This is something so typical of my two younger sons. Oh, how the years have changed them: There was an argument going on, something about theivery. One son thought the other had "stolen" a character or item from one of his on-line games. Ray, the accused, came down-downstairs, his bedroom level. Dylan was looking at the VHS and DVD collections (I've recently turned off cable), choosing what to watch tonight. Ray, the accused, leaned toward Dylan (I was busy looking for a really fantastic drawing of Dylan's which had recently been misplaced and of which I was crying about, me being the mis-placer, so the conversation was overhead, me still snooting quietly in the background), so Ray leaned toward Dylan, a plate of food in his hand, and quietly he explained to Dylan, in logical terms, why he did not and would not have stolen the "character" from him and that he, in fact, could have just killed all the characters and wouldn't it have made more sense to do that? Or to steal everything instead of just one thing? And on and on, while Dylan continued perusing the movies, documentaries, etc..and that was an "argument"...funny.
And outside it is cold, frigid. There are stars in the sky. The house feels so empty. The rooms seem so large.