My husband is a songwriter whose song “Sparrow” starts out like this: Though walls are separating / My body from the rain, I hear a lonesome sparrow / Perched on the weathervane. And while the sun is ...

Call me a party pooper or the fun police; I don’t mind. But the whole affair just feels like more work during what should be leisure time. Rules? A made-up goal? Are we so desperate for conversation ...