My alcoholic uncle, Bill, was pacing back and forth across the five by five foot living room, asking where his beer was. His beer was wearing a new koozie that had a hood and zipped up like a real sweatshirt.

As teenagers, my friends and I spent Friday nights driving backroads, throwing soda cans at street signs. The wind... more

At my husband’s funeral, we drank Moscow Mules. I served them in copper mugs, just like you’re supposed to, and everyone thought it was adorable and heartfelt.