Five Letters a Day with Nana

In January, my grandmother discovered Wordle. She is eighty-seven and lives in Florida. I'm twenty-four and live in Seattle. Every single morning since then, she has texted me her score before I'm out of bed.

She texts the little grid of green and yellow squares, followed by a comment. "3! Easy." "5. Rough one. That word is not a real word." "2!!!!! CALL ME." When she got one in two guesses, she called me at six-thirty in the morning my time, so excited she forgot about the time difference.

We've never talked this often. The Wordle is just the start. Then she tells me about her neighbor's cat, her water aerobics class and the man at church who she suspects is sweet on her. I tell her about my job and my roommates and my terrible attempts at cooking.

We're now at three hundred and twelve days in a row. She's ahead of me on average. She reminds me of this often.