It was between winter and spring.
Day had ended. The evening was becoming night when I heard the telltale chirp.
My daughter and I began to text.
We could talk, either by phone or in person since she lives next door. But we often choose to text. When texting, it doesn’t seem rude to interrupt the flow to complete a task and return later to continue. It doesn’t seem rude to chat with different people at the same time. And the noise of kids doesn’t invade our conversation. And so we text.
Well, that evening, as our texting stretched on, my just-turned-five grandson sat down beside my daughter and asked, “Mommy, are you talking to Gramma with letters?”
And so my blog was named, Talking with Letters.