Way Too Much

This white box already feels like a scary, judgmental abyss. And I'm supposed to somehow fill it with something interesting to read? Sugar dumplings. I shouldn't have dropped that Nonfiction Creative Writing class after the first day.

I'm not sure if what I write really matters... I don't have any unique life stories (exactly why I dropped that previously mentioned class) or an active imagination.

Lets see. What happened today. I wrote my great grandma a letter! It's a hard task for me because I'm not sure what a 94 year old woman wants to hear about. When I'd ask my mom she'd say I should write about what's going on in my life right now. I can't imagine my great grandmother wants to read about how I'm a self-centered little punk with cellular devices and loud, hippity hoppy music.  So all my letters to her follow this format:

-Greetings-,

-Update about my life that's not much different from when I last talked to her a few months ago.-

-Update about my other family members.-

-Mentioning the weather here in Maryland and pointing out how different it is from the weather in northern Minnesota.-

-Awkward closing and mentioning that I can't wait to see her in the summer or at Christmas.-

Once I'm done typing my extremely simplistic letter, I'm at a loss about the format. What font is easiest for an almost-centenarian to read? What font size is big enough for her to read but not too big that it offends her diminishing eye sight?

If I've learned anything from these awkward experiences, it's that I'll make it clear to my grandchildren and great grandchildren that I'm interested in hearing more than how their school year is going.