A dear friend, who is also a follower of this blog, just came back from a silent weekend retreat. I’m anxious to hear how it was, assuming he can speak now. If he tries to be a tough cookie, we have ways to make him talk.

Why, oh why, do I love those bad jokes? I initially thought I would never do a silent retreat. Then I got to thinking of some of the benefits …

• More time to eat.
• More time to eat pie. I guess that’s a subset of the first, but I do like pie.
• Nobody telling me what to do.
• I can wear my RESIST sweatshirt and any Trump supporters at the retreat can’t say a word about it.
• No Fox News.
• Without others talking, I can finally concentrate on what the voices in my head are telling to do.

I’m sure there’s more, so I’m slowly warming to the idea of spending a weekend not talking. I only have one condition though.

With no words, I will require musical accompaniment like a piano playing at all times as we silently go about our business.

And I would want to walk like Chaplin all weekend.

Any objections? Shhhh!