i hesitated to post this one. It came upon me this morning. Suddenly. Just like that. i like it so why the hesitation? Well, i got concerned folks might think i’m writing about myself. i mean, after all, i am short and chubby and now, pretty much locked in to officially old.

But it’s not me. There is a part of me in there, but this is a story about Nathan Short, not me. Part of this one contains things i think are important. But just as Dave Carey expressed to me in the early 1990’s, the end game, at least for me, is for folks to make their own connections. i should not and don’t expect those connections to be mine.

i don’t know why i wish to share my stuff with the general public, or least a very tiny portion of that general public, but i do. Earlier, i thought of trying to make money, but taking a hit of around $800.00 on my poetry book, i am no longer driven by the almighty dollar, as if i ever were. And i am keeping my eye on the long end game i have: to give my grandson some idea of what his grandfather was like and what papa thought about a number of things. Again, not trying to persuade him to travel in any direction. i want him to make his own connections, including ignoring all of my stuff if that is what he decides. But i hope he doesn’t: ignore my stuff completely.

And then, there is this thing about sharing it with you. i don’t know why i do that as well. But i do. You are my friends and i hope this stuff of mine will give you the opportunity to make some connections, your connections. 

So here is a story about Nathan Short i believe ends well:

Nathan Short, a Story that Ends Well

Nathan Short just didn’t fit in;
Nathan Short never made a lot of money,
nearly always had good times,
didn’t worry much
‘cepting ‘bout other folks
being worried
‘cause he cared for them.

Nathan Short was short, a bit chubby,
not sleek and handsome,
so
the girls just liked him for being nice,
a friend.

Nathan Short never was much successful
although he went a lot of places,
did a lot of things
most people never got to go or do,
but
he liked just being there and meeting folks and having a good time.

Nathan Short did okay,
but
it seemed okay was not enough,
not having a lot of money was not enough either.

Nathan Short was liked by just about everybody,
and
Nathan Short liked just about everybody
‘cause he didn’t hold grudges, didn’t keep score,
figured everybody makes mistakes
so
he forgave them,
but
not everybody forgave Nathan Short.

One afternoon Nathan Short listened to Waylon Jennings sing
“I’ve Always Been Crazy but It’s Kept Me from Going Insane,”
and
Nathan Short finally realized he didn’t think like other folks,
didn’t quite fit in, like Waylon;
for a while, Nathan Short was sad
but
he got over it.

Nathan Short grew older
did a lot of things he had done before,
liked to piddle and did piddle about,
finding just doing things well, large and small;
caring for folks regardless of how they felt about him
’cause
it gave him pleasure,
made him feel good…
you know, self-actualization and all that.

Nathan Short grew old
and
found himself more and more alone,
which was alright with him,
discovered he liked alone
and
he went up into the hills,
built a cabin,
lived there by himself
piddling about, doing things well
and
feeling good about it
until
old age caught up with him one morning
and
he looked out east as the sun rose on his cabin door
and
old Nathan Short
died alone
but
happy.

Bonita, California
March 30, 2019