All I Need, an Accounting

Three rooms small,

and at 90 degree angles,

a few walls. A ceiling

overhead keeping the

warm air in and cold

air out. Space to

wash, eat and sleep.

Front door and rear,

two windows facing

West, afternoon viewing

sunshine and clouds

outside is best. WiFi

cell phone and TV for

worldwide connectivity.

Food stuff shelved

and refrigerated,

enough to sustain me

for several weeks.

Paper towels

and TP to wipe up

daily messes made

by my two pups and

me.

A few bucks

banked from Social

Security to pay rent

and utilities on time.

I’ve got it made in

this old age retired

place of mine.

I use a sturdy cane

for balanced mobility.

Needn’t worry about

a car anymore, got

the whole world

and all I need right

here a few steps

in front of me.

And like the eggs

bubbling in water

on the stove top

right now for me,

it all boils down

to simplicity...

Oh yeah, and a few
good books to read.

Chris Hanch 11-30-18

My Best Wishes to You

There is a knock at my door,

figuratively speaking, of course.

For you could be somewhere else

a distance away.

A phone call, perhaps, you may

have made asking if I can come

out and play?

I am of an age when every day is a

snow day, but unfortunately, those

adventurous childhood days of sled-

ding and snowman creating have

long since passed for me.

I now have the time and a presence

of mind for fun and games, but find

myself shackled to some limiting

physical liabilities. And I sincerely

hope that you will understand.

On these gray and chilling days of

my old age, sometimes all I can man-

age to do is to send my best and

warmest wishes to you.

Sometimes the best laid plans are

left to the heartfelt expressions of

those little things we’re still able

to do.

Chris Hanch 11-29-18

A Failure to Communicate

Oh, computer of mine, this morning cold and

icy, you gave me such a hard time. You refused

me entry to the Internet, would not even display

the Google Icon allowing me the access I needed

to stream and receive my world-wide connecti-

vity. (Pity, pity, poor me.) Try after try, finessing

your sensibilities, pleading and cursing with word

and finger, pressing every key available to me,

hoping to achieve a reliable model of accessibility.

Alas, I found reboot as a last ditch necessity. And

praise be, you spiteful electronic piece of crap, it

worked. I realize even in your world of advanced

technology there are no guarantees. In ancient times

you would have surely been stoned for your vile and

malicious improprieties—guilty as charged—heinous

crimes against mankind, I surmise.

Chris Hanch

Making the Grade

I am reminded of a day long ago. I

was in my junior year at Hampshire

High School in Webster Groves,

Missouri. I was absent from my

classes that day, more than likely

feigning an illness so that I could stay

at home and draw. It was a practice I

had often employed with some reg-

ularity throughout my formidable

years. Frankly, the whole regimental

school thing was distasteful to me.

I never did well in my studies, barely

got by in math, English and history.

As an adult much later in life, having

analyzed my history, a psychologist

diagnosed me as having ADD. Back in

the early 60s little was know about that

disorder. Teachers and parents alike said

that I was just not applying my abilities

as I should. I did excel in art, however,

achieving straight “A”s in every grade

from the first throughout my school

years. My sick days were never a waste.

I didn’t use my absentee time to do the

homework I had failed to do the night

before, but rather spent my day drawing

cartoons and the like. On his way home

from school, a friend of mine dropped by

my place to check on me. Realizing that I

had more pictures to draw, I told him that I

was likely to fake illness yet another day.

My friend thought my cartoons were pretty

good. Better than I could ever do in a million

years, he told me. And for me that was as good

as any grade I could have earned at school on

any given day. This is Cassius Clay boxing and

knocking the crap out of the “Big Bear,” Sonny

Liston, I told my friend. Looks just like them.

Pretty damn good, he said. Another day and a

grade “A” as far as I was concerned. In the

years to follow, I learned nothing about ADD, and

realized that my academic attempts would likely

never improve. I would have my art, though. And

what the hell, if nothing else, I could always draw.

Months later in November of 1964 at age seven-

teen, I dropped out of school, and enlisted in the

Army. No more faking sick days for me.

Chris Hanch 11-27-18

Scraps of My Life, a Summary

Pay rent

Pills

Dr. Herbert

Trisha, RN

9 AM Wed Oct 17^th

Kaitlin Dresser

Pete Sousa Throwing Shade

15350 Melrose Drive

Spanish Style

913-658-****

Paleontology

TC8717T19

Pavlo Kastoria

Northern Greece

TV

Video Source

HDMI 1

Back to TV

1209 KCTV

Louise and Frank Vasquez

Spire bill

Amber Psychologist VA

Margo Price

My Silver Lining

First Aid Kit

Stockholm Sweden

Emmylou

Paper towels

2 cans tuna/water...

All this and more

Scribbled reminders

on scraps of paper

stacked randomly

on the end table

beside my recliner

Notes to self

mostly no need for

anymore…

Alice Walker,

Taking Arrows

Out of the Heart,

a book of recent poetry

I ordered from Amazon

Yesterday.

Throw the rest away.

Start all over again.

Chris Hanch 11-26-18

A Day in the Park

His cough is nagging and persistent,

and you just know the homeless man

is living on borrowed time. The young

woman sitting next to you is smart and

attractive, and you figure her attributes

could very well afford her a promising

future. The minister on the other side

has devoted his life to a calling hopeful

for the Kingdom of Heaven to come.

Little does he know, but a child on the

teeter-totter is practicing for the ride

of his life. Ups and downs are in the

cards for everyone. Yee-haw, ride ‘em,

Cowboy! The squirrel couldn’t care less

about its future. He grabs warily at the

peanut offered to him. It is wise for us

as well to recognize certain innate instincts.

It’s so damn convenient these days to forget

about from where we came. A few hours

sitting on a park bench in the middle of the

city can reveal the anthropology of our history.

Open your eyes and see. You needn’t unearth

bones below the surface to know…Yes, like it or

not, this mishmash of humanity includes you too.

Chris Hanch 11-25-18

Recalling a Time Gone By

Of a month, day and year, I am

certain. Born April 4^th, 1947.

That’s what my birth certificate

indicates. Throughout my time

from then till now, I have kept

a copy to remind. And in an

antiquated family album some-

where, there are a few faded

black and white photos to sub-

stantiate my claim.

On several internet sites, I have

posted hundreds of photographs

I myself have taken over the years.

Alongside many of those, I have

included the year in which they

were taken.

From my sketchy memory, I

have at best guessed when my

subject matter was captured

either on film or digitally.

I am fairly sure, however, that

you, the viewer, are more inter-

ested in the place than the time,

unless that is, the photographs

happens to include you.

When was it I looked that way, you

may ask? Oh, five, ten, twenty or

so years ago, according to my best

recollection. I do know, however

that that special one of you was

shot on film, quite some time before

digital came into view.

Ah, the beauty of youth, the curse

or the shame of remembering in

vivid images the best or worst of

who you appeared to be at a parti-

cular time and place.

Choose the medium; consider the

specific scene in which you may

have been portrayed. If you are still

around to recall, I suppose any year

within reason will do. Go ahead and

flatter yourself. Be careful, though,

not to step too far over the line.

Pick a year, a time and place, and

keep in mind, you where fairer

and more fetching way back then.

(But weren’t we all?)

Alas, with the advancements in cos-

metology and technology today,

creams and photo-shop are far less

costly and not nearly as invasive

as plastic surgery, I’d say.

Chris Hanch 11-24-18

Show and Tell, Believe it or Not

Show and Tell, Believe it or Not

I am running out of photos to show you,

my friends. It has been awhile since I’ve

traveled to exotic places capturing on

film or digitally anything unusual or new.

Each day my vocabulary seems to dwindle,

slipping farther and farther away. There are

limitations to words I can choose to say.

Had I a switch in my brain, I may flip it to

translations from the Swedish, or some com-

plicated ancient dialect from the Armenian

or Chinese. Something new, an obtuse angle

from the antiquated old I could bring linguis-

tically to the table of what I’d have to say. We

all appreciate something polished to shine in

the eye of our minds. A revelation perhaps, I’d

share, should I be willing and able to fashion

or fabricate a thing completely new, a refreshing

view I would bring to you for intense pondering

and scrutiny. Squirrels have quietly and effectively

taken over the world. All the walnuts and acorns

have been gathered and securely stored away in

hidden places. Don’t believe me? Well step out

into your backyard, look out the kitchen window

and see for yourself. If there is snow, how on

Earth would you know what is buried below?

Things change, what else is there for me to say?

I could take a picture to share with you. Could be

photo-shopped, who could say anyway? Sound

crazy or implausible? Well, dear reader, I can

assure you, I happen to be the only hazelnut in

the bunch those scheming squirrels allowed to

escape. Now you know; never say that I didn’t

tell you so.

Chris Hanch 11-23-18

Giving Thanks Today

Sometimes things cross the mind. It could be

the madness of man which causes such random

happenings. I was sitting half-awake in my

early morning state. It is Thanksgiving Day,

one of several hundred which came before.

This time I won’t have turkey, dressing or

mashed potatoes in mind. I will be alone

sans family and friends today. Being grateful,

nonetheless, I will probably have soup and a

sandwich for my main meal. It will be a relief

not stuffing myself as one has the tendency to

do with the cornucopia of overabundance with

which to contend. In my time here on Earth I am

gratified by having learned to adapt to various

situations, good and bad. I have been gifted with

the learning experiences of thousands of generations

which preceded me. I am considering the first folks

who evolved into a consciousness to even wonder

about what in hell was going on around them?

It took a lot of thought and action to get from the

primitive curiosities of them back then to the

scientific and technological advancements of the

here and now of you and me. Now, here’s where

my thoughts go off the tracks of progressive

practicality: There will likely come a day, let’s

say after another catastrophic asteroid crashes into

Earth, when mankind is reduced in ranks considerably

and must somehow begin his journey of learning all

over again. Most assuredly, given my age and advan-

ced weakening condition, I will not be one of those

who survives to mourn the loss what used to be—

family and friends gathered around the table, the

turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes, watching

the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and football

games on TV.

Hell, even soup and a sandwich on this day without

all the cataclysmic drama of “the big one” is just fine

by me. Notice, not until now, did I mention Aunt

Bess's green bean casserole? 

Chris Hanch 11-22-18

Still in the Game

Watched our beloved football team on

TV the other day. My, the announcers

all say, that fine young quarterback of

theirs is breaking all sorts of records,

acts like a seasoned pro and he’s only

23-years old. And I got to thinking

where I happened to be at age twenty-

three, certainly not first place in any

division, not a pro either on even a last

place NFL team. Never was much good

at sports anyway, although, I have done

a lot of things just to get by in my day.

Nothing all that glamorous, mind you.

Mostly my MO was like an old sagacious

friend of mine used to say, I’m a jack of

all trades, and a master at none. Now,

at the advanced and ripened old age of

nearly 72, I find myself okay with no

longer having to prove myself to anyone

anymore. I can sit in front of the TV

watching all those young guys play their

games, knowing their heydays will more

than likely be done before they turn forty-

one. Hell in my day, I’d have handed that

that one off to my running back. You

only needed a yard to move the chains.

But that’s just me. I never could throw

very far with accuracy in my day anyway.

Still have my best stuff, though, sitting in

my place and watching TV.

Chris Hanch 11-21-18

Something About Understanding

As a child I just didn’t understand.

I recall crying to my mother when

I was five, telling her I wasn’t ready

for kindergarten. I couldn’t go be-

cause I couldn’t read or write. That’s

all right, my dear, you’re going to

learn how to do such things, she

smiled trying to console me with her

compassionate logic. So much I had

to learn over the years. And too, so

much left unanswered, I still can’t

comprehend. No way to this day could

I have sailed the ocean to locate Indo-

nesia on my own. (I have a difficult time

just finding it on a map.) Not in a hundred

lifetimes, could I ever have the where-

withal to launch and land safely on the

moon. Oh, well, after time I suppose I

have learned enough to get by. I did,

however, excel creatively, had an eye

and the touch for the arts which many

of my contemporaries have admired.

Not everyone can be another Picasso,

Magellan, Hawking or Gates, you under-

stand. I am living proof of that. One doesn’t

manage to reach old age being completely

clueless about everything. Seems to me,

though, that some folks do survive on a

string of dumb luck throughout their lives.

And there have been times when I figured

I was one of those. On a trip to Santorini,

Greece years ago I saw an old fisherman

repeatedly slamming an octopus on a

concrete pier. Since the creature was

already lifeless, I deduced his intense

flogging was meant to tenderize, and

make his catch edible. Made sense to me

even though I had never considered such

a thing before. I figured this necessary

measure had been handed down to the

old fellow from his father, his grand father

and hundreds of generations before him.

Had my mother told me that sometimes

learning takes more than one lifetime, I

may have given in right there and then,

and gone back to my crude little drawings

of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. Those

for me were far easier and much more

reasonable to understand.

Chris Hanch 11-20-18

A Reminder, Please

For the most part, I have forgotten what I wrote 

yesterday. Oh, I suppose it has something to do
with age. I can say that I am wearing the same
clothes I wore yesterday. I do remember that.

I rarely leave home or have visitors, so where is
the need to change? When the thought randomly
crosses my mind, biology and time tell me that
my beard is longer by some measure than it was

yesterday. So, what’s new? Certainly not the
poetry I wrote last week. Old only gets older
until it fades into the forgotten over time. The
other day I tried remembering a name. It was

the sister of my deceased wife who died before
I met her. My wife talked about her frequently.
Poor thing, she succumbed from anorexia and
depression early on into adulthood. I believe

she was in her mid-thirties or so, some years ago
I grappled with my memory for quite a while, trying
to remember her name. And then out of the blue
one day while occupied with another thing on my

mind, her name came to me, Beverly. And so, I
shall place it here in this piece I am writing today.
Since I write something most everyday, the like-
lihood I shall forget about all this by tomorrow will

be great. In my lifetime of nearly 72-years, as I
recall, I have never personally known a woman
named Beverly, so it is a wonder I could recall
my wife’s sister’s name at all. Today will all too

soon phase into the Cluttered World of my many
yesterdays. And with onset of advancing age
these memories of mine are bound to fade away.
By chance should we talk tomorrow, I beg your

indulgence...Please remind me.

Chris Hanch 11-19-18

One More Try

Battery recharged, WiFi engaged, safe passage is

indicated. Pass word accepted, welcome, you may

begin another day.

The Titanic was unsinkable, or so they say. History

tells us differently. In the darkness of night, unseen

in the vastness of ocean an iceberg awaits.

SOS transmitted, but received too late. Not enough

lifeboats to accommodate all the souls aboard.

Looking back on it, so many mistakes aligned.

On deck, listing to one side, the band played, Nearer,

My God, to Thee. During World War II, 6-million Jews

were exterminated, as many if not more survived.

The California Camp Fire destroys Paradise. Thou-

sands of homes and businesses burned to cinders and

ash; untold numbers have died.

And today, battery recharged, WiFi engaged, safe

passage may be indicated, but there are no guarantees.

Some will make it through, and too there will be

those who unfortunately won’t. You have lost a loved

one which seems impossible to bear. You decide—if we

have somehow thus far survived, what say, lets at

least give it one more try?

Chris Hanch 11-18-18

The History of Me

I remember hearing once or twice,

could have been more than that, I

can’t recall, but it was about the

consequences of cigarette smoking.

For every one smoked, it reduces a

lifetime by five-minutes. I got to

figuring out that it takes about five

minutes to puff away at that noxious

weed, and thus five-minutes of life will

have effectively elapsed. Beyond the

biologically injurious path, it’s a matter

of basic math—twiddling thumbs, picking

the nose, any time spent doing those

superfluous deeds reduces the time

you may have had to live life in a more

fruitfully productive way. Now we’ve

all been told, and by now everyone

of sound mind and reasoning should

know, smoking is a bad thing—cancer,

emphysema, COPD, heart and lung

disease—some bad shit it’s plain to

see. For all the habitual puffing I have

done in my time, instead of surviving

to nearly 72-years, I should have died

at the age of negative twenty-five.

Throw in the futile thumb-twiddling

and nose picking, and I won’t even

bother with all the alcohol I managed

to consume. I look at it this way, had I

been born a thousand years ago, before

cigarettes were available, twiddling

thumbs and nose-picking aside, no

way today I’d be alive. I knew a guy

at thirty-five who never smoked, drank,

or was known to uselessly fritter away

his time; he was run over one day

crossing the street with the light. Damn

cursed automobiles! What’s more, he

didn’t even drive!

Chris Hanch 11-17-18