And Here In This Room, I Re-experience

Take Pride In Your Pain; You Are Stronger Than Those Who Have None

She Was The Only Doctor's Wife In Branford, Maine, Who Hung Her Wash On An Outdoor Clothesline Instead Of Putting It Through A Dryer, Because She Liked To Look Out The Window And See The Clothes Blowing In The Wind. She Had Been Especially Delighted, One Day, When One Sleeve Of The Top Of Her Husband's Pajamas, Prodded By The Stiff Breeze Off The Bay, Reached Over And Grabbed Her Nightgown Around The Waist.

The Community Of The Giver Had Achieved At Such Great Price. A Community Without Danger Or Pain. But Also, A Community Without Music, Color Or Art. And Books.

Our People Made That Choice, The Choice To Go To Sameness. Before My Time, Before The Previous Time, Back And Back And Back. We Relinquished Color When We Relinquished Sunshine And Did Away With Difference. We Gained Control Of Many Things. But We Had To Let Go Of Others.

So Many Of My Books, I Don't Want To Say They Have Messages, But They Have Important Things To Say.