My cousin Glenda MacIsaac, who lives in a village called Lively on the outskirts of my hometown of Sudbury, nailed this morning's Wordle puzzle on her first guess.
It took me four.
Also--and this happens a lot--by the time Glenda'd sent me her result, I'd already forgotten what the winning word was.
Anyway, I'm super proud of Glenda for a whole bunch of reasons, the least of which is her Wordle-iness.
She's going to kill me when she reads the following but Glenda's one of those beautiful inside and out people who go through life quietly doing good work, helping others, making people laugh, challenging herself and being humbly brilliant. (After she showed us that she won with the word "stole," this morning, she added, "I meant to write store but hit l instead of r.")
Among the many cool things you should know about Glenda is she was named after a jeep.
True fact! Glenda was the only girl born to one of my favourite uncles, Alex MacIsaac, and his wife Marie. Her brothers were given proud traditional handles: Donald, James, Andrew and the eldest everybody called Sandy but who was in fact baptized Alexander after his dad.
Alex the dad, meantime, was in the forces and saw a jeep called Glenda. Alex was so taken by the name when his and Marie's second youngest child arrived, they called her after an all terrain-vehicle. Which sorta suits her.
|ROSE AND ME: Note: This photo was taken before Wordle
My daughter Ria introduced me to Wordle in 2021. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you this simple diversion, which is now owned by the New York Times, has made my life immeasurably richer.
But not for the reason you might think.
(Yeah, yeah, I know. With every punch of a Wordle key I'm ceding over my entire life's data to some big organization to do who knows what with. I say, have at it.)
Since I started doing these things, the five-letter-word puzzle in the morning has replaced a first cup of coffee. Wordle kickstarts my brain.
And something that's way more important?
Shortly after getting out of bed, every morning for the past I'm embarrassed to admit how many months, Glenda, I and one of our other cousins, Roseanne Rice in Halifax, swap Wordle results.
(Rose Rice. I know. Sounds like a car. Except a Rolls Royce doesn't make sound. I just thought of that.)
Pre-Wordle, I was in touch with Glenda and Rose maybe when an aunt died or a nephew won something, or every Boxing Day, which is when Halifax always seems to lose its power so we have to check in to see if the family's okay.
Mostly though, contact was a few times a year at best.
Every single day. Invariably, when we share results, we trade family gossip, condolences, or whatever the opposite of condolences are, or sarcastic notes. I'm absolutely sure that these simple daily messages are good for our spiritual, mental, physical and social health.
If my math's not wrong, I'm talking about more than a thousand individual hi-have-a-nice-day-I-love-you messages.
For me, Wordle means daily connection with people I love deeply and who, I'm hoping, feel the same.
I don't care who you are. Being reminded you're loved is the absolute best way to start your day.