I find it fascinating that there are times in life when you cannot speak. 

 

The most glaring example of course is the first year you land on the planet. Oh I have heard mothers swear that their six month old said a recognizable word. One of my own little girls was holding the current baby in her lap, who was gurgling the way babies do, and she gasped "Mama! He just said a word! He said diarrhea!" 

 

Another incompatible time for conversation is when you are chewing. I admit it is possible, as any parent of a toddler can attest, but the two activities work better in separate time frames. Finish that bite, then tell me about your worm collection. 

 

Physical exercise, too, precludes dialogue. Sure you can grunt out warnings, like "Scram!" to the kids drawing on the sidewalk at your feet as you are barreling by on an evening run. But mouths tend to have a vacation when biceps and femurs take over. 

 

Kissing, too is a talk stopper. Perhaps it is a design flaw, because the Creator could not fit one more orifice on the already crowded facial layout, and made the mouth serve double duty. But I think it is more probable that he thinks kissing needs all of our attention. As a compulsive multi tasker, I have needed this reminder that mid smooch is not the best time to remind John about his dental appointment on Thursday. 

 

Talking is good. I am in favor of it. But quiet is nourishing in another way. I like the freedom to sit beside my husband, even when the air between us carries no syllables.... only feelings too wide for words.