She has an orderly mind, that is abundantly clear. Quite unlike that of her grandmother; cluttered - and of course that is somewhat explicable, since I have an additional sixty years' worth of memories and interests and resources that she has not yet had the opportunity to gather. That explains, partly, the difference in how our minds work, but not entirely.

She neatly compartmentalizes the sum of her experiences and acquired wisdom. For a fourteen-year-old she is moderately mature, although given to exuberant bouts of childish enthusiasms. Nothing wrong with that; even we silver-haired ones fall back to that kind of behaviour on occasion.

She was doing some personal research, going through our collection of family albums, dating back well over a half-century and beyond. This was for an assigned school project. She also went through my computer, scrutinizing my treasury of digital photographs - roughly ten years' worth of them. And casually, she informed me one day that she had taken it upon herself to catalogue and categorize my various photographic folders, to make them more logical and accessible.

I thanked her, thinking little of it. And then, when she returned home after March break, and I tried to find some of my most important photograph folders they were simply not there. Extensive searches found them where it made no logical or practical sense for me to have them. They were no longer obvious to me in their presence. The way her precise mind worked did not reflect mine. I began the process of undoing all that she had achieved.

Time-consuming, irritating and baffling. Quite unauthorized. But then, can a sole grandchild do any true ill?