Something About Change, Again

Today the world has changed in too many ways

for the good and bad. I blinked, rubbed my eyes,

scratched my thighs and missed most of it. Out-

side the rain appears the same, grass greening,

trees budding, Spring freshness in the air. Check,

everything which is supposed to be is still there.

In the mirror, I am a day older, but then those who

do not see me just don’t care. Unless I post a recent

photo of myself on Facebook, my friends will re-

member me as the vim and vigorous fifty some

twenty years ago I used to be. I see the recent

photo you posted of yourself. My, but you have

aged well. I take back what I said a few lines ago—

the grass has grown considerably, I see. Much taller

than it was yesterday or the day before. Rain has

stopped, and in the distance I hear a muffled roar.

The lawn people who mow once a week are coming.

Soon, at least appearance-wise, things will again be

manicured and under control, the way it seemed to

be yesterday. All the other stuff can wait.

Chris Hanch 4-30-19

Something About Mistakes

There are some days I give praise…

God bless technology today. Too,

there are days I curse the modern

ways...This computer of mine won’t

behave. Damn it, anyway! For the

most part I consider things have

improved overall. When I was a child

in school (seems like a thousand years

ago, way back when in the Dark Ages),

we used pencils to tackle on paper the

assignments our teacher gave. What on

Earth to do, I often wondered when the

eraser was worn down to a useless nub?

No way in hell back then to get rid of my

mistakes. A simple function like “Delete”

is a far better option, when the computer

works properly, that is.

Chris Hanch 4-29-30

Out of Left Field

In first grade, I still remember learning

the alphabet—straight lines at angles

for the letter “A”, a few curves for letter

“B.” Capitals were somewhat different

than lower case. I preferred “Cs” and “Os”

except for size, they pretty much remained

the same. Remember singing the alphabet

song, a-b-c-d-e-f-g…? Teacher told me I held

my pencil correctly except with the left hand.

My grandpa, being from the Old Country, told

my parents that they should switch directions

for me, but fortunately they never did. This

was a free country, after all, and being a lefty

felt perfectly normal for me, except when I

had to write on the right side of my notebook,

and then the darned spiral or binding got in the

way. I suppose fair is fair, though. The right

handers had the same problem when they had

to write on the left side of their notebook. I

had another lesson to learn—the world was

just messed up that way. I eventually dis-

covered notebooks with the spiral bind at

top of the page, but in most of my classes,

wouldn’t you know, they were not allowed.

I wasn’t always conflicted. On the baseball

field at play, I threw and batted right-handed.

I still got hit by wild pitches occasionally, and

ironically mostly from pitchers, who like

me, couldn’t throw worth a damn with their

left hand. In life sometimes things manage to

even out. Today, I type my words mostly with

a computer where I use both hands the same.

Actually, I should say one finger on each hand.

I never learned to type all that well. These days,

hunt and peck is more my game.

Chris Hanch 4-27-19

Hands

There are busy hands working everywhere,

every hour of every day. Busy hands in

Boston and Kankakee, busy hands in Kiev

and Sao Paulo, Lisbon and Poughkeepsie.

Busy hands always need something to do.

Pottery, crochet, welding and masonry

in Greece and Mandalay busy hands every-

where, every hour of every day. The kettle

drum and symbols, the harp and harmonica

need hands to play. Some are missing a

digit or two, even the less fortunate and

prosthetically-fitted hands need something

to do. Kneading dough, shoveling coal,

scratching, picking, slapping, flicking all

require a helping hand. Beg, borrow or

steal, and a hand is usually part and parcel

involved in the deal. Lets give the entertainer

and hero a great big hand. It only takes one

hand to give a well-deserved pat on the back,

but two in most cases to clap.

I’ve got to hand it to you. Give credit where

credit is due. Lend me a hand, will you? I

promise to give it back when I’m done.

Chris Hanch 4-26-19

The Symphony Within

I close my eyes, I hear and see as the

symphony consumes me. The strings,

the wind and percussion in turn, and

in concert together come into play as

the maestro gyrates waving his magic

baton. Violins take the lead as viola,

cello and double bass plumb the depths

of melody underneath. Soon, the wood

wind and brassy horns ensue with a ping

ping violin pizzicato to accompany. And

I sail up, up and away, a lark ascending

heavenward on crescendos of tonal bliss,

emphasized and intensified by the kettle

drum—Boom! Boom! Ka-Boom!—

rhythmic synchrony of my beating heart.

I didn’t need to pay for my front row seat.

Chris Hanch 4-25-19

The Happening

Just because it has never happened

doesn’t mean it never will. The un-

seen is happening all around, the

breeze tip-toeing through the grass,

a stealthy intruder easily overlooked,

slipping discretely as a whisper never

heard. Something which took place in

private behind closed doors is summarily

ignored. The silence of a teardrop half-

way around the world is drowned out

out by vast oceans in between. The sun

streams a silent light from 93-million

miles away, and skin cancer suddenly

appears. Fear rears its ferocious head

when the tiger’s teeth appear. Some

stumble through life blind as bats sans

the aid of radar to guide them. If ignor-

ance is bliss, besides fear and anguish

there is so much tranquility and joy

which is missed. At midnight there’s a

sudden knocking at the door...Who goes

there, friend or foe? You are curious and

have the need to know. You pick up the

butcher knife just in case.

Chris Hanch 4-24-19

If Only You Believe

Our reality is what we choose to

believe, even at times the unheard

and unseen. We take it on the word

of zoologists that the dodo existed,

but for some time now has been

proclaimed extinct. Oh yes, there

are renderings, yet no photographic

proof to be found. I paint the old

man’s portrait, or a likeness of a

young woman in her prime, both

gone now, voiceless with no words

of their own left to carry on. I admit

that I have told stories before which

stretch the bounds of reality. Believe

you me! I implore you! And, even I

name the nameless as I paint my

mind’s imagery into existence. You

say that I am an artist. Yet history may

never validate that which you believe

even should you swear it is true. Had

you not been here as witness, no one

else should know, but you. Yet, there

are still those who disbelieve...Look Up!

I swear it’s true! See, there really is a

man on the moon! And, exclamation

points positioned here and there stra-

tegically do help to support the validity.

Chris Hanch 4-23-19

In Summation

Even though the day has just begun,

look at it as a chapter in the Book

of Your Life. So, let’s skip ahead to its

summation: First, today is neither

yesterday nor tomorrow. Turn the

page. Second, as spring has arrived,

bees are active in the hive and outside

pollinating blossoms on the Dogwood

Trees. Proceed. Third, traffic on the in-

terstate and waters on the Mighty Mis-

souri River flow to wherever they are

meant to go. Continue. Fourth, I happen

to be fractions smaller that I was yesterday,

and so are you, compressed by gravity and

time as Nature has her way. Now where

was I? Oh yes, page number five…Today,

some shall make it through and some shall

not survive. Not to be dismayed or surprised.

And should you be reading this, as luck

or fate would have it, you and I are still

alive. Do something, anything creative

and worthwhile; add the bliss of your

existence to the final page in summation.

It is here...today has arrived.

Chris Hanch 4-22-19

Something About Need

Much as dogs and cats do, we become

attached. My hands and feet follow me

even into sleep. I need them and mutually

they need me. I have over time become

attached to Beethoven and Queen, even

though they come at me from far different

places musically. Ode to Joy is a classical

idea which lifts me when I’m down, and

Don’t Stop Me Now motivates me when I

find the need to press on. I have become

attached to sunshine, water and air, though

there are times I take these for granted.

When I get all pissed off, I may have need

for another to remind me to breathe deeply.

Count to ten, a friend may recommend.

Numbers are a disposable commodity,

we figure, but can come in handy now

and again. Ever try to balance a check

book without them? Damn it, overdrawn

again...Breathe!!!

Chris Hanch 4-21-19

The Squeaky Wheel

When you grow up with two brothers

you have to learn to take turns and to

share, at least that’s what our parents

taught us. Seems, though, my older

brother mostly got more, my younger

brother usually wound up with less,

and it was somewhere in the middle

for me. Whose turn is it anyway to see

our favorite program on TV? Of course,

I would argue for me. Who was keeping

track, who would be the arbiter to re-

solve the three way dispute? Mostly it

was our dad, for he had the muscle and

undisputed power of decree. Besides, when

left up to mom, she would hear each boy’s

case then tend make her determination

based on that stupid “squeaky wheel gets

the grease” idiom. Hell, I didn’t even figure

out what an idiom was until I became old

enough to go out on my own. Then, I came

to realize, turns aren’t always fair, and por-

tions are rarely split evenly. Had I grown up

with sisters instead of brothers, I was told by

a friend, things could have been a whole lot

worse. When left to their own devices, all girls

need to do is to cry, and then it was game over.

With brothers, he reminded me, at least you had

the option to “duke it out.” As for me, I can

relate better to slang than I can to those stupid

idioms anyway. It’s a guy thing, I suppose.

Chris Hanch 4-20-19

Something About War

All wars are the same, some military

experts will claim—death, destruction,

collateral damage, casualties with limbs

torn away, shrapnel embedded perma-

nently. On the other hand, there are dif-

ferent types of war: My father and uncle

were in World War II; I took part in the

Cold War while stationed in Germany.

At the same time, my fellow GI s fought

a jungle war in Vietnam. Years later in

treatment at the VA, I met another vet,

his was a desert war in Iraq. His injuries

have in part healed, though the scarring

remains indelible. He is home now, and

has gone through therapy to address

alcohol and drug abuse, and a chronic

case of PTSD. He sleeps his war-torn nights

uneasily with a loaded automatic weapon

within reach on the end table beside his bed.

Marcus is living proof, all wars are the same,

except, that is, for the hellish one you hap-

pened to have gone through.

Chris Hanch 4-19-19

Lessons Learned

Mom and dad didn’t get along which of course led to

their divorce. Back in the early 1960s that was still a

rarity, especially for those of the Catholic Faith (proof

God did not discriminate based solely on religion). And

I, at the pubescent age of fifteen, was left without a

father to guide me through some very uncertain teen-

age years.

I became a defiant kid, especially toward adult authori-

tarian figures such as teachers and clergy. I’d rather be

an uneducated sinner than conform to the BS they were

trying to impose upon me.

And so, not having a clue as to what the future had in

store for me, and refusing to attend school any longer,

I forced my mother to reluctantly give her permission

for me to enlist in the Army at age seventeen.

Back in those days, I was that sort of guy who could be

seen portrayed on the back of comic books: The skin

and bones, pimple-faced kid who had sand kicked in his

face regularly by bullies at the beach. I could relate,

even though as a Midwesterner there were no beaches

within 1500-miles of where I lived. Anyway, I thought it

would be great to have Charles Atlas, the world renown

muscle man, as a dad who could help me beef-up and

show me how to fight back.

My second choice, and more realistically, would be to

have the battle-hardened drill instructors mentor me

with tried-and-true hand-to-hand combat techniques.

And as I made it to that point in Basic Training, where

we recruits were taught some of the more lethal marshal

arts, our DI instructor began with a firm and cautious

warning: “Now, don’t think you’re going to be one tough

son-of-a-bitch with what I’m about to show you. Don’t try

any of this on a high school student back home. He’s liable

to beat the living crap out of you. These are mortal self-

defense techniques. And should you ever have the need to

apply them, you’ll be faced with the fight of your life. Use

your bayonet, the butt of your rifle or any means at your

disposal in order to survive.” Huh, I considered, that seems

a bit extreme for my domestic hometown needs.

Damn! I figured, there really are no guarantees in life,

not in the Army, not with mail-order training from

Charles Atlas, nor with the possibility of God reuniting

my parents, and returning my father back to me.

And crap, it was then I realized it was too late. I had

already signed up for three long years of this.

Chris Hanch 4-19-19

Something About Obedience

Today, I shall obey…

gravity. It’s pull on me from the

beginning was meant to be.

Today, I shall obey…

the rule of law, both natural and

man-made, mostly.

Today, I shall obey…

The dictates of body and mind,

hoping they continue to function

acceptably.

Today, I shall obey…

the laws of physics even though

the calculated math never made

sense to me.

(I have had inertia explained to me

using X, Y, and Z a thousand times,

and I still don’t understand.)

Today, I shall rely upon common

sense to get me safely and securely

through yet another day.

There shall always be laws to bend,

to break, or to obey. And if no one is

looking I may just j-walk across the

street knowing the quickest way to

get from point A to B is in a straight

line.

Obedience aside, and unless I am

run over or given a citation, I see it

as the most convenient way for me

to get across the damned street.

If it works for the chicken, it’s

good enough for me.

Chris Hanch 4-17-19

The Resurrection

I could write about the fire at Notre Dame yesterday

while the images of that terrible blaze are freshly

seared into my memory.

I could write about the drunken days which consumed

me in the fires of my own hell. By good graces or fate

I am here to relate my own resurrection.

I could write about Ramon, Devin, Jimmy and so many

others I have known who were not as fortunate as I to

have survived.

For the many who celebrate Holy Week and Passover,

new life is a theme pervasive in our humanity. Each day

and over time, the old and mortal die. In memory of they

who remain, from ashes the Spirit Everlasting shall rise.

Chris Hanch 4-16-19

Today, the One and Only

Brown grass yesterday, it seems, green

grass today. Lavender buds on the Dog-

wood out back beside the patio.

Birds of course, cheerful and singing their

morning song. A slight briskness yet

to the air.

Sun rising, sky deep blue and fair. Come

to think of it, had I not been paying attention,

I may have missed the point of all this.

For me at least, it took some 72-years for

this day to get here, one of a kind, I figure.

It’s about time.

Chris Hanch 4-15-19

Verbiage

Run, dance, jump,

dump, cry, carry, bury,

live, die, flutter, fly,

pound, drum, play,

hesitate, denigrate,

wish, think, wink,

smile, write, recite,

comply, complete,

compete, flee, surmise,

defeat, repeat, rhyme,

scheme, dream, placate,

eat, delay, pray, defray,

infect, dissect, protect,

allay, unite, divide,

give, take, shake,

bake, lie, cheat,

dig, swig, parade,

spring, deflate, create,

steal, delete, abide.

Our world today has

so many verbs from

which to choose, win

or lose, here are just

a few. Try one or two

on for size. See where

it gets you.

Chris Hanch 4-14-19

Chances Are

The tiger stalks its prey as the wolf

does elsewhere. The boulder waits

patiently ready in time to roll down

the mountainside and crush the un-

suspecting. The freeway shall cause

mayhem somewhere along the way

today. Severe weather is forecast

in the Southern Tier of States. Tor-

nados are likely to spawn a wide

swath of carnage to life, limb and

structures in their way. A victim is

said to have been an innocent by-

stander who happened to be in the

wrong place at the wrong time.

You never give a second thought

to the chances taken in your rou-

tine comings and goings each day.

The mountaineers were lost in a

sudden storm on Everest one

fateful day. Just because you never

plan to visit Nepal doesn’t make

you safe. Who could have imagined

the tiger escaping from its cage on

such a sunny day in the Midwest

during the month of May? Take

an umbrella with you to work, there

is a 60% chance of inclement weather

forecast today.

The key here is to remember, one day,

someday, chances are perhaps even today.
I was a damned fool to believe a cane
would prevent me from falling.

Chris Hanch 4-13-19

A Final Request

When I die

Please don’t

mummify me.

No need for a

granite headstone

and floral bouquets.

Such folderol would

be a frivolous waste

of time and money.

Should I pass in the

proximity of the sea,

a linen shroud would

suffice. Dump my

remains overboard

and let the fish

finish off what is

left of me. A pyre

of blazing fire

would be a sanitary

way to go, or a

dumping of my

remains on the

high plains to

feed the maggots,

buzzards and crows.

Then, there is always

that aged and double

bonded Irish whiskey

you’ve been saving

for a special

occasion such

as this. It’s okay

by me if you pass

it through your

kidneys first.

Then pickle me

with a steady stream

and ample dowsing

of pee. The alcohol

content should

still be at a

level to do the

job sufficiently.

Just remember to

have a designated

driver on site

to get you home

legally.

Chris Hanch 4-12-19

A Travelogue

I am fortunate indeed to have seen

many faces and myriad places in

this world I occupy. There remains

so much more I shall never see. I

rely on National Geographic and

travelogues on PBS to carry me

far and away vicariously. Have

you ever been to…? Have you had

the opportunity to see..? Perhaps

one day many will answer hope-

fully. Last week I went to North

Vietnam with Anthony Bourdain

on TV. He’s gone now and my

travels to wondrous places must

rely upon reruns broadcast period-

ically. Life is so tenuous, each day

could be our last. It is then I am

reminded that there are stones on

the surface of Mars which will for-

ever remain unturned. And some-

where in the ever-shifting sands of

the Sahara, a nomadic Bedouin, who

shall remain nameless to me, leads

a caravan to exotic places I shall

never see.

Chris Hanch 4-11-19