History

George Santayana, a Spanish-American Philosopher once

said, “Those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat

it.” I have heard that tidbit of knowledge many times before,

but had to Google to find the esteemed author who said it.

I would add, “History is made after its happening every day."

And I most assuredly shall not earn widespread recognition

for saying that. Could be that this trivial piece of mine may

be read by you on Facebook today.

What’s more, most of the pithy sayings cast out there in the

ether will never be heard or read by most of the more than

7-billion inhabitants who currently exist on this planet of ours.

When I was a child way back when, at a point in mankind’s

history, say the mid to late 1950s, there were approximately

3-billion of our species living out their histories world-wide.

Of course there was no Internet or light-speed connectivity

then, making it unlikely that profound or life-changing phil-

osophies would ever be recorded to benefit those of us who

were destined to follow. We have, however, inherited guide-

lines and mandates for life brought forth to us in the Dead

Sea Scrolls, the Old and New Testaments, the Koran, the

Torah, the Book of Mormon, the Bhagavad Gita and other

holy scriptures by which to live our lives. Personally, I sub-

scribe to the cynical satire proposed by the likes of of Mark

Twain, Will Rogers, Mel Brooks, George Carlin, Dave Chappelle

and Whoopi Goldberg. They rarely condoned violence, yet used

sarcasm to profess a sincere righteous and contentious criticism

of the French, religion, social mores and the Congress of the

United States. They have given us a unique and poignant pers-

pective by which we mortal human beings can look back and

have a damned good laugh at our ofttimes and otherwise pitiful

history. The saga continues today. And yes folks, for the most

part, we seem complaisant, and would have it no other way.

Chris Hanch 8-14-19

Rediscovery

I do believe in technology for the most part—

instant connectivity, access to information and

entertainment. However, I can see where a lot

has been lost—knowledge and joy measured out

in steps incrementally, the wisdom and excite-

ment of timely discovery. Today, in this Light

Speed Age, it’s like going from the first grade

all the way to the eighth in one year. Learning

is a process of steady and progressive growth,

I believe. One should learn their vocabulary

before one writes the words; should master

addition before moving on to subtract and divide.

The developing brain is like a fine wine which

needs time in aging to achieve a rich and full

bodied, mellow bouquet. I’m not for bringing

back the “Good Old Days” per se. There are

modern and innovative ways of learning to be

sure. But it would be gratifying to once again

see a child become enlightened as he or she

holds a book in their hands, slowly turning the

page, discovering what in the world comes next.

May I suggest Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House

on the Praire or the Adventures of Tom Sawyer

by Mark Twain.

Chris Hanch 8-13-19

The Gathering Dust

Let us begin today with specks of dust from

which all was made, and super nova explosions

expanded into massive cosmic size to eventually

form solar systems and galaxies beyond our mortal

comprehension. You and I are billions of years

descendant beyond that now having taken our

place in the vastness of time and space. And each

day in passing we tend to measure and acknowledge

that which is relative to the eye and mind in shape

and size. Dust, the amalgamation of minuscule you

and me. Pay attention to the unseen, my friends.

Dust does matter, the elemental substance of all

creation swirling above our heads, ever shifting

beneath our feet.

Chris Hanch 8-12-19

Psychic Chicanery

As one grows old, the trick becomes

how to receive each day differently

than the last. Retired and restricted

makes each day seem to be a Saturday.

Used to be in younger days the week-

ends were considered a glorious re-

prive from school or work, two days

in a row where you could choose your

preferred time and place. Oh yes, there

were things to get done which had to

wait in line until there was some free

time, repairs on home and car to be made,

errands to run and loose ends to be tied.

But there was always a break time to be

taken at your own pace, naps to take, enter-

taining events to attend, parties with family

and friends. Oh praise be those weekends.

Nowadays, there is that constant thread of

look-alike, enfeebled and graying days. The

trick is to come up with a new twist and turn

which makes one day stand out from all the

rest. Life can bore the living hell out of you

when Saturdays repeat themselves for two

or three days in a row. I like to pretend it’s

Wednesday occasionally (Hump Day) even if

it isn’t. Gives me a mental peak to overcome.

Also, I can make-believe that I have a boss

who is a damned fool, and just decide not to

show up for work that day.

Chris Hanch 8-10-19

PCH as Seen on TV

On TV, I watch a lucky family win $5000

a week for life from Publisher’s Clearing

House. That shit’s been going on for years.

The prize used to be awarded in one lump

sum, but folks figured that the taxes on that

would be too high. Better to receive a lesser

amount over time, I suppose. A few years

back, I worked with a man who went home

to eat lunch every day. He checked the mail

and reported back that he had not been no-

tified as a winner yet. And I reminded him

about the commercial: They come to your

house unannounced. They’ll ring the door-

bell with a bouquet of flowers and a handful

of balloons. They’ll smile, jump up and down,

and hand you an oversize check. Your eyes

will damn near pop out of your head. You’ll

put your hands over your face in disbelief,

screaming with glee. Mr. Jones, the man with

a microphone says...Congratulations! Mr. Jones?

you’ll tell him, he’s the guy next door! Oh my,

the announcer replies apologetically, our mis-

take. Have a nice day anyway. And the whole

film crew walks away before they can even

pop the cork on the campaign. So, as a distrac-

tion, I asked my coworker, what he had for lunch?

A double bologna with mustard on rye, he replied.

And attempting to be conciliatory, I said to him,

well at least you made it back to work on time.

That was a number of years ago, and to this day,

I must admit that I have never known anybody

who has won that damn Publisher’s Clearing

House Sweepstakes. And, as the case might be,

if you’ve been either lucky or unfortunate enough

to have known me, I would encourage you not to

get your hopes up.

Chris Hanch 8-9-19

Snow Day

I suppose you had to be there to remember those

cold and snowy winter days in Missouri—Boots

on and body wrapped in down-filled parka and

scarf; head donned with cap and ear muffs per-

haps, gloves or mittens to shield the hands.

And oh, the bitter cold, against thin slices of

skin exposed. Shovels and sleds, snow forts and

snow men, snowball fights with siblings and

friends. And first of all, the announcement on the

radio—school called off for the day. Hurray!

Hurray! Free to romp and play outside in the

elements today! Funny, though, I never once

considered those unfortunate kids in Florida or

Alabama for whom school was still in session.

They had to trot off to their classes in the rain

and fifty-degree temperatures. And what about

those poor kids in Alaska who likewise had too

attend school regardless of inclement weather.

Sub-freezing weather and piles of snow in winter

were a given most everyday for them. Either way,

whether down South or up North, school kids in

their classes never gave a thought to the likes of

me, braving the elements and close to frostbite as

I might be. I did, however, wonder about the nuns

who taught us. What did they do with their day off?

I am sure, come rain or shine, they still had to pray

for the salvation of all mankind given the bitter cold

and blowing snow even though hell was frozen over.

Chris Hanch 8-8-19

Eye on the Prize

As a child, Saturdays were the glory days, no

school, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger, Sky King
and the like on early morning TV. And a new
box of cereal to open and dig through for the

premium toy buried inside—plastic cars, rings
and submarines, and my favorite, aluminum
railroad badges—Frisco, Illinois Central, Rock
Island Lines—hopefully a different one each

week to add to my collection. I had the cereal
maker’s trick figured out. They would bury the
prize deep inside the box, so kids had to eat
their way nearly to the bottom to get the toy.

I couldn’t wait, so I always opened the box
from the bottom. As I recall, most toys were
meant for boys. Probably because little boys
are far more possessive and needy than little

girls. I had two brothers, and usually a fight
broke out to determine who wound up with
the prize. Years later and as an old man now,
I don’t eat cereal for breakfast anymore. But

metaphorically speaking, I do frequently turn
the box of my life upside down fumbling around
blindly, still seeking some sort of reward. So far,
the payoff turns out to be that one more day on

Earth is good enough for me. And Lord knows,
I am certainly in no hurry these days to reach
the bottom. Fondly, though, I am remebering
Saruday mornings, Roy Rogers and Post Toasties.

Chris Hanch 8-6-19