Thoughts, So Many Thoughts

Thinking of white-faced mimes today,

gyrating their arms and legs, running

their fingers over invisible panes of

glass with nothing to say. Thoughts,

so many thoughts today, of meteorolo-

gists smiling brilliantly on wide-screen

TV predicting 50% chance of rain and a

Nor'easter ready to slam into the Atlantic

Coast of Maine. What of the jockey who

tumbles end over end on the track with

his horse in race #5 at Aqueduct? Ever

wake up from a dream suddenly thinking

about frizzy-headed, bulb-nosed clowns

driving those stupid little cars. Scary! And

you get to thinking that the boring job you’ve

had for the past seven years is going nowhere.

But the vacation you have planned this sum-

mer will give you a well-deserved break from

the tedious routine of your day-to-day. You

consider those college kids who dress up as

Mickey Mouse and Pluto and parade for

hours around the concourse at Disneyland.

You hadn’t thought of it before, but on a

Parts Unknown you saw on TV, Anthony

Bourdain made a point of telling the viewers

that the kids inside frequently fart in those

suits. The world, even the wonderful world of

make-believe, when you think about it, can be

in actuality a rank and disgusting place. You

imagined yourself one day base jumping off

a mountainside in Peru in one of those wing

suites. What a way to go. However, you do

have a fear of heights, besides your passport

has expired. You had the chance to major

meteorology in college, and you chose IT

instead. And here you are on vacation taking

a selfie with Donald Duck and your kids.

Chris Hanch 10-31-18

Sirens

Sirens sound with frequency—fire, police or medical

respond daily to emergencies. Unless involved personally,

we tend to ignore the blaring cacophony of sound.

While driving, pull the car over to the side of the road

and yield the right of way. Somewhere ahead misfortune

awaits, and there is no time to waste.

Be mindful, my friends (not necessarily this, but perhaps

one day soon), sirens could be meant for the likes of

you or me.

The sound comes closer and grows louder. Siren’s shrill

decibels perk and pierce the ear, and in perfect-pitched

harmony, the irritated dog lifts its snout skyward and howls.

Chris Hanch 10-29-18

Having It Made n the Shade

Some of us make it, some of us not so much.

Looking back on it, had I some brilliant idea

which would change the world, I could have

hit it rich, had it financially made. I’d be

driving a Jaguar XKE instead of a sputtering

Chevy. I’d have an estate in some suburban

upscale gated community, you know like

Wozniak, Jobs or Gates. For decades now,

I rented a place to live, a small two bedroom

affair without even a one-care garage to get me

started toward fame and fortune. I was so stupid.

All I ever wanted was a living wage like most

folks, noting more than to pay my bills and have

enough left over for food on the table and maybe

to save a bit extra for a vacation once a year. I’ve

been so stupid not aspiring to gaining fortune and

fame. I’d rather have the time after my eight to

five being left alone to paint and write. Used to be

people would occasionally ask me what it is I do

for a living? Oh, I do daily driving and delivery for

the Local Kinko’s. You know, most days I get in my

Dodge Caravan and drive a hundred miles. All I want

is to be left alone, do my pick-ups, deliveries and

drive. Some who know the other side of me say

that my artwork and poetry are of museum and

literary quality. How come your not wealthy? I’m a

goddamn romantic I tell them, you know, the starving

artist type of little or no repute. All I want is to punch

out at five o’clock and have a beer or two. I look

forward to Fridays, then getting a couple of days off.

Who in hell do you know who has achieved fame

and fortune by living their life that way? You

like this painting? It’s worth every bit of a hundred

bucks, I’d say. And believe you me, that’s a deal…

Okay then, I suppose fifty will do.

Chris Hanch 10-28-18

Uncle Buddy

I had an uncle, everyone called him Buddy.

In fact, not until I grew older did I find out

his real and proper name was Alphonsus.

Had that been my name, as a kid at least,

Buddy seemed far more fitting and friendly.

When and where we grew up, it was more

likely a kid named Alphonsus would be

bullied by other kids in the neighborhood

and school with more common and accep-

table names like Bobby, Johnnie, Paul and

Pete. Why hell, at times it was more than I

could handle being named, Chris, which tee-

tered on the verge of being sissy. Be that as

it may, let’s move on with Buddy. He was my

favorite uncle on my mother’s side, always

happy-go-lucky and good nurtured as could

be. Later on, as an adult, I looked up the origin

of Uncle Buddy’s real name—Alphonsus—from

the Spanish, Italian and Irish meaning “noble

and ready.” Given his mother was Irish through

and through, it all became very clear to me how

he came to be given that name. As a grown-up

myself now, I find that Alphonsus has a certain

ring of class to it. And believe you me, Buddy

or Alphonsus in my estimation was one classy

dude. Why, once when we were discussing old

age and what we might like to do when our

minds and bodies became too enfeebled to

do the things as younger folks we used to do,

Buddy said, push me in my wheel chair under

a shade tree in the warm desert preferably,

and pop a guava bean into my mouth at meal-

time, and I’ll be a happy man. Alphonsus, or

Uncle Buddy as I fondly remember him, lived

to be in his nineties. He died peacefully in

Phoenix, Arizona. And to this day, I envision

him at rest in his wheel chair sitting in the

afternoon shade under a Palo Verde Tree

shortly after dinnertime.

Chris Hanch 10-27-18

Something About the Change

Let’s imagine the piece of paper folds itself

in half and walks away disgusted over some-

thing you meant to say. Fig trees in Lebanon

are growing bananas this year because ba-

nana trees in Brazil failed to do what they

were supposed to do. Raccoon wrestling

becomes a major event at the 2020 Summer

Olympics in Tokyo, Japan. As seen on TV,

thousands of disabled Opossum take to the

streets of Anchorage protesting for a fair wage.

You awoke this morning with the feeling that

things went out of kilter somewhere along the

way. Seems your mental hemispheres have

somehow been rearranged. You step outside

and look up at the sky checking for signs of

light. The two left shoes you’re wearing can’t

be right. You pinch yourself, and yep, it hurts

like hell. And from this point on, nothing

Donald Trump can say or do will seem odd to

you. Fake News? It is then you realize, not

even CNN or MSNBC can help you. What a pity…

Oh, for shame. You have only yourself to blame.

Chris Hanch 10-26-18

Something About Knowledge

Torrents of rain, the river rises and

flood waters inundate. Not here but
elsewhere today. Sugar maples, poplar
and sycamore are lighted afire, autumn

colors abound yellow, orange, and
crimson throughout Midwestern
woodlands, not here but a few miles
away. It is worth the drive to see

them this season some will say. GPS
will lead you directly to the doorstep
of your destination, geosynchronous
satellites above will guarantee. Nature

and technology collide and intermingle
on a regular basis every day. Sands of
the Sahara shift and drift, and only the
Bedouin knows. There are those out

there somewhere of whom we are not
aware who are one with the land and
can account for every grain moved in
the change. The man next door is in

charge of an Amazon warehouse which
tracks every item received and shipped
from his location. It’s complicated, my
friends, even when we’re made aware

of what is happening. Mozart's music,
hundreds of years old, speaks to us
with every note of something we never
knew before.

Chris Hanch 10-25-18

Dilemma

This was no way to begin the day. Early morning,

dark before dawn, chilly outside, nearly November,

and a newly-installed latch and handle on the patio

door of my apartment. Take the dogs out to do their

business. Open and close the slider behind us. Click!

Damn, locked out and have no way to get back in.

The new apparatus, unlike the old, is spring-loaded

and decided to lock itself, leaving the pups and me

stranded out in the cold. 6 AM, too early to summon

help from apartment maintenance. Fortunately, I had

my cell phone with me, so I called my son who lives

ten or so miles away. I explain my dilemma to him,

realizing that a time ago I had the foresight to give

him a spare key.

Oh no, he remembered, it’s with the car keys my

daughter has with her at college out of town.

Double damn!! (and a few more swear words to

boot). It’s cold, I’m disabled and old, and the pups

are shivering and barking at what they perceive is

looming in the dark.

It’ll take about an hour for me to get there, my son

told me. That gave me time to consider history, yes

history, even though a proficiency in burglary would

have been a far better skill set given the situation. I

am pretty sure Alexander the Great or Richard III

never experienced a lock-out in their day and age.

Hell, had they a stupid self-locking door with which

to contend, at least they would have legions of

soldiers, courtiers, all matter of minions surrounding

them to breach any obstruction they may have

encountered. Surely they would have come equipped

with, say, a battering ram or a like device which could

have easily cleared the way.

Ah but this is a so-called technologically advanced day

and age, and battering rams are gone the way of history.

Besides, I am neither emperor nor king. In any case,

a key!I cried out into the cold and lonely darkness of

morning. A key, my goddamn kingdom for a key!!

About an hour later, my son arrived with some

Craftsman tools, and we managed to get in. Still,

I figured, being emperor or royalty would have

surely facilitated my entry a hell of a lot sooner.

Chris Hanch 10-24-18

What Has Come to Be

Some folks, the conscientious and fastidious,

some folks the ambitious and anal retentive

make a list of things which need to be done.

Some folks, the boastful and showy hanker

for praise. I have matured to an age and con-

dition when I couldn’t give a damn about

such things. Call me slovenly and uncaring

if you will. I’m done with proper and tidy,

I see the undone as a victory for me. I have

won the war on the belief of necessity. No

more lawns to mow, no more bushes to prune,

no check engine light to worry me. My chain

contains but one key to unlock the front door

which I rarely pass through anymore. On the

rare occasion when people ask me what it is

I do for a living my answer is that I breathe, in

and out with religious regularity each day. No

list of things to do requires a reminder for that.

I am the Slob King, crowned ruler in the realm

of my own reality.

Chris Hanch 10-22-18

The Likes of Me

In my youth my dad exposed me

to the teachings of St. Francis of

Assisi. Brother Moon and Sister

Sun, all things natural were gifts

of God related to you and me.

I thought it would be cool to have

birds and squirrels flock around

me unafraid as Francis in painting

and statuary is so often portrayed.

Later on in life, I figured no matter

how decent a person I would endea-

vor to be, I was still a human being.

Other creatures had an ingrained

tendency for survival which prohibi-

ted them from trusting me implicitly.

Still, to this day, I have an affinity

for that romanticized mythology.

But now, as an adult I find myself

aligned more to the brass tacks of

reality.

I realized that I would just have to

admire wildlife from a safe distance

which in many cases (say with wolves,

lions and venomous snakes) would be

mutually advantageous for both them

and me.

Mark Twain, I discovered later, had

sort of the same take on the under-

standing of our connectivity with

all creation. He went so far as to

include Lucifer into the mix worthy

of our understanding.

After all, there cannot effectively be

good without evil to oppose or balance

things out. And more often than not,

we never give Beelzebub his due.

In considering Twain’s argument,

I would have to say that I surely

can relate.

In my youth, having been raised in the

Catholic Faith, and as a baptized and

bonafide recipient of the Sacraments, I

was compelled to go to Confession once

a week and receive God’s forgiveness

for the devil acting out heinously and

selfishly from within me.

It is small wonder that birds and

squirrels know better than to cozy

up to and trust the likes of me. And

if I were you, I’d be wary too,

Chris Hanch 10-21-18

From Where I Stand

Basically, I know about air providing lift

flowing across the given shape of an aircraft

wing. I learned it takes a certain velocity and

speed to escape the bounds of gravity.

I have come to understand that the body can

withstand excessive g-forces when equipped

with a properly pressurized suit.

Mathematically calculated trajectory which

ensures pinpointing the target precisely takes

a higher degree of education than was ever

understood by me.

Hell, I doodled cartoon characters on my

assignment paper during math class in the

eighth grade.

While I have in my lifetime managed to get

from point A to point B, without personally

applying algebraic, geometric or calculi

techniques, I have frequently relied upon

maps, GPS and the random, hit and miss

directions of those who did.

I do, however, get the droll humor behind the

antics of Charlie Brown and Lucy. But still, to

this day, Einstein’s E=mc2 remains a mystery

to me.

Chris Hanch 10-20-18

The State of My Affairs

The date? October 17^th, I answered without

hesitation (and I was right). And the year?

2018. I was right again.

The nurse practitioner nodded her head,

writing something down in her notes. That’s

the kind of test I like on any given day when

I happen to know the answers.

She was testing my cognition, my awareness

of place and time. Being of a certain advanced

age, it made sense that she would test my

mental faculties.

Any pain, she continued with her medical

evaluation? While I sit motionless in place,

about a 2 or 3. But, it’s about an 8, 9 or

10 when I’m standing and moving about.

(I figured that was normal considering the

arthritic condition in my hips.)

Do you smoke, and how many years? Yes,

longer that you’ve been alive. I’m fifty-two

she replied. Oh, yes, I said, longer than that.

Who is the President of the United States?

Damn it! Son of a bitch! Donald Trump!

And I’ll not come back to the VA again

until his picture is removed from this place,

I insisted.

That malignancy pisses me off far worse

than the crappy condition I happen to be in.

Chris Hanch 10-19-18

Where We Are Today

I have a secret to share with you today, one 

which may knock your socks off. In light of

openness and transparency, I feel compelled

to to tell you the truth.

In 1947, I was born into a substantive reality,

far flung from what may be perceived as modern

times today. I have since been molded and

fashioned, you see, into what is now a techie
facsimile of the creature I used to be.

Call me an aged and refurbished product of
antiquity, call me a relic of history if you please.

I have been transformed over time into a pix-

elated version of the flesh and blood human

being formerly known as me.

I have become but a game to be played in cyber

space on any electronic device with which you

prefer to engage. And surprise! Here’s the news,

my digitized friends, so too have you.

What we have come to be, the best and worst

of us in terms of broad-band connectivity, 

are being played at the speed of light on the

World-wide Web of Virtual Reality.

Chris Hanch 10-18-18

One Day at a Time

Most of my adult life

I’ve been told by some

who are supposed to know,

one day at a time. How else

is one to live their life,

anyway, recovering or not.

We’re all in recovery, aren’t

we, making it through

yesterday mostly, then another

awakening today. You are

here as misfortune or luck

would have it. And I, like-

wise have managed to sur-

vive all the grace and stupidity

I could muster. Time passes

in time, good and bad ride

on the backs of seconds,

minutes, hours, days and

years. Gone are all the

great ones along with the

unknowns. Someone today

will take it as it comes. One

day at a time, some will say,

the ones who will somehow

manage to navigate that

banal 24-hour philosophy.

I say, look both ways before

you cross the street is how

I got here. How many one

days at a time does that take?

In damn near 72-years I've
been side swiped a time or two,
but ain’t been run over yet.

Chris Hanch 10-17-18

Something About the Basics

November is rapidly approaching and each

year I am reminded of two anniversaries I

celebrate at this time of year.

In 1964, at seventeen, I went into the U.S.

Army as a volunteer; and in 1967 I was

honorably discharged after 3-years of service.

Fortunately for me, after my Basic and

Advanced Training, I was sent overseas

and stationed in Germany for the remainder

of my enlistment.

The unlucky GIs of the time were assigned

to Hawaii. And unbeknownst to them, that

was but a staging for the soon to be escala-

tion of hostilities in Vietnam.

Beer and fraulines, rather than bullets,

snipers and claymore mines was a far

better engagement, surely those with the

hindsight of history would agree.

One aspect of the military my contemporaries

and I did share, however, was Basic Training.

I took mine at Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri.

Others braved their initial eight weeks at Ft.

Hood, Texas, FT. Knox, Kentucky, Ft. Polk,

Louisiana, Ft. Sill, Oklahoma or elsewhere at

camps and bases across this great land.

Bitterly cold or beastly heat, rock-hard or mud

wallowing misery, to a man, seems that every-

one had a their own particular hellhole story

of Basic Training to tell.

And for me, that conjures up several key words

and phases with which every recruit can readily

relate. So profound an impact did those battle

hardened drill sergeants have on us, that to this

day their commands remain indelibly engraved

into the cerebral cortex of our brains. They are

empowered with the title of Drill Sergeant for

a reason, you know.

Here are but a few which I shall pass along

to you for review...

Beware of these:

Fall in!

Ten hut! (Attention!)

Double-time march!

I need a couple of volunteers.

Private (Your name here)!!!

Inspection arms!

Drop and give me twenty!

Private, report to the Orderly Room!

(You knew you were in deep kimchi

when the drill sergeant referred

to you as “Numb Nuts” or

“Buzzard F**k.”)

Be appreciative for these:

At ease!

Fall out!

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!

Should some of these not make sense

to you, be grateful for those alive and

fallen who have served. For those of

you still around and kicking who can

relate, my best wishes on Veteran’s Day.

I am witting this in mid-October instead

of November because in life as with the

military, one just never knows what to

expect next.

Chris Hanch 10-16-18