Ethology and a Bit of History

Here is what we should have

learned as we matured to an

age of understanding—a carni-

vore will eat you when they

become big enough. You are

a fulfilling meaty meal to them

especially when they are hungry

at feeding time. The herbivore

satiates itself peacefully grazing

on leaves and grass. Omnivores,

on the other hand, are disposed

to go either way. A garden salad

now and again is a delight, but

occasionally a burger or rib eye

appeal to the more voracious

flesh-eating appetite. The lesson

here is clear, and hopefully you

have come to know, all three of

these are capable of dealing death

and destruction. The rhino while

content with vegetation feeding,

will charge and gore you with its

horn at the slightest provocation.

A tiger, even the well-fed one,

will maul and drag your carcass

away to feed upon another day.

As for humans, what can I say?

Should you receive an invitation to

the Donner Party, I would strongly

suggest you not attend. Likely,

there will be more than dancing

and drinking going on. And for

heaven’s sake, be especially wary

should you be told bringing a

cover-dish is not required.

Chris Hanch 7-9-18

Kim

It was in the second grade at Mary Queen of Peace,

I recall, the early 1950s, and the Korean War had

ended just a few years before. I had made a new friend,

Kim was his name. An American family adopted him,

and brought him back to the States. Having been too

young at the time, I knew nothing about Korea and

the War, knew nothing about the Korean people. My

new friend, Kim, was then the first and only Kim I

knew. And as I grew older and wiser to the ways of the

world, I learned that in Korea, Kim is the most common

surname—kim il sung, kim jong il, kim jung un, kim

jong nam and so on. Personally, throughout my years,

I have been introduced to many a Kim, all of whom

have their rooted heritage in Korea. I suppose it should

then not come as a surprise that I never again came

across the same Kim from Korea with whom I made

friends in the second grade. He was a happy and sweet

boy as I recall, my original friend, Kim. As with most of us

who have survived to a ripe old age, I have learned a lot

in this lifetime of mine. It is also my understanding that

there is more than one Mary Queen of Peace on this

planet as well.

Chris Hanch 7-8-18

Tomorrow, the Day After Today

There were days, I tell you, many years past

when I had nothing to do and no where to go.

I figured if I held on, I would get through this

bleak and persistent funk. And, I was proven

right, eventually. Time passes, things change

whether you agree with it or not. What’s next?

Who in this world can say? Today, tomorrow,

one day things will change. And you will look

back...no you won’t...the hell with that. Today

was tomorrow yesterday. And then those days,

months and years after that. The AA philosophy

of One Day at a Time always applies. Today,

after all these years, old age, the TV tuned to

MSNBC, the recliner where I am seated, one

dog sleeping in the chair, one curled up between

my legs. Nothing to do and no where to go.

Seems I have lived this life before. Tomorrow,

indeed as it always has, tomorrow promises

change. Unless I’m reliving that Last Day of

Pompeii. For inhabitants of those days, and for

nearly two thousand years thereafter, not much

has changed.

Chris Hanch 7-7-18

Words for the Artist Father in Me

(The other day a woman wrote to me about a self-portrait

I had posted on a photographic web site:)

wonderful shot...i thought it was a portrait

of you...anyway the world is strange…

the matter which this portrait was interesting

for me...how much this person looks like my

father…

and this man must be that sculptor Artist…

all artist people can be recognized by their faces…

and obviously this man is a great painter also…

(my) best with your shot…

Sara Ghaffari (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)

(And I replied:)

It is a self-portrait. I am an artist. My greatness,

however, is debatable. Thank you for your thought-

ful comment.

(And Sara back to me:)

obviously I knew that...anyway my father died

and never can express his thoughts and feeling

anymore...I always appreciate Artist people and

Praise their wonderful gifted talent...best with

your wonderful Art works paintings...and Photo-

graphy and so on…

(And gratefully, I felt as if Sara was writing to her dearly

departed artist father she saw in that self-portrait of me.

And I pause to wonder, does he speak through me as well?)

Chris Hanch 7-6-18

Every Dog Has Its Day

The dog gets a haircut and is alleviated

from all that stifling fur. And the car with

a fresh battery is again willing to take

you somewhere. Nails are trimmed and

a tangible sense of touch returns. There are

reasons some men are renewed by a shave

each day while others are empowered by

the feel and appearance of facial hair.

A new pair of shoes and the woman feels

admirably revived. We claim a new lease

on life each day the sun rises. Something

tells us there is a need for change, a new

suit, a face lift, exercise and the loss of

extra weight. Some pray, relying on Jesus

or Allah to save the day. Thank God there

was enough money in the account; this

month all the bills can been paid. You apply

the credit card to your next purchase,

knowing full well next month you’ll have

to start the remittance deal all over again.

The show isn’t over until the credits are run.

Then there comes a day (perhaps one of those

which has seemingly gone your way), the

coveted Lease on Life is not renewed…The end.

Take heart, my friend, even the dog, oblivious

to it all, found some relief for a while.

Chris Hanch 7-5-18

The Elderly I Have Come to Be

Years ago, oh, around 1994 or so, I had

a job as driver at a Loveland, Colorado
nursing home. I would shuttle old folks
around town in a Ford Econoline Van.

Mostly my passengers were frail, little
white-haired, old ladies who needed to
be transported to doctor’s appointments.
Occasionally, I would also ferry little, bald-

headed, old men, but they were a rarer
vanishing breed, far outnumbered by
their female counterparts. Now, it is a
well-known established fact that women

outlive men on a lopsided scale of about
3 to 1. (I would refer you to either geriatric
specialists or anthropologists as to the
specific reasons for that.) Having myself

aged considerably since then, I have arrived at
my own theory as to why this age variant exists
to this day. The elderly female residents I took
for their scheduled checkups rarely batted an

eye or spoke a word to me as I wheeled them
in and out of the van to our destination. They
were peaceably compliant and took all that
jostling about in stride. On the other hand,

old men who were fewer and far between,
would often cuss, fuss and generally create
quite a raucous commotion. “Where in hell
you taking me? Leave me be, you son-of-a-

bitch! I’m warning you, one more move and
I’ll flatten your ass with my cane! Goddamn
doctor, what in hell for? I’m a goner anyway.
Take me back to my room. This is just a flippin’

waste of time. I’m gonna miss Let’s Make a Deal
on TV. Leave me be, you dirty S.O.B.!” Nowadays,
with the progression and declination in my own
old age, I can now certainly relate. For those

submissive and gentile elderly women I’d have
to say, it would take more than a mere doctor’s
appointment or missing an episode of Judge Judy
to get them to stroke out. As I see it for me in my

waning days, however, I’d have to say…Don’t be
messin’ with my TV. Don’t dare move me a friggin’
inch, you S.O.B. The hell with doctors and such.
If you know what’s good for you, just leave me be!

Chris Hanch 7-4-18

Hard Times, a History

Take a look at history. It’s littered with

hard times from the beginning. Even the

Greats were not immune. I could mention

Beethoven, Hemingway, Pollack, Kennedy

and King. What about Helen Keller who

was born blind and deaf? Even she would

scoff at your pity. Consider the guy or gal

next door. Coal miners, soldiers, boxers and

whores alike have had to make the best out

of the hands they were dealt. But, you dear

reader, yes even you have a story to tell.

There were days when all I could count on

for relief were cigarettes or booze. I couldn’t

begin to tell how many doctors I have seen

who scolded me, told me that I needed to quit.

Those vices will surely send you to an early

and wretched grave. These days, I ask them

how old they are? Oh, forty-five or so they

may tell me. And my reply to them, I lit my

first cigarette twenty years before you were

born. I got drunk on scotch at fifteen, and

things only intensified as the years piled

on. And besides, graves aren’t as hideous

as some purport them to be. It’s mostly the

getting there which provides all the misery.

I, for one, prefer cremation anyway. It’s

cheaper, cleaner and environmentally safe,

or so they say. Toss my ashes anywhere.

See if I give a care.

Chris Hanch 7-3-18