Every year my Buddhist brother-in-law goes on this two week (I think) silent retreat. For two weeks you don't way a word, you spend your days, hours upon hours sitting indian style on a cushion and meditate (meaning clear your head of every thought). You eat in silence. You sleep in silence (but what if you're a sleep talker . . . Phoebe would get booted like the first night. She carries on long conversations in her sleep). During these two weeks, my brother in law gets lots of mental work done. He works through things and sees the world better and more clearly. I envy him. Well, I envy a day of silence. But the idea of it . . . oh the idea of having time like that . . . seems lovely. But then I remember that being on a Silence Retreat means I can't talk . . . and then I realize, well, that would be hard. I may last a day. Ok, maybe like five hours of silence. I'm a chatty Cathy. I would be kicked out by day t...