I used to hide bright pink Peeps bunnies all over Cliff’s cabin every Easter - soft little love notes (except the ones that took months to find which weren’t soft but light, airy and hard as nails). Cliff either loved or tolerated the tradition of hardly edible but zany pink bunnies ‘tho I imagine wether he chuckled or pinched the corner of his mouth (Cliffs version of rolling his eyes), he felt at least a snippet of my vast love for him each time he found a bunny. This month I’ve become vigilant about calling a different friend each day. Certainly it’s easier to text; especially since I have an exceptionally low tolerance for talking on the phone (always have - except for a few of my teen talking years when I’d “hide”in a closet to talk on the phone and yes phones had cords then so “hide” is relative) but point is, more-often-than-not I have to muster my gumption to call but wether the call lasts five minutes or an hour, I’m always glad I made the effort. Yesterday at the end of a lovely long conversation with an exceptionally self-sufficient, competent wise woman friend a few decades older than me, Annie confessed that she’d felt “somewhat grumpy and out of sorts.” She had no idea just how much she needed our connection until we had it. She felt eons better. Me too. Texts are kinda like the marshmallow bunnies - sweet and fun but nothing like a voice-to-voice conversation. My phone no longer has a cord. I have the luxury of talking most anytime/anywhere. Zoom and FaceTime add to my ability to spend quality time. Honestly it is an effort each time to rally myself (is that just me?). Frankly it takes more energy and vulnerability to talk than text but the gift given and received is ten-fold.