August 24. My daughter wants to know for school how we communicated when we were the age she is now, thirteen. I answer in detail, as if she had broken a dam inside of me. In 1982: letters, telephone charged by the minute, long-distance calls dangerously expensive. And, of course, the phone is plugged into the wall. She also wants to know how it was with her grandparents, about which I know almost nothing. I pass on the questions curiously.