Something About Gains and Losses

Our ancestors, parents, grandparents and before

took with them to the grave such histories of

their being. To say, you can’t take it with you

is a monumental and laughable mistake. Oh,

most certainly histories have been written for

our enlightenment and edification. We are taught

so many of these in school—The trials and tri-

bulations of mankind, the failures and successes.

But what of all the rest? There was so much left

unsaid. Who knew of Grandpa Jones’ innermost

desires, those thoughts which motivated him to

become the person he came to be? And Aunt Winnie,

what drove her into stark-raving insanity? Oh, many

lives of those who achieved fame have been docu-

mented biographically, but what was behind the

clinical depression and alcoholism which Uncle

Albert passed along to me genetically? Why, my

unknown great, great, grandparent may have

suffered from the gout, a pain which was handed

down to me today. How in hell are we supposed to

know what drives our maladies and geniuses per se?

Some say DNA in part gives us a clue. But what was

it exactly that pushed Aunt Winnie over the cliff? Was

it something someone said, or perhaps a healing

overture someone never did? With or without a

single word spoken, familial histories, my friends,

long and lengthy struggles are indelibly etched into

our beings. Inherently and indelibly therein lies the

seed. And in our lifetimes, we shall never stop

extolling all the gains and grieving all the losses.

Chris Hanch 12-9-18

Something About Ramon

Had I not relocated to Albuquerque

from St. Louis in 1991, I more than

likely would have never met Ramon.

I had started my job at Project Hart

which was a program to assist and

collect data on the homeless drug

and alcohol addicted. Ramon was a

lifelong indigent who had signed

up for the program. He figured a

place to eat and sleep as a tempo-

rary escape from his normal wan-

dering intoxicated ways would afford

him a sort of Holiday of a Lifetime

with the understanding, he planned on

returning to the harsh and embattled

lifetime of familiarity. In a way, which

may seem strange to most folks, he

loved the freedom of the streets,

accepting his life-style and coveted

dependency on cheap liquor and wine.

Ramon was a quiet an unassuming man.

His face, rutted deeply from broken

bottles and blades, revealed battle scars

of honor he wore proudly, a flesh and

blood testament to heroic survival. Oh

and did he ever have harrowing stories

to tell about the places he had been,

the scuffles and fights won and lost.

He would be the first to admit, there

would be no awards or honorariums

for the likes of him, no books written,

nor movies made of his audacious

escapades. No one really gives a damn,

he would say. Ramon left Project Hart

after two weeks of sober living in relative

comfort and safety, returning to his rightful

place on the hardened streets of Albuquerque.

He would break his fast on alcohol, sharing

again some cheap wine to oblivious intox-

ication with his compinches. Days later,

I was told by a new man to the program

that Ramon had passed out drunk, and

died in the park when an ember from

burning twigs and trash which kept them

warm caught his blanket on fire. We tried

to save him, his amigo said, but it was too

late. I got to thinking that something should

be said to shed a light on the lives of those

who are on the streets with stories to tell.

I often think of those who survive and die

out there every day. One of them especially

comes to mind—again, Ramon was his name.

Chris Hanch 12-8-18

President, George H. W. Bush in Memoriam

For two days my heart, mind and eyes were fixed to

the mourning and celebration, the televised pomp
and ceremony honoring the recent passing of an
American WWII hero and former President, George
Herbert Walker Bush.

I must admit, I am a lifelong Democrat who often
disagreed with many of Mr. Bush’s political Repub-
lican leaning policies, but I always respected him
as an exemplary leader, a trusted friend to many,
and a giving and loving family man. I trusted in him
as Chief Executive and Commander-in-Chief at the
helm of our Nation.

Mr. Bush was truly an unselfish man who, to the
best of his abilities, put country, the Constitution,
family and those in need above his own personal
and political motivated ideologies. In 1989 he
negotiated European stability after the
collapse of the Soviet Union. And In 1990 he
signed into law the Americans with Disabilities Act.
I believe no one is more deserving of the praise and
honor a grateful nation bestowed upon him.

I was emotionally moved by the eulogies of his-
torian, John Meacham, Secretary, James Baker,
former Canadian Prime Minister, Mulroney,
grandson, George P., son and former President,
George W. and others delivered from the pulpit
of the National Cathedral in Washington, DC.

George H. W. was truly revered by those he so
selflessly served and represented, and earned
the respect of his staunch political
opponents.

I was tearfully struck by the stark contrast
of his faithful and honorable attributes, his un-
wavering service and dedication to country
and mankind as opposed to the current pres-
ident and his deplorable, vile posturing and
corrupt administration.

With those impactful scenes of honor and glory,
his love and steadfast devotion to family, friends
and country, we can hold out hope that George
H. W.’s example of dignity and respect will help
to reunite this divided nation of ours.

Indeed, a most moving choral rendering of The
Battle Hymn of the Republic at St. Martin’s Epis-
copal Cathedral in Houston, Texas honoring our
41st President, George Herbert Walker Bush,
stood as a reminder to me, appealing to the
Better Angels of Our Nature so eloquently
referred to in President, Abraham Lincoln's
first inaugural address.

Chris Hanch 12-7-18

An Ode to My Memories

A murder of crows gathers on branches

of the stately sycamore tree replacing

its fallen leaves. A black cawing swarm

then takes flight into overcast skies of gray.

Another winter is on its way. And a thought

arises in me nearing my seventy-second

year—I hope and pray I shall not wander

into the coming seasons, however many

they may be, grieving the loss of cherished

memories such as these.

Chris Hanch 12-6-18

Cadence Call

Cadence Call

Ain’t no use in looking down,

ain’t no money on the ground.

That’s the military way of

Marching in formation, step

by step...your left, your left,

your left, right, left. Keep your

eyes up, watch the back of the

head of the soldier in front of

you—Your left, your left, your

left, right, left. Cadence is the

lock-step call—Here we go…

Here we go…On the move…

One the move…In the groove…

In the grove…All the way...All

the way…Every day...Every day.

Hoo...Haha...Hoo...Haha...Rock,

rock, rock me steady...Roll, roll,

roll me ready...Shake rattle and

roll, everybody...Here we go, here

we go...Your left, your left, your

left, right, left…Hoo...Haha…

Chris Hanch 12-4-18

The Light

It is the way it gracefully settles onto the face,

opposing darkness on the other side.

It is the hope at the end of a tunnel’s darkness

which guides our sight.

It is a beacon from shore, leading sailors to

safety from unseen jagged reefs at night.

It reveals a rainbow spectrum of colors arched

across passing stormy skies.

It sends silvery shafts streaming through steely

overcast clouds of gray.

It features and animates cast and crew upon

lifetime’s theatrical stage.

It rises, it shines, it paints fiery hues of crimson

and gold transitioning day into night.

It entices, it invites, it excites and sets the festive

mood at Christmastime.

It leads the way, and without it, candle and campfire

would never shine...

It is the light, that warm and reflective gleaming in

your eyes which makes every day a bit more bright.

Chris Hanch 12-3-18

Something about Common Sense

Unfortunately, we human beings are not

born with an ounce of common sense,

and must pursue our lives learning from

our mistakes and those of others. Granted,

there is good which comes from this process

as well. And we are hopeful that on balance,

the good will outweigh the bad. And should

we outlast the odds living to a modestly ripe

old age still somewhat in tact, we then spend

the rest of our days tallying what we may have

learned along the way. Now, take me for instance,

I let biology get the best of me. My choices of

mates were at best questionable. My inherent

biological drives for the most part superseded

my penchant for sound judgment and practical

common sense. This is why I am here in my

current condition, contemplating nearly seventy

two years of personal history alone. I am, how-

ever, grateful for my two kids and four grand

kids in my time which came to be. On my part at

at least, common sense had very little if anything

to do with that. And despite my judgment, so far

along the way, all the kids have turned out to be

pretty fine human beings anyway. As I see it, good

or otherwise, the salmon has no choice but to

swim upstream.

Chris Hanch 12-2-18