Oh, Memory, How I Miss Thee (standard:humor, 905 words)
Author: Godspenman	Added: Sep 17 2023	Views/Reads: 485/293	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Memory can be a tricky thing for many, especially me. I’m trying to process Peter’s warning here to “refrain my tongue from evil, and my lips that they speak no guile.” If I’m honest with myself I must be honest with everyone else. Also what Solomon said,

Driving home from a luncheon with friends, The Gracious Mistress of the
Parsonage asked me a stunning question. 

She is a specialist regarding questions I can't answer. I am trying to
evade her questions and have been very good up until now. 

“Did that story you told really happened?” She glanced at me with one of
her quizzical looks. 

Because I told several stories at lunchtime, I was wondering which one
she was referring to. To the best of my knowledge, everything I say is 
true. Of course, people have different views of truth. 

“Which story are you referring to, my dear?” 

My plan has always been to deflect the attention away from the real
question. 

“You know. The one about the chicken attacking you.” 

Since I told quite a few stories, I couldn't remember that one exactly.
My memory has a problem with really staying focused. I can tell one 
story one time and tell it again, and it is pretty different. If you 
heard both, you would know they were the same story. 

It's not that I lie. I have a creative attitude and imagination with the
stories I tell. 

It's not the story I'm telling but rather the point I'm trying to
convey. 

“Well, my dear, if I told it, it must true because I do not lie except
when I go to bed.” But I smiled at her and nodded in a very affirmative 
way. 

She didn't think that was funny and said so. 

“Well,” she said very seriously, “I've heard you tell that story at
least six times and each time it's different. What do you have to say 
about that?” 

Looking at her rather soberly, I said, “The only thing I can think of is
that they were six different stories.” 

That is one of the astounding things about memory. If it's my memory, I
should be able to tell it how I want to. After all, I can't remember 
back that far in my life. And, to tell the truth, it may not have 
happened at all. Who knows? 

That is why if I tell any story, it is one before I met The Gracious
Mistress of the Parsonage. All during our marriage, she has been very 
faithful in correcting the stories I tell while I'm telling them. At 
least those stories that happened while we were together. 

That is the challenge I have just about every day of my life. The
Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage has a flawless memory. Don't let her 
know I said this, but I suspect she remembers things that never 
happened. But with my flawed memory, there's no way I could correct 
that. 

She knows everything that has ever happened since the day we first met.
If only I had half of her memory skills. [Sigh!] 

I learned this long ago, so if I tell a story, it was before I met Miss
Know-It-All. Then, I can tell it according to my memory, which is 
somewhat flawed. 

One of the blessings of a flawed memory is that I can tell a story that
happened way back half a dozen times, and nobody would know it. Most of 
the time, I don't know it. 

A long time ago, I accepted that I should not try to correct a story
whenever she tells it. 

Once, and only once, I thought I would agitate her, and as she told a


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