We are there now, sitting across the table from one another. Miles is in heaven, slightly kid-in-a-candyshopish. I admit to my own rapture upon seeing the Google search screen illuminate my screen. The sad part? We'd scarcely been bereft of cyberspace twenty-four hours.

That first taste of internet-honey mellowed me, my shoulders rolling back in euphoric ease. This contained the symptom-set befitting a potent fix—oh the power of the world's information at your fingertips! It is a rush, to be certain.

Miles, obviously [only to me] less than content last night, took several, solemn, long walks. This is a stark change of pace for him...and forced relaxation when you have a million things on your "to do" list is almost never pleasant. Guilt rarely is...unless, that is, it tastes like chocolate.

He was brighter this morning, perhaps the promise of the World Wide Web ignited his enthusiastic flame, and he had a bounce to his step. Here we sit. We've been here over 3 hours, and they close shop in two more. I am bored stiff. The internet is tasting less like honey and more like stale pastry as the moments pass, yet, Miles is smiling. He looks lighter, freer...happy about the progress inflicted upon his task list.

So, I wait and hope that we aren't causing a rift in the plans back at the base, and let him indulge. Meanwhile, life's little quandaries have begun to occupy my mind. For instance, How do they tell caffeinated beans from decaffeinated beans?

Do the caffeinated beans jump around as if on a trampoline while the decaffeinated ones recline in front of mini TVs with bowls of potato chips balanced on their little tummies? I suppose I could look it up, but it is more entertaining to think of couch potato beans than to know the truth.

It's all about Fiber in my world. [Notice the proper nounage I granted the nutrient.] There are so many cancers that one cannot prevent, so why not focus your energy one the ones one can, after all? Take colon cancer, for instance.

Have you seen that commercial (I'm big on commercials these days) where the lady is eating (and quite unmannerly) small forests of broccoli, carrots, and apples just to get in her recommended daily value [25g] of Fiber—the message being something like "take my fiber supplement or be a glutton...your choice entirely"? It's b.s., all of it. This is one time, perhaps the only time in history, where I think a commercial was exaggerating in order to sell something.

Substitute half your white flour with whole wheat, for starters. Eat the recommended nine servings fruits and veggies a day—a serving is considered to be a half of a cup. There are wheat pastas out there, you know, along with brown rice—the difference in flavor is negligible. Choose whole wheat breads (and make sure that the first ingredient listed is 100% whole wheat flour!) instead of white, or better yet: rye or pumpernickel. Use ground flax seed in your recipes, and buddy up to oatmeal in the morning. Oh, and you must remember this last one until the day you die: FIBER ONE© CEREAL IS A SELF-SUSTAINING WONDER.

Have it as a cereal...with just a half of a cup, you get over half of the RDA of fiber. Sprinkle it on fruit parfaits, ice cream, and tarts. Add it to stews...it dissolves completely. Lastly, sprinkle it on soups in place of saltine crackers. It was in using the last of these suggestions that I received the all too familiar forehead pucker from Debbie. I was granted a similar look from her months ago when I added a dab of peanut butter to my oatmeal—I have my good friend Rhonda to thank for that idea (And it is delectable, particularly if you like peanut butter...and oatmeal.)—and my dear aunt has been suspicious of my eating habits ever since.

We had chili, deliciously beany chili last night, and, what goes better with chili than saltine crackers? I'll tell you what does!—Fiber One© cereal! Debbie peered down from the opposite end of the table as I made my addition and her face looked like it had a run-in with Picasso.

Brenda says that you can tell when Debbie's mad because her nose disappears in her contorted purple face...her looks of dismay are likewise noseless, but with less purple. I rolled my shoulders back and prepared to defend myself staunchly as Mom jumped in and patted her hand, intoning, "It adds roughage." I exhaled and nodded so vigorously to my defense that I think even my gray matter turned green.

Debbie looked bewildered, more than slightly disgusted, and said, "I've never seen that done before."

I was quick on the uptake with, "It's a serving suggestion on their website!" Because, you know, if it's published on the internet, it must be normal. Debbie dropped the subject and returned to her own chili muttering, bewildered, about the sanity of her niece. Her forehead looked ready for a kiss all evening.

It looked normal, relatively speaking of course, by this morning.