My Mom . . . the brave few May 11 2007

My Mom . . . the brave few May 11 2007


Reprint from May 1, 2007 . . .

A Dedication to all moms everywhere . . . Happy moms day.

Everyone has someone that has made the greatest impact on their life . . . My mom was that person for me. She is no longer on this earth. She died over five years ago. Everyone says that you’ll get over it. The truth, you never do.

My mom was my spiritual guide in this life. She taught me how to be the best I can. And when no one else was there for me she was. She supported my writing, when every one except my wife deserted me.

Let me tell you about moms . . . They move heaven and earth for their children. And even if their kid was a mass murderer, they would still love them, and they should.

Remember my Foxhole survey, in What’s with the 300?

Whats with the 300, Fox hole survey

Well mothers become soldiers when it concerns their children . . . If their child ran into the road, they would throw themselves in front of a car, to save them. They would put themselves between any danger and their children . . . That’s why you . . . Never come between a mother bear and her cub.

My hero is my mom . . . When she was alive, she had cataract surgery. The doctors messed up; they had to take out the lens of one eye. Just to see each morning she had to put in her contact. And I don’t know if she could see . . . She never really said. But you know, she could have sued and she didn’t . . . She wouldn’t, that was not her.

And you know something, when we die, that’s when everyone else sees us for the first time . . . They learn how well we lived . . . It’s in those that come to see us off, to see us on our way. It’s in those we touched along our path . . . My mom had hundreds of friends . . . And I didn’t know, but then again . . . That wasn’t her way.

Thanks mom, thanks for everything.

Love you, always.

Your son, a writer.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

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Warriors and Wars
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The Unknown Soldiers - Remember the brave few

The Unknown Soldiers – Remember the brave few





In a field somewhere anywhere a worker works, digging up the fallen soldiers. It could be from any war, in any country, from any time. And still soldiers fall . . .



From the battle of Thermopylae where the remains of the 300 have been uncovered . . .





Or Germany where this story comes from, the second World War and the bodies are mostly German soldiers, never recovered.



A man Erwin Kowalke once dug a complete plane out of a swamp, pilot still at the controls. *



”The dead deserve a bit of honor.”



Gets you to thinking . . . Dog tags, remains, what’s in those caskets? Flag draped and unreported, unacknowledged, no heroes welcome for the fallen . . . Not by this President . . . And maybe not by any?



Have you been to Arlington National Cemetary?



You should see the changing of the guard in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and feel the honor. Those that guard the tomb, would gladly die fighting for them. Honor is alive in America . . .



Dan Hanosh

Dreams are yours to Share



* Taken from latimes.com, Search for the fallen in a now-quiet forest, by Jeffery Fleishman



My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



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Warriors and Wars

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Dan’s Room 2 Write



Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.



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My Mom . . . the brave few May 1 2007

My Mom . . . the brave few May 1 2007


A Dedication to all moms everywhere . . . Happy moms day.

Everyone has someone that has made the greatest impact on their life . . . My mom was that person for me. She is no longer on this earth. She died over five years ago. Everyone says that you’ll get over it. The truth, you never do.

My mom was my spiritual guide in this life. She taught me how to be the best I can. And when no one else was there for me she was. She supported my writing, when every one except my wife deserted me.

Let me tell you about moms . . . They move heaven and earth for their children. And even if their kid was a mass murderer, they would still love them, and they should.

Remember my Foxhole survey, in What’s with the 300?

Whats with the 300, Fox hole survey

Well mothers become soldiers when it concerns their children . . . If their child ran into the road, they would throw themselves in front of a car, to save them. They would put themselves between any danger and their children . . . That’s why you . . . Never come between a mother bear and her cub.

My hero is my mom . . . When she was alive, she had cataract surgery. The doctors messed up; they had to take out the lens of one eye. Just to see each morning she had to put in her contact. And I don’t know if she could see . . . She never really said. But you know, she could have sued and she didn’t . . . She wouldn’t, that was not her.

And you know something, when we die, that’s when everyone else sees us for the first time . . . They learn how well we lived . . . It’s in those that come to see us off, to see us on our way. It’s in those we touched along our path . . . My mom had hundreds of friends . . . And I didn’t know, but then again . . . That wasn’t her way.

Thanks mom, thanks for everything.

Love you, always.

Your son, a writer.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
dhanosh writingup
Dan Hanosh poemhunter.com
Dan’s Room 2 Write


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Of all the candidates two stand out

Of all the Candidates, two stand out

Dennis Kucinich and John Edwards stood out among all the Democratic Candidates . . . Mr. K. he would stop funding this Iraq crap instantly and Mr. E. he would help the world and give back the America that has been hijacked by the greedy . . .

And the rest, the just murmured in the background . . . The same promises, with stipulations . . . I’m tired of failure, I’m tired of the hatred, of war and hunger in the world. Ask yourself why? Why are gas prices growing at a ridiculous rate?

Believe what you will, but I won’t do the same . . . All you have to do is look at their income sheet and then you’ll know . . .

In this election, I’m not looking for more of the same . . . Not a wiry Bush, nor a sly Clinton. Obama, I’m not sure he can see anything but color . . . That’s not who I am. The man from New Mexico certainly is wise and so is the one with Rode Island ties. Although I’m not sure where they stand, they may just be another company man.

The others I don’t think will be much a treat and yet their there to take my time away from me. And I wonder, when is someone going to rise above the hate, to unite the great states, to build the American Dream once more.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
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Dan’s Room 2 Write

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whats with the 300

What’s with the 300?



Part 2: Yesterday I shared several thoughts and I repeat them today to set the stage for a story I must share . . .



Could a mere 300 hundred men, truly have stood for so long against so many? Why would they have fought to the death, each man?



Those two questions, many of us won’t understand . . . Over the years I did a little impromptu survey of my own . . . I asked approximately a hundred or so, friends and family what they would do?



I said, you’re in a foxhole, with four of your closest friends and a hand grenade is tossed in, what do you do?



And of those asked, only one chose to sacrifice themselves for the others. Most replied, jump out of the hole or throw it back . . . Now who would you rather have in your foxhole?



As for the 300, we know what they chose, don’t we?



I wanted to share one more thought on a similar subject as this . . . You see, the only person that answered by self sacrifice, I hold in the highest regards . . . Can share my fox hole any time.



You see that person was left four hundred thousand dollars when a sibling died . . . He forgot to change his will to his new wife and my honorable friend signed the money over to her . . . Would you?



“For whom the bell tolls, it tolls thee . . .” John Donne



And I feel a chill is in air, for where we are, isn’t where we’ve been . . .





Dan Hanosh

Dreams are yours to Share



My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Soon to come, Sleepless Nights



Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share

Warriors and Wars

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What's the intrigue about the 300

What’s the intrigue about the 300?

I’m infatuated with history . . . But that’s not why I’m so interested in the 300. It has to do with tools of the time and how well we as human beings can master the use of them.

It’s as though everyone thinks that our methods are so much better than those that came before. In truth they were able to move mountains without machines . . . And they built tall building without steel, without mortar . . . And they fought wars without guns.

But how did they?

Most believe the movie, The 300 to be a fictional tale by the poet HERODOTUS. Maybe it is and maybe he was telling us things we couldn’t possibly conceive on are own.

There was a scene in the movie where a Rhinoceros charges into the 300, as if it were a tank. Maybe far fetched, maybe not? Hannibal had Elephants. We think they had armor with spikes put on their tusks. We’ve seen them used in the circus . . . So what about a Rhino?

Could a mere 300 hundred men, truly have stood for so long against so many? Why would they have fought to the death, each man?

Those two questions, many of us won’t understand . . . Over the years I did a little impromptu survey of my own . . . I asked approximately a hundred or so, friends and family what they would do?

I said, you’re in a foxhole, with four of your closest friends and a hand grenade is tossed in, what do you do?

And of those asked, only one chose to sacrifice themselves for the others. Most replied, jump out of the hole or throw it back . . . Now who would you rather have in your foxhole?

As for the 300, we know what they chose, don’t we?


Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars . . . The brave few

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
dhanosh writingup
Dan Hanosh poemhunter.com
Dan’s Room 2 Write

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A Confession: I suffer from shiny penny syndrome

A confession: I suffer from shiny penny syndrome

No really . . . Today, I am confessing . . . I suffer from Shiny Penny Syndrome . . . As do most of us from the Midwest. For some reason we can’t walk by a shiny new car without owing and awing. We have to touch it’s shiny exterior, talk about how fast it goes in a straight away or what it would be like to own one.

And we own shiny everything, from cars, to boats, trucks, lawn tractors, tools of all sorts, fishing lures. Heck we even at one point collected empty shiny beer cans . . . If it’s shiny we have to have it and we have at least one of everything.

But that’s not the real problem . . . We have a tendency to stop mid stride and gawk at its shininess . . . We could be walking along a sidewalk with our boss or a potential client and spot a penny. And we have to stop and pick it up. It’s so cumbersome and embarrassing, to stoop and feign tying a shoe to pick at a penny on a sidewalk.

So many deals have been … to another because of the magical pull of a shiny new penny.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
dhanosh writingup
Dan Hanosh poemhunter.com
Dan’s Room 2 Write

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What are ya going to tell me next

What are ya going to tell me next

In school we were told Christopher Columbus discovered the Americas. And I bought into it. Then they thought it was someone named Leif, in a in a row boat or something . . . And now we just don’t know . . .

Leif Ericson

Someone had to get here somehow? Whether they walked on an ice bridge or built one out of tree limbs, somehow they got here . . . Whether you believe in evolution or the Bible, either way, they walked, floated, flew or trotted to get here. We just don’t know who and we never will . . .

And now my dino buddy, T-Rex, they say couldn’t have walked upright . . . So what were those little itty bitty arms for? Supporting that huge head when he was down barking like a dog . . . No, I can’t buy that . . . No way.

Oh and by the way, that chicken you had for dinner, its great, great, grand daddy may have been . . . You guessed it, my buddy, T-Rex. Now that’s what I call a drum stick.

Tyrannosaurus Rex

And I suppose the world is truly flat after all?

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights


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On my desk sits my reminder

On My Desk Sits My Reminder

On my desk sits my reminder . . . My Bible, just a regular paper back, King James Version that anyone can buy in any book store for $5.00, but to me it’s priceless.

It sits there to remind me to always try to do the right thing, always try to see the other side and never to judge. And most important to me besides the words of wisdom are the slips of paper I’ve placed inside . . .

Each one is the last memories of a loved one that has passed on . . . Prayers for those that remain to remember them by. And I can tell you that the most famous prayer, besides the Lord’s prayer, is Psalm 23.

I’m not sure why so many like it . . . But to me, it gives me a sense of peace, well being even after death.

Psalm 23
The shepherd psalm

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall
not want

He maketh me to lie down in green
pasteres: he leadeth me beside still
waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me
in the paths of righteousness for his
name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff
they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in
the presence of mine enemies: thou
anointest my head with oil; my cup
runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow
me all the days of my life: and I will
dwell in the house of the Lord/forever.

Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars . . . The Brave Few

My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights

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Torrid Times

Torrid Times . . .



We live in some torrid times. It happens every thirty years or so, when those that Govern stop listening. Wars break out, soldiers die and people start to lose hope. I remember the last time was in sixty-eight and it was a horrid time. Another war was playing on the wires and the body counts kept coming in. I was too young to fight, too young to die.



And the chopper blades blared in the background as a reporter tried to keep from dying on national T.V. Dark rubber bags bulging under the weight as they loaded them onto transport decks. And no one told us, we knew, it was one of ours . . . One of the Brave Few.



Today, I’m much older and the body counts keep coming in. Now, I’m too old to fight, too old to die by the sword, and it doesn’t stop the killing, the dying or the pain.



Dan Hanosh

Dreams are yours to Share



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The Trip I Have Yet To Make

The Trip I have yet to make . . .

Many years ago, I decided I would take the train to Washington . . .

I love to ride on Amtrak. I love to talk with all the various people. Once I went from Tucson to Chicago. Every moment was an adventure, every moment I met someone new. And afterwards I coined the idea of traveling to Washington to see the museums, but my real reason was to meet the men on the Vietnam memorial . . .

You see I wanted to meet them face to face, I wanted to feel their pain at least what was left to feel. I wanted to feel the cold granite beneath my palm and leave something that would give me a sense of sacrifice . . . But what do I have that would suffice?

And then it dawned on me . . . A poem, by me, for their eyes only. I would write it, print it, frame it and then delete all signs of it from my computer, as though I’d never wrote it. And I would call it, “For Their Eyes, Only”.

And then maybe I could feel twinge of a sacrifice for them.

Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars

Related Articles:
Endless Tracks
And tears began to fill my eyes

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Watch what you say . . .

Watch What You Say . . .

Somehow everyone believes what you say is what you mean . . . So many of us, say things we don’t mean and yet things change.

Are there moments you would like to have back? Me too. Imus I’m sure does and yet would it matter?

Today John Rocker’s dad was killed . . . Life is so hard and then we say things, well stupid things and they get harder. Hatred Raises its ugly head and we’re doomed, doomed to repeat the same mistakes of so many.

We don’t forgive, we don’t forget . . . But I do.

Dan Hanosh

Dreams are yours to Share



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The Other Side of Alaskan Crab Fishing

The side no one talks about . . . Any one can be a crabber. All you have to do is agree to work eighteen hour days, when there’s fish or not work when there’s not . . . They don’t tell you in such terms that you’ll stay on the boat and not get paid during those periods. That you’ll most likely be working in the Alaskan winter, no you won’t see the sun.

You’ll sleep in a room with four others and shower in the communal shower/head. They’ll issue you work boots and clothes. Sure you don’t pay rent or for food, but then you don’t get off the boat either. There’s a store on board where you can by toiletries and snacks and things. But phone service is at most none existent and when you are able to get through, it’s about $1 to $1.50 per minute.

And maybe you might end up missing, as one worker has not been seen for over two months. All for $7.15 an hour and loads of overtime . . . That’s if they decide to pay the overtime, that was only, but they don’t want you to know that.

And Maybe there were other problems or not;
+ sueing Exxon, The Exxon Valdez
+ Maybe they were fined for taking too much crab
+ Maybe they were fined by the EPA for dumping fish remains
+ Maybe employees sued for not paying overtime
+ sued for injuries to a worker . . .

But if you like adventure, Alaska may just be the place . . .

Dan Hanosh
Warrior and Wars

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