When my friend Nancy brought four aspiring writers together, she said we needed a name. “Every successful writers’ group has one,” she insisted. But we hadn’t a single good idea. So, namelessly, we met each month, Nancy watching the clock, keeping us on point, giving tough but incisive comments. We thrived — until esophageal cancer stole her just one year later. We adjourned, too heartbroken to meet, then continued, too bonded to stop. Nancy would no doubt roll her eyes as we now go overtime, making comments that are overly kind. But I think she’d like our name: Nancy’s Group. — Jill Lipton

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/17/style/tiny-modern-love-stories-destined-for-singlehood.html