happy Chrisnukahkwanstice to you and yours.

Please accept with no obligation, implicit or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practised within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice, with total respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, and their choice not to practise religious or secular traditions at all... and a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make Britain great (not to imply the Britain is necessarily greater than any other country nor is it the only BRITAIN" in the northern hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith, sexual orientation and choice of computer platform of the wishee.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wishee actually to implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the
wisher.

This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

what is your deepest conviction?

"A 'No' uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

I stabbed myself with my splayd.

Don't ever call this thing a spork.
It isn't one. This creature - the spoon/blade - was invented by WIlliam McArthur in 1943. I learned much about these beautiful creatures when I dated still-beloved-aussie-gal Sara for several years. I brought what I believe is this exact cased set of splayds home from Melbourne along with me. I'm sure it was my kid who lost the one which now remains missing - I was heartsick when I was no longer able to could six of them in the silverware drawer and he didn't seem to be the least bit concerned so sure, let's blame him for the moment.

Here's the important bit: do NOT attempt to use one of these to get food into your mouth if you are not fully and entirely awake with all your faculties to guide you (and the splayd).

They bite. And sometimes they'll even draw blood. It's true! I have a puncture wound in my upper lip where I made a wayward attempt to put lunch into my mouth to prove it.

I missed the hole in the middle of my lips. OW.

That's all. You are dismissed.

Not only does Santa distribute packages, sometimes he also has to adjust them

The Big Man himself paid a visit to a Dodgeville, WI Culver's Frozen Custard restaurant this weekend.

[side note: for those not in the know, frozen custard is just this side of heaven. If you haven't tried it, please add it to the list of things to do before you die. It's just one of those very nice things. Got it? 'K, good.]

Before making his grand entrance Santa prepared himself in his Santerly way, though he clearly didn't know that there were folks out in the dining area with cameras at the ready who could see him *koff* shifting his package around. After he turned to see me snapping away, he laughed a ho ho ho (kids at the next table donchaknow) and said "Don't you know that Santa likes to know when he's having his picture taken?". I winked back at him, replying "Oh yes, but I saw what Santa was busy doing back there."

I shook his gloved hand and we exchanged knowing smiles.

DING DING DING!

There's a contest going on here in the best local weeky paper to find the Gaudiest Holiday Yard Display.

Those of you who know me IRL can probably imagine the joy I've had trying to find them a few good contenders. We wouldn't want to leave any qualified people out, now would we? NO. We most certainly would not; especially after all the time and trouble (and electric bills) they've channeled into entertaining the public. Which I suppose also could possibly be perceived as wanking off for that slim minority who might find overindulgent yard displays uhm, overindulgent. But I digress. Thus far I haven't seen many entries (other than my own, I mean) but I think we may have our winner right here.

Subjective decision, of course, but hey I found it, I claim it. Isn't how that goes?

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

Though I must say the kid-mcbeth would have loved her own personal candy factory had her parents been more of the over-the-top yard decorator types. When I was very young (1st grade through 3rd grade, if wobbly memory serves me right) I used to walk to the house at the bottom of Davenport Avenue all by myself at night. That was still back at a time when parents had not yet been overwarned to never NEVER let their pre-25 year old children out of the house alone without a harness, a bell, a bottle of pepper spray, a cellphone, and a grownup with a concealed weapon. Ah well, that's what a girl gets for being born to Lutherans I guess.

At any rate, I meandered down to the house on the corner because the four or five times those neighbors acknowledged my child presence they didn't yell at me. They didn't frown. They didn't tell my parents I was doing something wrong. They just saw me, smiled a quick grownup smile, then went along with whatever they were doing. That was enough to endear them to me really, but what I truly appreciated about them was their Christmas display.

First of all, we were able to openly call it a Christmas display. Because geez, that's what it was: Their yard, Biblical carol and seasonal hymns piped through outdoor speakers, high cost Jesus junk scattered all over = Christmas display. Those were clearer times. Not necessarily better times, but clearer at any rate.

They never minded me standing on their sidewalk, just staring like a complete mini dope at the creche for nearly an hour at a time, singing along with the piped-out tunes. I've always preferred thinking that they actually saw me there and chose not to mind me rather than the alternative (ie: they never even knew a little kid was freezing out there in the cold in their yard, but was singing her heart out to their 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' until she took her last little breath and then broke into a million icicled pieces).

I liked those private moments alone. They made me feel so mah-tour. Funny isn't it? I don't nearly feel the need to show my adultness now, but I still crave those private moments. Candy factories and alone time ... I guess I'm a lot less complicated than I sometimes think I am.

Delicious

baked brie, bread and bruit. Fruit. by McBeth.

Sometimes I have a gut feeling that I should bring my camera along for odd trips or errands around town. Sometimes I listen; I'll slog my camera bag along with me even if I don't end up taking the little beaut out. Other times, like today, I ignore the feeling and end up kicking myself for second-guessing myself.

For example, had I paid attention to that little feeling today I would have been able to show you some really great examples of what I suspect was drunken collegiate snowperson building. One huge snowman had a traffic cone stuck atop his head (I unofficially named him 'conehead', which was followed immediately by a strong yen for the old SNL). A couple of downtown yards later there was another snow person - again with the fancy head decor seemingly considered extra-specially when final touches were considered. But instead of a cone on top, this fellow had a broom shoved into the top of his (her?) head and straight down what would be its snow spine, giving him that loveliest of hairstyles, the broommohawk effect.

I mentioned to KD (who was passengering in Scarletta at this time while I drove) after the second funky snow person that I had considered bringing my camera bag earlier and was now regretting the fact that I hadn't.

Not 20 seconds after saying this, we reached an intersection at which I had the red light. The cross street was a one-way heading right and to the right was a large delivery/cartage truck stuck in a very very wrong position across the right lane, pointed toward the left lane, with its hazard lights flashing.

Seemed a very strange thing for a truck to be parked right there on the side of an intersection and we quickly realized why it wasn't moving anywhere: however it happened to GET there in the first place, the truck apparently backed up into a fire hydrant and had hooked a large metal piece on its rear around a sticky-outy piece of the hydrant. I swear, the driver couldn't have tried to aim that big monster of vehicle onto that relatively teeny target if his life had depended on it.

Me without my camera. Argh.

So instead of sharing today's street scenes, I hope your taste buds can, instead, be tempted with the brie, bread and fruit that friends Barney & Goldy prepared for a recent party at KD's place. B & G both work other jobs but they're true foodies at heart and they try to land catering gigs whenever possible ... and they gig quite well I must say.

If your gut tells you something today - pay attention. Listen. Maybe you decide not to follow through this time, but it won't kill any of us to pause long enough to catch the message. That's the first step, right?

Never enough.

red and blue fence by McBeth.

Some folks like decorating the ol' homestead for the holidays. I've been watching to see if the current spike in heating and electricity costs would have a cause/effect dent in the number of people who do up their yards into freakish seasonal spectacles that they are. Don't get me wrong, I really DO enjoy a light display. There's something that draws me to a lit up yard like a two year old to an electrical outlet; like a moth to a flame, like Homer to a box of doughnuts.

There is a small 'bah humbug'ish chunk of coal inside me - and perhaps inside you too. If nothing else, maybe the joy we can take during this time of year is how fantastically over the top people can, and do, go. I mean... TIPPY top.

There's something quite respectable in their almost desperate and yet deeply committed yearning for more more more and in their indiscriminating decision to never stop until they've overdone it.

Red reindeer

...The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there...

Dairyland Dolls

Mouse, as 'Jammer', passes members of the opposing team (in this case, the Tent City Terrors), to score points for the Mad Rollin' Dolls. This weekend's game was exhibition only and was an exciting lead-up to the season opener, scheduled for January 2006. In the end the TCTs won the match, 116-105,

Yum!

quinn's apple pie

quinn's apple pie by McBeth.

This Thanksgiving my brother arrived with quite a surprise:

He'd developed a sudden yearning to bake.
Pies.
Many pies.

Seven pies, to be exact.

The five that I can remember were this pretty latticed apple (oh yum), a pecan, two different pumpkin versions, and a frozen peanut butter/oreo.

Heaven!

~*~ Happy Birthday Audrey! ~*~

She was barely two pounds when she was born; nearly 14 inches long.
Such a frail tiny tiny little human, she arrived far too early,
far earlier than her parents had ever expected,
earlier than anyone had expected.

She was baptized the day she arrived in the world, because there was a good chance that day might have been her only day.
The hospital chaplain - a kind man with a gentle smile, dripped individual drops of water onto her forhead from a shell and blessed her while her parents watched on.

She stayed in the NICU for months. Her momma and daddy became regular fixtures there.
She kangarooed, she slept, she ate, she grew.

And somehow the trauma and drama of her very youngest very earliest days passed. It felt raw and uncertain but she transformed into a newborn gerbil looking creature into a human infant looking creature. She was able to go home. She learned to hold her head up, to sit, to roll over, to walk. She ran and soon she ran faster than all the people around her. After a couple of years it seemed like a strange dream those early years, as though we'd all just made them up. And now we are, even a few more years away from those first frightening days.

I'm amazed and delighted that today is her 5th birthday.

She'll never be a four year old again.

My sister read to her last night and asked her what her favorite 4 year old memories would be. Audrey replied that swimming at a nearby lake was one of her favorite things to do, and also the time that Beppie (that's me) took her camping. My sis said "I think you went camping with B. and J. when you were three, honey". Aud thought it over for a few seconds and responded, "Well, can I still tell you about it? She took me camping at Blue Mounds State Park and Delaney was there -she's a kid- and ..." and she continued telling her momma alllll about it.

It makes my heart all warm and gooey to know I'm an important grownup to that kid.
She's an important kid to this grownup.

and the five shall become one

Hard to tell from the small image over there, but that'll be an example of the great magic that is Photoshop CS2 within a day.


That digital image actually began as five separate images. I merged them. Played with them. Removed the parking lot and a convenience store from the lower left and right sides, respectively. I cropped it some.


Keep an eye open and you'll see the transformation.

Here's a helpful hint (if you want to be able to view it up just a little closer): click on the image. Go on, you know you want to. Just do it. You'll feel so much better.

UPDATE: tah-dah. Lookie there on the right ... Neat, hunh?

Cupcakes and (de)composition

My niece came to my house to play with me today. You can call me a babysitter if you want, but I really dig the kid. She popped out of her momma three months early, weighing a whopping two-point-what's-the-use-of-counting-the-ounces-when-she's-this-small pounds.

She looked like a baby gerbil when she was born. Her skin looked raw and unfinished in that 'put it back, it's not done baking' kind of way. And she lived in a box with special lights and lots of tubes and soft touching and diapers made of gauze pads because that's how small she needed a diaper to be. I swiped one of her pre-pre-preemie diapers from the hospital during one of my visits there. After I left I put the diaper on a rubber chicken I had hanging on the credenza back at work so I could remember just how incredibly small and frail and alive she was. It was a good way for me to remember to keep the joy and sadness and fear and all those Big Human Emotions all together near one another in quite a physical way. If I ran into trouble with one I could always call on one of the others toot-suite. Yes?

So she's going to be five soon, this one. This kid who has the energy of 29 horses and the smile of several constellations' worth of twinkling stars. We have a certain way of doing things at my house. She wants to do six different art/coloring projects while watching Kid TV while playing a board game while building a Lego tower with her toes. Audrey has a tendency to be very much like her aunt in this regard and the primary rule of business came quickly for us both:

First things first, one thing at a time.

Today's first thing, we decided, was to be the cupcake making. We made a mid-cupcake-making trip to the grocery store when we accidentally ran out of vanilla. And because Audrey 'would really really love a little drink of the grape juice like that little girl on tv is drinking, but I prefer the purple to the see-through kind'. What can I say? I'm a sucker for her batted eyelashes and she needs nutritional juice products.

Cupcake making was good fun for both of us. She learned to crack eggs by herself today. I'd measure the other ingredients and she'd pour them into the bowl. I held the hand mixer (she can't stand loud noises) and she licked the beaters when the mixing was done. And when it came to decorating time, she had roughly 13 different shakers of varying sizes and shapes containing sugars and sprinkles and nonpareils and themed crunchies (four of the shakers had come together as a 4-pack... the Scooby-Doo theme, donchaknow: Scooby snacks, dog bones, dog tags and some other completely unidentifiable sugary shape in neon colors. That'smygirl though, going for the sparkly shiny neon bright whatever it might be.

We don't usually put frosting on our cupcakes unless it's a special special occasion, so I suggested that she put the sprinkles right on top of the batter and we'd bake 'em in. She took me seriously, opening every lid so she could get to aaaaaalllll the shakers without having to get mad if her fingers got slippery and she couldn't open one of them (yes, she said that was one of her big concerns). She used up several containers' worth of sprinkles and sugars on those 12 cupcakes and she had a ball.

We put the decorated cupcake batter into the oven, set the oven timer, and attended to the next two tandem items on our busy list: funeral and aquarium cleaning. I hadn't noticed that at some point during this past weekend one of my fish died. The four year old with hawk vision noticed immediately when she asked to help me feed them. I pulled out the net, tried my best to give her honest (honest, not scary and revolting) answers to the questions she asked about dead stuff. I showed her the tail section only when she asked to see the dead fish I had essentially scraped off the bottom of the filter, in pieces. I suggested that it might make her feel even sadder if she saw the whole dead fish (without adding the 'in 15 rotting pieces' part) so how about we just look one last time at the tail and I'll take it outside.

'How come you take dead fish outside?', she wanted to know. I silently asked myself whether answering 'well darling, anything larger than a rabbit turd will clog the toilets so out he goes!' would affect her adversely for the rest of her life. Yeah, probably.
Instead of insisting on absolute accuracy in my reporting, I gave her a short 'circle of life' lesson, at the end of which she insisted excitedly that she could help me dig a hole in which to bury the fish.

Cool. I'd appreciate the gravesite company.

A few minutes later the fish was buried. She added the sweet touch of childhood to our brief ceremony when she asked me to fill her watering can with some of the old water from the fish tank. I brought out a small plastic container of water which she poured over the buried fish.

When I asked her why she had chosen that particular spot on which to dump her water she confidently replied that she was pretty sure that giving some of that water to the dead fish 'it might get back alive'.

The post-funeral visitation took place in the living room. While nibbling cupcakes and sipping juice Aud decided that the remaining two fish left in the tank would both be named Oinky. We visited the fish store later, and she named one of the two platys 'Sleeping Beauty' and the other platy, Oinky. As are the two new tetras and the suckerfish.

So that's Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky and Sleeping Beauty. Alrighty, I think the system is simple enough for even me to remember.

The car ride out to her house after the post-cupcakes post-funeral post-snack post-fish tank cleaning was a deluxe guessing game. Here's how that game is played:

• think of an animal.
• give some semi-telling clues about what that animal looks like/says/eats/lives
• pretend you are that animal. Demonstrate the look/sound/etc.
• have the other person guess what you might be.
• it's extra funny if your aunt guesses a completely wrong animal. If you say you have a pouch on your tummy, she might say something like 'what? that pouch isn't to hold your groceries in?'
• if there are two animals you are especially fond of, keep using those two animals over and over and over and over. Like, say... oh, a puffer fish and a giraffe. Your aunt will never be able to figure out the 'I have a long neck' clue you give her, not even if you use that animal nine times in a row.
  

I hope we have more play dates soon. Its appearing as though Thanksgiving will be a kidtastic time. My two nephews (brothers, aged 6 mos. and 2.5 years) will be coming with their momma and daddy to the family gathering. I've already warned J. that he'd best stretch his back in preparation for the 'MYYYYYY turn to climb on cousin!' game. That's another especially fun one.

These little people, they grow and leave and do what all young who survive nest living are meant to do. Seems to me that the flash of those tender little childhood moments are just like the Scoobysnack sprinkles that Aud so generously covered the tops of her cupcakes with ... sweet, crunchy, and I can't possibly seem to get enough of them to fit on the top.

Two - two - two treats for one

The Williams-Sonoma shop, despite being a very pretty and oh-so-kitchenlicious store, did not have the rubber plunger ring I have been seeking to replace on my French Press pot -and now with a greater renewed fervor since the plastic began breaking off so I drink itty bitty slugs of stained plastic along with the dark roast I've just brewed and stewed...

Instead, while meandering around the store touching and oohing and feeling and aahing and 'ooh lookie here'ing at KD, I found something new and altogether different: liquid Turbinado sugar.


I am a huge Turbinado sugar fan. I like the larger sugar crystal size (why? who cares. I just do.) I like the depth of the molassesesque flavor. Raw sugar is one of the few things I actually make a point of finding... I very rarely use refined white sugar in the beverages I drink.
This was a long time coming. I finally got to thinking: I'm a product of my society and I am what I put into myself. SoooOOOooo, perhaps I could try a slower more thoughtful pace and more natural foods. I feel a little embarrassed about the whole munchy-crunchy-granola-ey attitude but never fear, I'm nowhere near ready to build a cabin in the mountains and cease bathing 'for the good of Mother Earth'. I started small: honey in tea, turbinado in coffee.

So yeah. This sugarshots stuff is like a new toy. An expensive new toy at $9/bottle, but I suspect it will probably last longer than I think it will; cane sugar is sweeter and therefore I'll use less to get the same sweet as its refined white sugar sister. I tried in vain to find a Will-Son. link; it's only available for purchase in-stores.
However, here are a couple of places you can go to buy the good stuff online if you can't wait:
There's that bastion of good taste, or you might try the pillar of tempting teas, or if you're reaaaally tweakin for it, go straight to the crack dealer.


Oh noooo, don't you even feign thinking the treat-doling is over just yet.

Nope nope nope~


Ginger Almond dish soap.
I sniffed at least six of the varieties they had and, in the end, this was The One.

It's another outrageously expensive item (for dish soap?!) but I felt lavished tonight. I suppose I should say 'further lavished', after two cocktails and a tasty salad with KD at the new employer of the mutual friend who introduced us just over a year ago.

Want to hear my rationalization for this purchase?
Okey-dokey, here ya go:

I do dishes. I do a lot of dishes. J. has helped with dishes and decided that he'd rather scoop the litter boxes than do dishes. That's how much he dislikes dish washing. I'm with him... sometimes I find it calming but generally speaking it's just a major pain in my ass and a mess across the available counter space.

Why NOT find a pleasant bottle of dish soap that will take me to a happy place each time I have to wash another sinkful?

Why not indeed.

the kids finally got on God's last nerve

Last night's discussion on the local news about the high winds warnings was no joke.

Our condominium association handiman happened to notice this tree - ripped right from its base but without the root ball - down near the smaller of our two playgrounds this morning while he came to our property to take care of something altogether different.



The power lines had been ripped down due to the felled tree and were laying across the ground near the playground, just waiting to electocute the next unsuspecting fun-seeking child.

Thankfully, it was at such a time that no children had seen the fun new natural play structure laying between their playground and the fence. The past few hours have been filled with Large Trucks, menin warm outdoor clothes carrying chainsaws and no electrical power.

But no minipeople were harmed, and all should return to normal very shortly. As the handiman and I chatted and exchanged information we agreed that if it isn't one thing it's another.

It might be official...

I am temporarily and slightly unwell.

My mind is giving me fits. Noisy one moment, not letting me sleep, not permitting me to get one thought flowing before it sends another to interrupt.

And then - and so rudely then - closing up shop early. A siesta, so to speak, only not selectively cited for the searing spike in afternoon heat (because at this time of the year in Wisconsin there may be a peculiarly permissive unseasonably warm front floating blissfully by, but I can assure you there is most definitely no afternoon heat spike).

I'm frightened, a little.
I'm tired of the nutsness, a medium amount.
I'm worried that I might need to shrink away from people, a lot.

Because people are people are people and there must be a proper explanation for everything, donchaknow. Why am I where am I what am I doing/hiding/seeing/hearing whatever it is that I may be, they'll want to ask.


I'll want to strike out at them and they won't even know it.

I don't want to cause harm. To anyone.

I just need to get through it in one piece.

Fidget, boxing

Just look at the wonderful freebie pre-fab home that came (no further purchases required) with the new bathroom sink yesterday*.


*occupant not included

The evil behind a smile

From the Walmartmovie site

Everyone has seen Wal-Mart's lavish television commercials, but have you ever wondered why Wal-Mart spends so much money trying to convince you it cares about your family, your community, and even its own employees? What is it hiding?

WAL-MART: The High Cost of Low Price takes you behind the glitz and into the real lives of workers and their families, business owners and their communities, in an extraordinary journey that will challenge the way you think, feel... and shop.

If you live in the United States, please find a local screening in your neighborhood and ATTEND!

Outside of the United States? Not a problem.
Canadians can grimace along with us.

And even if you live elsewhere on the globe, you still might be able to share in our dismay.

So what are you waiting for?
GO!
GO!
GO!

golden garlic jelly

we stopped at the final booth this weekend at this season's outdoors Farmer's Market. I was occupied with hemming and hawing over the sweet dills or the regular dills. I asked the seller the difference ("sugar", he replied with a chuckle)

KD? She made a beeline for this beautiful garlic jelly, which she plans to enjoy with a dab of cream cheese on some good wheat crackers eventually. If I smile beatifically and use my very best manners I might be able to have a few nibbles also.

I pulled out cash to pay for our purchases and looked into the face of the gentleman selling the goods.

I said to him (mostly out of nowhere), 'Oosterwyk?!'
He looked at me with a confused smile. Was he supposed to know me?

"You were one of my high school teachers!" I gasped. It was only as I said it that I realized it. Isn't that strange how sometimes you can't even identify what is happening until you begin putting the words to it and then it all unravels, or re-winds, or whatever it needs to do to make sense again?

"Chemistry?"
"Yes. I did very poorly in your class. But it was certainly not for lack of trying on your part."

"The real zinger is seeing my old OLD students. They've grown up ... but I haven't!"

What a hoot. Twenty years ago he was teaching me chemistry; now he's using his chemical knowledge to make some beautiful jellies, preserves, and pickled goods.

Some days it's worth getting up just for the surprises that might happen.

a new reason to not sleep well

According to the Milwaukee Sentinel, this grandpa is now finding out how mean those money-grubbing movie moguls can be.

I imagine the poor fella is a good-hearted, hard working kinda guy. He doesn't know how to use a computer and is pleading ignorance as to how his then-12 year old grandson downloaded four movies, but gramps says that his grandson didn't know that downloading the movies was illegal and that once the four movies were downloaded out of curiosity, the 12 y/o deleted them from the computer and that was pretty much that.

Now enters the MPAA on their raggedy - uh, I mean their shining steeds, gold and gems glistening in the sunlight. Let's not slap granddad on the wrist, or have a Very Serious Conversation with the young lad, no. First, lets tell gramps that he can settle the issue by giving us ohhh, whaddayasayyyyyy $4,000. Yeah, that sounds good.

What?!
Grandpa doesn't HAVE four thousand dollars to wipe our sweaty palms with?
Harrumph. FINE.
We're taking our marbles and we're shuffling home to Hollywood, but not before we leave our bill for $600,000. Because ..... (whispering to co-steed-riders) 'why are we suing him for this much now?'
Oh yes! Because we can!

Now I can understand the effects of millions of folks playing on peer-to-peer file sharing programs. I've used them, in part to try to grok what the heck was such a draw to them. I found the couple I've tried very confusing and hard to manuever, which may be saying more about the antiquing of my brain than anything else. But for a megamillion industry to come after a retired grandpop who has no idea how to *work* a computer for the sins of a 12 year old? That steps right over the line from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Admittedly, I have a teen child of my own, one who I am aware has an Ipod full of tunes that he could not possibly have purchased out of his own pocket money. So chances are very good that he may possibly have looked into peer-to-peer file sharing at some point. Or it is also possible that his friends have loaded tunes onto his Ipod, who knows. In our home we've taken an unspoken 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. Today I emailed the article about grandpa and his 12 yr old grandson with the subject line 'LET'S NOT SEE THIS HAPPEN NEARBY, EH?!'. That's about as close we've come to an actual conversation.

No, wait. That's not exactly true.

I hollered down the stairs to him a few moments ago that whatever he might be doing online on his portion of our shared networked connection HAD to be stopped or paused or something because I could not access web sites and I would stop it myself in my own special way if I had to keep yelling.

There, that's closer to an actual conversation.

No?

Well, if he responded ('okayyyy.') would you count it as a conversation then?