What I Learned

 

At Basic Training in 1964 at seventeen,

I was taught how to shine my boots, and

how to properly recognise officers in passing

with a smart snappy salute.

I learned how to stand at attention in

formation, how to left face, right face

about face, and forward march in step,

and how to double-time on command.

I learned combat, hand-to-hand, how

to run, climb, jump and crawl up and

down, how to go around and through

obstacles placed in the way.

I learned how to lock and load, how to

ready, aim, fire, how to load magazines,

strip and clean the M-14 issued to me.

I learned how to pull guard duty and

KP, how to police the area and clean

the latrine. No shit, really? That’s an

order, Private. Get to it! The DI had

selected me. Yes, Sergeant!

I learned a hell of a lot in the Army

at seventeen. I learned to take orders,

but mostly to understand and take se-

riously the meaning of “on the double,

soldier!”

It took me three years of service to rid

myself of all I had learned when I was

seventeen. Hell, I even bought a pair

of shoes which never needed polishing.

                  -30-

Chris Hanch 8-31-2020

Time Spent

 

Now that I look back on it, much

of that which I cared about and

took seriously probably was not

worth the time or the effort.

I have to be honest, and ask myself,

where did all that nonsense get me?

It has been determined that we

spend nearly half our time in life

sleeping and eating. And I might

add, we spend much of the other

half sleep-walking around, thinking

drivel and applying ourselves use-

lessly for naught.

Other creatures are far more ef-

ficient with their lives and time.

They hunt, forage, mate and sleep,

that is until we humans either do-

mesticate them for food or train

them to satisfy our other needs.

We are the species who has

admittedly accomplished much

with our tenure here on Earth,

but have also caused enough

mayhem and destruction to

diminish many of our worthwhile

endeavors.

And at work or during idle times

we come up with shit to entertain,

stupefy and escape. Oh well, who

am I to scrutinize and complain?

We are who we are, and it is what

it is.

Personally, as a teenager I spent a

good deal of my time watching The

Three Stooges and Rocky and Bull-

winkle. That alone speaks volumes.

Work and play, thoughts of a better

tomorrow entertained—mow the lawn,

wash and wax the car, drunken nights

and hung-over days.

And as it turns out, even had I been

an accomplished Phd or astrophysicist,

I’d still be retired, writing poetry and

standing wobbly on my last leg anyway.

             -30-

Chris Hanch 8-29-200

So Begins My Day

 

Today, reading is not working for me. Not a

word with which to begin is to be found.

The music playing seems empty and hollow

as a dried Arizona well.

There are discordant notes, but no symphony

to stimulate me.

Today, my daily routine does not lead me to

a thought I can use.

I know it’s bound to happen this way from

time to time, but still…

This may well be the day my writing streak

ends and the dreaded drought begins.

I plug my cell phone into its charger. The battery

and I have needs, energy—electrical, super natural,

creative, you know.

The light appears indicating it’s working. I could

certainly use one of those.

The day is not a total loss. I’ll move on to other

things. Perhaps I’ll trim my nails and have another

cup of coffee, or I might try reading again.

When the cell phone battery is fully charged,

I will likely not be calling you.

Today, at least for now, I have nothing to say,

nothing of value anyway.

I’m still recharging, waiting for the power of my

creativity to sprout a fruitful image or two on

the page.

Alas, given my arid state of mind today, this withered

offering will have to do.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 8-28-2020

A History of War

 

In 1956, I was nine years old. I remember hearing

on the news that the last surviving soldier of the

Civil War had passed away. They mentioned that

he was one hundred and six years old. I was still

alive, and would move on.

Later in life, I heard something about the last

soldier who fought during World War One had

died. That conflict was years before my time.

I managed to keep on moving along. I still had

some good years ahead of me.

As an adult, I was made aware that survivors of

World War Two were now in their late nineties,

and veterans like my dad and Uncle Ray were

fading away. And still, I am here.

Now that I am older, I see other elderly who

like me served during the War in Vietnam. Now

I can relate and say that I am one of them. Those

who lived through those times are now dying

off left and right.

So many eras, epochs and times pass before

our eyes. My how time flies.

In the not to distant future, along with my

brothers and sisters in arms, we too shall be

relegated to the graveyards of history.

Funny how we tend to remember the passing

of time in relation to war. No one seems to think

of the first one to die in battle, but we, those left

standing, tend to consider our own mortality

based on the last one to go.

I suppose in war and in peace, the record books

are never closed until the last survivor dies. Seems

that new memorials to those lost in the battle of

time arise every passing day.

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 8-25-2020

Images of the Past

 

Thumbing through photographs I have

taken over the years, portraits of little

girls and boys, poses of old women and

men, images of black, brown, red, yellow

and white, people from far away places,

some from nearby. People captured pas-

sing through in the prime of their lives.

Ah, the lovely diversity of humanity. I was

lucky to see them in my life, fortunate to

have revealed them in their place and time.

Most of these images were captured spon-

taneously years ago. And now I hold them,

the young then have grown old, and the old

have gone the way of the old, in passing

down that road we are all destined to go.

But for now, I hold these treasured lives once

lived, now held in my hands. We have all come

such a long, long way to get here to this place.

I take my remainig precious time in remembering.

                       -30-

Chris Hanch 8-25-2020

Too Damned Late

 

Thin and dry, scaly skin stretched

over brittle bone. Age spots dotting

the landscape of my existence. More

pits, pocks and wrinkles than an

eighty-year old elephant. Hair

conjested nostrils and ears. Creaking

aching joints from neck to toes.

Loss of memory, words and names,

the present day of the week conven-

iently escape me. I recount the years

and find it hard to believe I’m friggin’

seventy-three. George Reeves, James

Dean and Captain Kangaroo are dead.

Very few left with whom I can relate.

The Grand Canyon is no longer grand,

the Great Salt Lake no longer great. I

find the image of myself in the mirror

nauseatingly repulsive. I look like a scraggly

Gandalf the Wizard who has lost all his mys-

tical powers.

I live alone with my small dog, haven’t

changed my t-shirt in weeks, shall open

a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew for diner,

will watch Wolf Blitzer’s Situation Room

on CNN TV, and can’t figure out how to

text message on the new flip phone my

son brought me the other day.

I can still construct a run-on sentence

nicely. Old age has at least left me with

that consolation. For much else, it’s

too damned late. So, screw it, I say!

Something within me says, walk this

way. Hesitantly forward into the great

unknown, it is the only way I know.

               -30-

Chris Hanch 8-23-2020

More Changes

 

In certain societies such as ours

and with certain people such as

you and I, changes in our lives

come gradually over time.

For instance, I can’t recall the day

or the moment I gave up chasing

fireflies at night and began reading

Moby Dick.

Can’t remember when I traded

hunting tortoises and playing

King of the Hill, l and started be-

coming infatuated with girls.

When was it exactly I changed

from a boy into a man? Were

the transformations biological

or societal?

I remember playing Hide and

Seek with my kids when they

were younger, but it just wasn’t

the same for me.

Changes, sometimes subtle and

unobtrusive. What did it take,

what had I been through to get

from childhood innocence to old

age and guilty as charged?

Oh, of course there were memorable

joys and struggles along the way. But

too, there were those prosaic lost days

in between, those unaccountable and

nebulous days where I had nothing to

do or say for myself.

Time has a way of slipping away

on any given day. And here I am

in my rightful time and place none-

theless, old and gray.

And tomrrow, who knows? My humanity

is a fallen leaf. Who can say from which

direction the wind blows?

            -30-

Chris Hanch 8-23-2020

Historically Speaking

 

We were given history to show the

living how life used to be.

We were given history as a lesson

to be learned: one step forward,

breathe and repeat, or dare not

try to do over again.

What strikes me mostly is that all

fools were not a thing of the past,

more of them are sure to be born.

Give me another shot at it, and I’ll

try and do the best I can. I believe

Alexander Hamilton said that.

History shows, had he foreseen what

was about to happen, perhaps he may

have taken better aim, or failed to

show up in the first place.

And the lesson to be learned, dueling

pistols are not the best way to resolve

a problem. On the other hand, not just

anyone gets to appear on the $10 bill.

And someone said, there ought to be

a law. And so there was, but even then,

that didn’t seem help a hell of a lot.

History? Go figure.

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 8-22-2020

My Beard

 

I live in a place and time in life

where I can let my full beard grow.

No one cares, and no one but my

children know.

And they only visit me every two

weeks or so.

It’s a white beard. I passed Santa

Clause in length quite some time ago.

It dangles wildly way past my Adam's

apple, covers my neck entirely.

I’d say it is where an inveterate homeless

man’s beard would be should he have,

against all odds, lived long past his time.

My beard has outgrown me, having gone

way past its prime and mine.

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 8-20-2020

My Life as I See It

 

I am a fortunate man indeed to

have had a variety of experiences

presented to me in my lifetime.

I have traveled widely here and

abroad. I have seen a worldly

cross-section of faces and places,

have explored and participated

in a diverse selection of cultures

and situations.

I have been inspired and created

photographic, written and artistic

images and obsevations along

the way.

And as the time came when I could

no longer physically continue on my

journey, I was given the gift of time

to reflect, catalog and present images

of my travels and experiences, to

share with others that which life

presented as a gift to me.

I had to accept my condition and

use my time, lonely and restricted

as it came to be, to cherish that

which was afforded me, to share

with others my work and vision

openly and freely. So many never

get that precious oportunity.

The years I have been given,

expressed in my own way,

have been lived creatively

and productively.

For what it’s worth, filled with

sorrow and joy, I stand side by

side with the troupe of humanity

as a player on life’s stage.

I remember meeting you along the

straight and winding way, and consider

myself a fortunate man indeed.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 8-19-2020

On My Merry Way

 

Sometimes I had a plan;

sometimes I would just

go with the flow. I guess

the latter was also a plan

which outcome I never

cared to know. Those,

I suppose, could have gone

either way. Sometimes I

had success; sometimes I

would fail; sometimes I

would try again always

learning something new—

Do or don’t try that again.

Life, I suppose it works

that way. Best of luck,

My Friend. I Hope and

pray you find your way

and make it through okay.

On my merry way, somehow

I have managed to get this far.

              -30-

Chris Hanch 8-19-2020

That's My Story

 

I think about times past when the life

expectancy of people was in the forties

of fifties. Oh, there were always a few

who managed to live considerably

longer, but mostly they were far and

few between.

Mark Twain for instance lived to be

75-years old when he died in 1910,

a respectable old age in those days.

The reason the length of life came to

mind is that the longer we humans

live, chances are that we’ll likely be-

come infirm with myriad physical

and mental maladies. Take me for

instance at age 73, I happen to be

afflicted with severe arthritis in my

hips, knees and shoulders. I had no

noticeable symptoms until I was

in my mid sixties.

Looking back at my working life’s ac-

tivities I can see where my problems

began. Much of my life I had jobs

which placed me placidly at a desk

or a drawing board. I was a pencil

pusher and artist.

Oh, I had done some physical work

around the house and yard, construc-

tion and maintenance work primarily.

And from time to time I would help

friends and family move heavy and

awkward furniture and belongings,

you know. I worked on my cars and

such, typical everyday upkeep stuff.

But in my mid-fifties I had to make

one of my many job changes. I went

to work for a local Kinko’s, the copy

folks. I was hired as a pick up and

delivery courier. I loved that job

because being out of the store

driving around town every day,

I had a lot of autonomy. In addi-

tion to my business activities, I

could stop and grab a coffee and

bagel whenever I pleased. I could

drop by my bank and take care of

financial transactions and such.

Not to abuse my job responsibil-

ities, I always got my work done in

a professional and timely manner.

What finally caught up to me years

later was lifting and carting around

80, 100 lb boxes of paper. Not only

schlepping them from customer to

customer, but unloading 10 or 15

pallets of paper products for the

store each week.

I did that back-breaking, knee-bending,

shoulder stressing work for nine years.

And ladies and gentlemen, I was a light-

weight, no Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Needless to say in my later years I am

still paying the price. Now see, had I died

in my fifties, I would not have to endure

all that pain which plagues me today.

Had I not stopped for coffee and bagels

everyday on company time, Karma for

me would have been far more under-

standing, gracious and kind.

At age 73, it’s too late to turn back.

And now, I am left with this untenable

condition, floundering in the muck of

my own reality, you see. Alas, the Piper

must be paid.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 8-17-2020