Red Bridge late last year? It made the

newspaper, and was on the five o’clock TV

news, the one where a reporter interviewed

a resident who had survived?

Sure do, he recalled. That was me, of modest

means, mind you, and still not noteworthy as

an entry in the annuls of mankind history, but

damned lucky indeed for making it out alive.

As far as I’m concerned, you can forget Andy

Warhol’s claim that everyone in the future

will receive their 15-minutes of fame.

Chris Hanch 9-21-18 

A Last Bit of Sage Advise

I gave my children life, what there was

of me genetically to pass along. By my

example and tutelage, I gave them some

traits and behaviors good and bad, words

and deeds to live by, which to abide or cast

aside.

I taught them to pray at bedtime, to say

please and thank you, and to keep their

elbows off the table while eating. Oh and

there is, chew with your mouth closed, and

don’t talk while chewing your food. Treat

everyone as you would wish to be treated

yourself.

Of course the less than admirable character-

istics I have passed along to them are too

numerous and offensive to mention in this

brief accounting I have outlined herein.

Now, granted, my kids have grown up to be

(mostly of their own doing, and in some

cases in spite of me), the best they were

meant to be. And before I head into the

last roundup, I’ll pass along to them one

more bit of sage advise, that which I have

learned in my lifetime once or twice—

Beware of chickens, not all of them, mind

you. (Kentucky Fried and Popeye's can

certainly be a tasty delight, I myself prefer

those extra-crispy thighs.) Be cautious

and look out for the sinister and wily type

which more than likely will come home to

roost. Those are the chickens apt to jump

up and bite you in the ass every time.

Chris Hanch 9-20-18

A Scene from Hopeless Reality

I lived in that city for a time in the

high desert, under the morning shadow

of Sandia Mountain. I would look out

the window of my apartment and admire

the natural wonder of the land and its

stunning peak which towered over

Albuquerque.

Now, this was a city of diverse ethnicity

where poverty, crime and addiction roamed

widely in the streets, not unlike most

urban cities of size in this country.

Oh, but there was Sandia Peak in all its

glory rising to the East. I often wondered

why so many inner-city inhabitants had

to wallow in the pit of misfortune and

pain in such a beautiful place.

Why couldn’t they escape the realized

confines of their homeless despair?

This wasn’t New York City, after all,

where skyscrapers and concrete blocked

nature and tranquility from the helplessly

famished mind.

Look out there, it’s Sandia for god’s

sake, break away from the madness

of humanity. Set yourself free.

On a park bench one day I met a man

in a most downtroden and disheveled

state. He told me that for some time he

had been living without means on the

streets of Albuquerque.

He sporadically maintained his life on

handouts, dumpster finds and soup

kitchens run by local churches and

good-will charities. He had skin of

weather-beaten leather, and his face

bore a deep scaring from broken glass.

Razors and knife blades wielded

recklessly by those rag-tag vagabonds

living on the streets hopeless as he.

Ramon was his name, he told me.

And if I could spare some change it

would be appreciated greatly. So

I dug deeply into my pocket and

gave him what I had on me at the

time. Muchas gracias! He replied.

On this day at ground level, I realized

that for Ramon and many others here

on the streets of Albuquerque that the

beauty and tranquility of nature, the

splendor that was Sandia Peak were

no more than a backdrop for misery,

a mere scenic illusion in the theater

of their grim and desperate reality.

Chris Hanch 9-19-18

Here is Where

Here is where some worked their butts off

just to pay the rent, to keep the electric and

gas running with light to see by at night, so

ovens could bake simple fare and traditional

familial delights.

Here is where friends and family came to visit

and escape, to blow out candles of celebration

on birthday and anniversary cakes, to hold hands,

hug and sing yuletide choruses at Christmastime.

Here is where faucets dripped and water pipes

burst, where good times rolled alongside the

worst. Here is where little feet outgrew their

shoes and became old enough to walk away.

Here now for shame is where nowhere is today,

where not a soul is stirring anymore, where no

tomorrows are forecast to come, where the cob-

webs of vacancy now reside, where the final rent

has been paid.

Here is where the friction of time slowly grinds

brick and mortor away, where windows to the

outside world lie fractured and shattered. Here

is now somewhere over there, and here will not

ever again be the same.

And here is where all seasons have changed and

only memories remain.

Chris Hanch 9-18-18

Live and Learn

I suppose mostly we attend school from a

very early age to learn worldly ways. We

study our courses to obtain academic tools

needed to preform acceptably in human

society today.

An anthropologist I once knew lived for

a time with a clan of Bushmen in the

Kalahari. She told me that their children

are taught from a tender age how to find

drinkable water and edible plants in the

most desolate of deserts in their region.

Over centuries things have changed and

the once nomadic people in Botswana have

unwittingly become captives of present-day

societal change.

As a young child I was taught to hold my

parents hand, and to look both ways before

crossing the street. When I outgrew the need

for that sort of supervised security, I came to

know that it was wise to take the crosswalk,

and go with the green light. Still, there is

always the chance a drunk or reckless driver

will take you out even when you are in the right.

Granted, in most places today, one needn't look

far to find fitful sustenance to eat and hydrating

libation to drink.

But beware, my friends, things have become

frightfully precarious on the streets of our

so-called civil urban settlements these days.

Keep a cautious eye out for falling bricks, be

prepared for the crazies with vehicles, bombs

and guns. Earth, wind, and fire may still crush,

incinerate or sweep you away at any time.

We’re forced to learn different methods of survival

these days, even though the ravenous big cats and

ill-tempered hyenas (leastwise around these parts)

have mostly been chased away.

Chris Hanch 9-17-18