Twice Told Tales

                                    Sorry, did I already tell you that story?

         In a community like ours at Spring Run, where most of us are “well over 39,” many of us tell stories over and over again, to friends and neighbors, forgetting that we have probably already told that tale or joke several times at past gatherings, lunches and coffee sessions. Friends understand. They have done the same thing themselves. And a good story or amusing anecdote, if told well, is worth hearing again and again. After a few glasses of spirits, it is just as funny the second, third and fifth time that you hear it. Besides, our friendship for the yarn spinner is only strengthened by showing our patience with listening to the same story told over and over again. It becomes a familiar and welcome part of our friend’s persona.

 As a writer and frequent poster on the internet, I sometimes wonder who reads my stories several times. Like graffiti artists the world over, my messages appear but briefly and then are subsumed into the digital morass of the world-wide net. In that I have seven books written, 600 stories and 85 travel articles, in my files, I sometimes forget that I have already posted one piece or another. Kindly friends and understanding editors usually gently remind me that they have already read the piece. I think they are concerned that I may be slipping into the netherworlds of the forgetting ones. Like many people, of a certain age, I do indeed forget things sometimes.

But, like any curator wandering through a collection, I often meander amidst my own body of work, editing, rewriting and amending pieces, wishing that I had said or phrased an idea differently, or explained some concept more fully. We all live in the land of “Things I wish I had said.” This wisdom generally descends on us the morning after a spirited conversation or confrontation when you match wits with someone in an attempt to promote your own theory or discredit theirs. Like duffers in golf, life would be more comfortable if we all got to take the occasional Mulligan for a comment issued in haste. Compassionate friends usually cut you some slack and say “I knew what you meant, foggeddabout it.” Others hold you to the literal utterance and save the ammunition for future use.

So, if you come upon a posting of mine that you recognize, just shrug your shoulders and go on. I probably am just reiterating an idea, for emphasis, perhaps when a compatible issue is raised in the media. Or, maybe I was just rephrasing something that I wish I had said better the first time. In the final analysis, all written graffiti fades and disappears with the shifting sands of time. Like a temporal emery board, the elements erase the evidence of what was and prepare a clean slate for the generations yet to come.

                                                 -30-

                                   Joseph Xavier Martin