RobArt Penguin

I almost started a blog about how working on a second edition of my book has kept me away from blogging, when I realized I already wrote on that topic. I caught myself about to repeat. In my mother’s later years, her kids (me included) would grow impatient with her frequent repeating of stories. My sisters were less patience than I, but I had my moments. Now, when my kids tell me I repeat myself, I am faced with the irony. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. Maybe it’s the result of a sedentary and secluded life, and I don’t create a lot of new material. To make conversation, I must draw from my library of memories. Perhaps I am slightly more cognizant than my mother, I often asked my kids if I have told a certain story before. Of course, my daughter points out that even if she says “yes,” I go ahead and retell the story. Great stories bear repeating.