Their mother, whose childhood home in Oregon had television before indoor plumbing, jokes that she has given her children ``something to talk about in therapy.'' The truth is, she hopes she is raising her children to be articulate free-thinkers.
      ``We spend our time so differently because we are no longer stimulated by that appliance. My life is richer because my world doesn't revolve around when `Friends' is on,'' Manley said. ``You are only breathing a few years on this planet --- how you spend it is your greatest gift to yourself. What kind of quality time are you getting when you are sitting down watching TV together?''
      Studies of children link television watching to a Pandora's box of societal ills, from obesity to aggression to sedentary inactivity.
      In one study, researchers studied a small Canadian town before and two years after it received television in 1973, comparing residents to those living in two other towns that had television.
      The finds: TV adversely affected residents' creativity --- a factor judged by the number and variety of children's ideas and the speed as well as the persistence of adults facing problem-solving tests.
      ``One thing that facilitates creativity is having the experience of being bored and having to find ways to entertain yourself. Television is an easy solution to boredom,'' said Tannis MacBeth, who conducted the study and is an associate professor of psychology at the University of British Columbia. (Favorite show: ``ER'') ``Every time someone turns on a TV set, they are actually choosing not do 100 other things: going for a walk, playing Scrabble, writing a friend. Then you get out of the habit of doing those things so you just have the habit of turning on the TV.''
      As a result of such studies, the American Medical Assn. recommends that parents limit TV watching to less than two hours daily for children, and a few private schools --- such as the Pasadena Waldorf School --- flatly urge parents to ban all viewing. (Children ages 2 to 11 watch an average of 22 hours a week, according to Nielsen Media Research.)
      Eighteen years ago, Pat and Gary Krumweide figured that the TV usually was on about four hours a day in their Escondido house. It went on as soon as their three boys came home from school, a cycle of game shows, ``Leave It to Beaver'' and cartoons. When Pat wanted one son to do a chore, she had to wait until his favorite show ended.
      ``I definitely saw television as an obstacle with the kids,'' Pat said. ``We were now able to communicate with them. We were not getting them to do things we wanted them to do.''

      So the couple began talking about getting rid of the TV. We'll support you in developing hobbies, they told their sons, then 14, 12 and 9. To sweeten the deal, they said the boys could sell the set and keep the money.
      At first, the boys thought their parents were kidding. They didn't know anyone who had no TV. But the lure of the money was powerful. Loren, the eldest, egged on his brothers. Think of the toys we could buy, he told them.
      On Sept. 9, 1978, when Pat and Gary were away for a weekend seminar, their sons rolled the TV on a cart into the yard. They put up a sign, written in Loren's scrawl, that read: TV FOR SALE.
      A neighbor offered $150 and the boys pocketed the cash. When Pat and Gary returned, the TV was gone.
      The couple drove the boys to a toy store so they could spend their money.
      After some tentative evenings filled with marathon stints of Monopoly and other board games, each son began seeking his own projects. Loren started woodworking and built a grandfather clock. Darrin began drawing, and the youngest, Duane, became an avid reader.
      Over the years, Pat and Gary offered choices: A pinball machine or a TV? The boys clamored for pinball. A computer or a TV? The boys opted for the computer. It became a family tradition to celebrate the anniversary of the television sale with a special outing, a trip to Disneyland or Sea World.
      Of her sons, now grown, the older two have televisions, though each said he didn't watch much.
      ``I got a TV three years ago. I didn't feel guilty, it'd been long enough,'' said 30-year-old Darrin of Pasadena, who works as a video game animator.
      Loren, 32, a firefighter who has invented several devices to help extinguish blazes, has a wide-screen TV but no cable hookup in his Escondido home. He and his wife carefully monitor what their three children watch.
      Loren is convinced that getting rid of the television transformed him into a man who enjoys working with his hands.
      Duane, 27, of San Diego doesn't own a television. (A roommate does.) ``I could never see going out and buying one,'' he said. ``I'd rather not have one. I just can't justify the expense.''

      Nor can struggling actor Bill Peden, who lives in a small studio apartment. At least not now. If he gets a television, he wants to live in a place that is big enough so he can stash the set in a den or extra bedroom. Living rooms should be reserved for social exchanges, he says. People should turn off the TV during conversations instead of leaving it on as background noise. Even when his mother offered to give him a spare set, he declined.
      Peden grew up in Oregon without a television. He watched his older sisters battle with his father, their voices shrill: ``Why can't we get a TV? Everyone else has one!''
      His father, a physician, would not budge. Today, Peden is glad. He remembers a childhood filled with outdoor roaming, reading and lively dinners. It was probably those suppers, he said, that inspired him to pursue a career in acting.
      ``We'd all entertain each other, we'd make each other laugh,'' said Peden, a tall, earnest man with closely cropped blond hair. ``The goal was always to see who could time a joke perfectly and get my little brother to shoot milk out of his nose.''
      As a USC student, his roommate had a set, and Peden ruefully recalls sitting transfixed for hours, eyes aching. (Favorite show: ``Star Trek.'') ``If it's on, I sit and watch and let it suck my brain out.''
      Peden figures he eventually will own a television. When he considers the prospect of one day raising his own children, he wants a TV in his house. ``Forbidding a child something makes them want it more,'' he said.
      That hasn't happened to 9-year-old Sarah Vigil of Denver. At least not yet.
      Sarah grew up in a TV-free home. At times, the strain of being so unusual has been difficult. One afternoon last year, she returned from her private school in tears.
      I don't know what's going on! she cried. I don't know what anyone is talking about. Her mother, a toy distributor, comforted her, soothing her with talk of how many books Sarah had read that her third-grade classmates had not.
      *They* don't know what's going, her mother told her.
      Now Sarah touts her family's quality-of-life decision like a special badge. It doesn't mean she can't watch TV --- she sees it a friends' houses. (Favorite show: ``Wishbone.'')
      ``When people find out we have no TV, their mouths hang open,'' she said. ``It doesn't bother me. I love reading. Whenever I have nothing to do, I read or play the computer.''

      There is, of course, a body of expert opinion that says television has become a social glue that cannot be ignored.
      ``TV increasingly has become not only a source of entertainment and news but a connection to the larger society. It's become so central to how people think and what they learn,'' said Harley Shaiken, chairman of social and cultural studies at UC Berkeley. (Favorite show: ``CNN Headline News.'') ``You are unplugged from something that everyone else is relating to.''
      Indeed, there is a cost, the TV-free say.
      There's the idle elevator chatter that begins with, ``Hey, did you see the show last night on . . .'' then abruptly trails off into ``Oh, never mind'' after the non-watcher's odd status is revealed. They are also isolated; most don't know anyone else who has made the same choice. Occasionally, the recent converts are struck with a pang when they hear about a show that might have genuinely interested them.
      Barbara Joan Grubman, 63, a Woodland Hills teacher who wears her silver hair in a bun, felt that pang after somebody told her about a ``60 Minutes'' segment on autistic children. She consoled herself by remembering that even in her TV-watching prime, she didn't like ``60 Minutes.''
      A year ago, Grubman halved her income when she went from full-time to part-time teaching. To economize, she gave up delivery of bottled spring water, newspaper subscriptions --- and cable for her television, rendering the set useless.
      It was an accident --- she had forgotten to pay several bills and her service was cut off.
      Her decision to remain disconnected rankled everyone. ``You did *what*?'' one son asked incredulously --- and then offered to pay her cable bill.
      Her aunt, who is planning to visit this Thanksgiving, panicked and threatened to go to a motel. ``Can you get cable just while I'm there?'' her aunt asked petulantly.
      Acquaintances gazed a Grubman as though she had lost her mind. ``At your age?'' they scolded.
      And her students shriked. ``Mrs. Grubman, how could you *live* like that?''
      Without TV, Grubman has found more time to garden, swim, knit (two sweaters for her new granddaughter, five hats, a purse and a blanket) and clean out the clutter that has grown like fungus in her ranch-style house. (Her wooden kitchen table, once host to piles of papers, is clear for the first time in eight years.)
      Even if she won the lotter, Grubman says, she would not reintroduce television to her life.
      ``I've got time,'' she said. ``Time has been given back to me.''

a related image: