It runs in the family.

I met Mr. Wino's grandfather when we were still in college. I was wearing an oversized camo jacket and had green hair, so when I reappeared several years later marrying his grandson, it took him a few minutes to place the young woman he had clearly assumed was a lesbian. Despite his surprise, he and Grandma Wino immediately welcomed me into their family as if I had been born into it.

One of my most memorable times with Grandpa Wino was actually right after the funeral of his wife two years ago, when he shuffled all of us grandkids into his living room and poured all of us glasses of straight tequila. Of course, not being a connoisseur of that sort, my husband immediately gulped his down. That was when we learned to sip tequila, not just shoot it. Within 30 minutes we were all uncomfortably sloshed, except for Grandpa Wino, who just smiled and sipped his tequila, like the drinking pro he was.

I think Grandpa Wino would have approved of how we spent the weekend - laughing with family, and drinking lots of alcohol.

Rest in peace, EzPa.