In the past several days, my 92-year-old grandmother’s health has starkly declined, and she is currently in the hospital. The consensus among my family, based on what doctors have told us, as well as my grandmother’s chosen course of action, is that she is going to die soon.
It’s gameday, and I walk into a tailgate and am immediately handed a beer — a substance that would shut down all my internal organs from just a sip. All my friends have pre-gamed the pre-game, and I know it’s just the security guards and me who are sober right now.
While I’m no modern lifestyle guru, I have in fact noticed the frequent use of the qualifier “minimalist” as an antecedent for many of the current “hottest trends.” (And yes, I do realize I sound like a middle-aged white mom as I type this phrase.) Recently, I’ve heard friends and acquaintances a
I was invited to a bar crawl this past weekend. Though I love Charley’s, The Brown Jug and Rick’s, the thought of going to each in quick succession made me anxious. I tried to do a quick mental calculation of how much mixed drinks, beer and cover from each bar would cost me.