I used to think I knew how and what to communicate. But over the last few years, the very nature of communication has changed. When my oldest sister married and left home, she wrote letters filled with news and descriptions of faraway places. These letters were received regularly, and answered with local developments: the Schultzes got a new car, Mr. Meadows is in the hospital again.

Then, I’m not sure when, such notes ceased coming. The mail consisted of bills and advertisements, with a goodly supply of political material. If we could afford it, a magazine or two would come. But we still had good things in most of the daily deliveries of mail.

The personal computer with email seemed to silently replace letter writing. You know, letters; you could tear open the envelope, feel the texture of the paper, see

the ink and somehow take in the sender’s being while reading. But email sufficed. It lost some of the atmospheric qualities of letter writing, but it was real news communicated in spelling and language that was within the bounds of native tongues. Then email became the hostage of advertising, discounts and special offers for easy credit. And homey, chatty news took another hit.

Texting is the latest craze. It has destroyed spelling, although I’ve often wondered why we didn’t spell phonetically more than we do. When texting completes its debut, phonetic spelling will be all there is. But the level of annoyance that the art of texting raises is serious. In the classroom, a lecturer competes with a 4-inch piece of metal and plastic for the attention of students (who forget that the professor does the grading, not the buddy on the cellphone).

Recently I attended a wonderful musical show. Tickets were a pretty penny. Around me sat four couples, each obviously on a special date. All eight people held tiny apparatuses in their hands every minute the show was not commanding attention by turning house lights off. They each talked to someone. Maybe they were texting each other. But the body language seemed to dictate a distance, an estrangement within each team. I was left to wonder if those couples ever talked to one another — maybe while driving home; maybe at some quiet hour later in the week? Or maybe what goes on in one another’s brain is no longer of consequence, unless it can be conducted through the small hand-held box of magic.

I received an email just last week directing me to a visual complement to this situation. An infant, who appeared to be less than a year old, is shown with a magazine. The child pushes his thumb onto the page near the teddy bear, and demonstrates frustration when the teddy does not move, or change position, or follow some other command. The child tries again, then moves to a picture of a monkey and repeats the futile gesture. Finally, he tosses the periodical away in total frustration. Is this what the world is coming to?

Today, sociability seems to have been replaced with Facebook and Twitter. My children pressured me into joining Facebook, but I’ve never gotten the hang of it. I listed each of them as a “friend.” But I’m not really that interested in determining what 97 friends (of friends) think of comments they make. I’m not even sure I want to know all of their observations. My big regret is that the casual, personal comment from one friend to another has been lost.