Time, Please Stop

I open my eyes to panic. Everyone seems nervous and frantic and the room is alive with noises and sounds. After a moment, I cry. Immediately it is quiet and a large pair of calloused hands gently grab me and hand me to my mother. Her grasp is strong, loving; I feel hot wet tears upon my back.

Next I feel the warm, spiky chest of my father and I smell the coffee on his breath. His breathing, so deep and soothing - one could fall asleep here. Giant, hairy arms hold me as if I was a rare priceless heirloom. He kisses my forehead, repeatedly, and whispering "thank you, thank you, thank you."

I am here.

Tests are performed, heads are nodded and the doctors and nurses hastily retreat, leaving us. Time passes. An occasional beep or click from the machines briefly disturbs the peace. The three of us lay together on the narrow bed surrounded by monitors - a unit, a team, a family.

I am exhausted. Really really tired. I want to experience it all, my new world, but I must rest. The warmth of my mother's body captures me. I could live here. A door slides open, words are deeply murmured out of sight, before the door slides shut. A phone rings, words are exchanged, I sleep.

I am awake.

It is dark outside, giving the room a brighter look. My eyes struggle to see. My senses, what I have of them, are alive with wonder. I find myself on my own and I worry, am I alone? I cry. Quickly, large hands grasp me and clutch me and rock me. I no longer feel the need to cry. Outside the windows, the world may be dark, but inside this room, it could not be more bright.

People have visited and they insist on holding me. I don't mind this for a while, but after a bit I decide that I am hungry and let out a loud wail. Knowing smiles light up the gathered faces, goodbyes are said and kisses exchanged. The room has become quickly quiet again aside from my whimpering.

Life is simple.

My mother sings softly, rocking me in her arms as she stands by the window. Above our reflection, stars are like shiny dots scattered on a near-black canvas. As my tiny eyes stare at the sky above, I hear the low rumbly breathing of my father who is passed out on a cot behind us.

The time has come to go home. I am bundled up for the journey into the real world. A door opens and my face is struck by the briskness of the winter's air. I gasp and my parents laugh before placing me into my car seat. Though I have only been around for two days, I sense the enormity of the journey ahead. 

Time, please stop.

~~~~~

Sleep ends and I survey my surroundings. I am in the car with my mother who is nervously talking to herself as she drives. While I have begun to speak recently, I elect not to at this moment so as not to disturb her as she seems deep in thought. Even at my early age, I wonder if she is okay.

My mother carries me from the car as if I were fragile. It is a windy, rainy morning and I can just sense that something is happening. I cling to my mother's neck as if my life depended on it as we walk up the steps of a house I do not recognize.

This is spring.

A bright-eyed woman answers the door. Behind her I hear the noises of children playing and I smell something delicious. After a few pleasantries, we enter into a colourful room and my mother places me down in front of some large wooden blocks. She knows me so well.

I play for a moment while my mother exchanges hushed words with this woman before turning to look at me and waving goodbye. "What?!?!" I think. I am hit by a ton of bricks as I quickly realise that she plans to leave me here. I begin to cry.

This is alone.

The woman tries to pick me up, but I am having nothing of it. I crawl as fast as I can towards the retreating steps of my mother. It must be a mistake. I can't stay here. Why would she do this to me, to us? As she exits, she turns back; crying and blows me a kiss before closing the door behind her.

I wail. The other children, though we have just met, decide to show their support for my cause by wailing as well. The walls seem to shake with our tears. How long am I to stay here? Will she ever come back? What did I do to deserve this?

This is two.

She catches me off guard and picks me up; cradling me in her arms. She smells of talcum and bananas and her hair is soft. A lullaby I recognize plays in the background. My tears have stopped flowing, but I am still breathing hard and fast. She whispers the lyrics in my ear as she bounces me in her arms.

The banana bread was delicious. I am sitting on the big red carpet next to my new playmates and we are playing with stuffed animals. I have lost track of how long I've been here for, and while I am still angry and confused at my mother, I am slowly starting to relax and have fun.

Time, please stop.

~~~~~~

It is a fall day. Though warm, summer seems like a distant memory. Baseball practice had ended, I lingered with my friends, losing track of time and then ran home afterwards so my mom wouldn't worry. She did anyways.

Homework was completed, milk and cookies consumed and a cartoon was watched. My brother had called that morning and my mom excitedly talked about his life as if it were her's. I miss him tremendously.

I am nine.

I'm sitting by the windowsill and watching the rain outside as it dances on the sidewalk and jostles the few leaves that are left remaining on the tree in my frontyard. The rain is mesmerizing and I silently listen to the music it makes.

My mother is in the kitchen preparing dinner, chopping, blending, rattling the pans. The delicious aromas are drifting throughout the house, searching for me and, once I am found, wrapping around me like a warm flannel shirt.

I feel safe.

My father is late coming home from work, again, and I am anxiously awaiting the warm feeling of his breath on my cheek, the sharp bristles of his two-day old beard that scrape my face and his hug that I wish would last for days.

Our living room is so cozy and colourful. It is clear that a loving family resides here. There are photos of smiling relatives on the mantle; old drawings of mine when I was small adorn the walls and an in-progress game of Monopoly sits on the coffee table.

I have everything.

This day was like so many others I experienced as a child that it is almost forgettable, and yet it isn't. Funny how the mind works, what it chooses to hold on to, to keep, to cherish. The radio is turned on and the evening news begins.

Dad should he home by now. A small amount of concern creeps in. My mother startles me "Come taste the sauce" and I move to her as if pulled by a magnet, it is amazing and I tell her so, nestled into her woolen sweater, just as we hear dad's truck pull into the garage.

Time, please stop.

~~~~~
Around me there was such nervousness and pentup energy that it was almost driving me crazy. I tried to focus my thoughts amidst the noise and I closed my eyes and breathed deeply and smiled. 

I placed the final dot on the final I of my final essay in school and mentally pumped my fist before abruptly standing, surveying the large exam room and almost literally bouncing out of the room.

I am free.

I crossed the stage proudly in my cap and gown while my family and friends and classmates cheered in the audience. It hit me that after years of hard work I was finally graduating and I welled up with tears of pride and happiness.

Our eyes met across the busy foyer afterwards and the smile she sent me melted my heart. I wanted to run to her and kiss her, but now was not the time. Mom, dad and I posed again and again for photos to capture this moment, this memory. 

I am ready.

We sat in our limo; her in her spectacular red and sparkling dress and me in my rented tuxedo. I couldn't believe we were here in this moment on our way to celebrate our graduation and also say goodbye to so many people.

Dinner was served, speeches were made, photos taken and we danced the evening away. Others spoke of being sad, and saying goodbye but I had never been happier and more ready for the next chapter of my life.

I am eighteen.

Mom leaned against the wall in my now strangely empty room and cried. While dad was helping me pack my remaining sweaters and shoes into my duffel bag I couldn't help but notice how gray his hair had turned.

I was leaving for college, with her, and as I stood outside the only house I had ever lived in, surrounded by my not-so-young and emotional parents, I felt frozen. I wanted and needed to leave, but tears poured from my eyes as the taxi waited patiently as I hugged my parents like I was a small boy again. 

Time, please stop.

~~~~~~

She splashed playfully in the water, full of pure elation, beckoning me with her eyes to come join her. I couldn't look elsewhere even if I had wanted to. Pretty, bright, funny and I longed to hold her and kiss her and be kissed in return.

The beach was hot that day and we lay on white sand-covered towels next to each other. The sun bore down on us as we lay there motionless. I burned slightly, but I was so happy, lying there listening to the water and the seagulls, mere inches away from pure beauty.

This is love.

The picnic basket opened and our senses were pleasantly attacked by the wonderful aroma of freshly baked sourdough bread. Figs were sliced and apples crunched and thin sliced of cheese were delicately placed by her slender fingers to complete perfect sandwiches.

She hit the birdie high into the blue sky where I momentarily lost it in the blinding sun of this brilliant summer day. Everywhere in my memory of this day there are colours; long strands of light green grass, random scatterings of scarlet wild flowers, her purple blanket where we lay intertwined without a care in the world.

This is happiness.

I am pushing her high on the swings in the children's playground. Up and down, up and down, her long red hair flying aimlessly in the wind. She laughed as she would have when she was little. It hurt not to share the depths of my feelings, but I hesitated, not wanting to ruin this moment.

She joins me on the slide and touches my hand, softly. I remember this moment so vividly; it felt as if every hair on my body was standing straight up and if a strong enough gust of wind had come by, it would have lifted me clear off the ground.

This is 23.

She walks ahead of me, daring me to try to catch her. She keeps looking back over her shoulder to catch my eye, only to turn back quickly. I want to catch her, and she knows that, enjoying playing mouse to my cat. She glances once more, over her shoulder, smiling with her entire body.

The sun sets. I lay with my head in her lap and gaze up at the first twinkling stars of the evening. A soft breeze plays with her hair and I see the colours of the sky reflect in her beautiful eyes. A perfect, unforgettable day is coming to an end. As I lay there, I couldn't help but dream of a future with her.

Time, please stop.

~~~~~

The Return of Suite

Well, here we are or, more accurately, here I am with all of you being somewhere else, most likely at a party I wasn't invited to. After a multi-week enforced period of time on the shelf (no real shelves involved due to my strong dislike of splinters and all splinter removal experiences), I have returned. Questions such as "Where did I go?" and "What did I do when I was there?" and "Why are my glasses so smudged all the time?" will all be answered in due time, but only if you are nice to me and by nice I mean the way one treats their dear old grandmother right up until she is arrested for mail fraud or high treason.

Let me be the first to say "Welcome back Suite!" I could go on and on about how patient I was in your absence, how I enjoyed the break from writing and how I grew as a person, got better in touch with my inner spirit, soul searched and meditated and became one with nature but you and I both know that all of that would be a lie. A lie so vicious, so intimate, so impressive that I dare not make it as I have learned the hard way that living a lie is much harder than it sounds unless properly dressed for the weather. 

In actual fact this break from Suite was a whirlwind of paranoid panicking, crazed checking and re-checking if the update was finally complete, and soul-sucking withdrawal symptoms akin to being forced by my loved ones to finally quit my completely fictitious morphine addiction. I've been tempted to tell people it was like being incarcerated in a white collar "resort" facility as I've always dreamed of telling people as much, but my relationship with these people is so tenuous I didn't want to risk it.

But the key point I am attempting to make is that I am overjoyed to be writing and publishing on Suite again! It is so exciting to be able to once again share my thoughts and ideas without fear of reprisals or lashings. To be clear, there will almost definitely be reprisals and/or lashings in my near future, I'm just choosing not to be afraid of them. There is just so much to say and so little time, although the precise relationship between the two would probably best be described not in writing but on a Cartesian graph, or at least not by my writing and its vastly limited array of adverbs.

Now that Suite is back, I can finally unfurl my brow and look less curmudgeonly. I can also once again write from the heart, or at least from the kidneys as it is so hard to be accurate when it comes to internal organs especially with my kindergarten-level understanding of human anatomy. Now that Suite is open for business, I promise to return to my usual odd, random and funny pieces about food, family, fiction and fleecing those good-for-nothing sheep for all they are worth (I kid, I kid, I kid. I like those sheep, and besides, my beloved great aunt Gladys was 35% sheep). 

With the return of Suite I can now also finally dedicate my time to breaking down the walls of injustice or just pulling back the curtains on injustice or at least asking kindly for injustice to behave itself once and for all. But, in all seriousness, I promise to once again spend my time writing and writing and writing only stopping when the custodial staff needs to lock up for the night or I'm reduced to a quivering mass similar to jello. My resolve is strong, my passion is crazy, my typing skills are still absolutely embarassing and my muffins are cooling on a rack in the kitchen (note: the muffins are totally symbolic).

When I couldn't write for Suite I was lost like a little girl in a corn maze, or like a little boy I guess, but for some reason I often imagine I'm a 11 year old girl lost in a corn maze. When I couldn't write for Suite, I found myself writing pages and pages of random, inane words that would have been a cause for concern except that I surrounded myself with others who were far and away much bigger causes for concern, making me seem much saner in comparison. When I couldn't write for Suite I was but a shadow of my former self, which is saying a lot as I'm often mistaken for someone else's shadow at the best of times. And, when I couldn't write for Suite I stood in my room cast in moonlight bouncing a small ball against the floor humming ragtime songs.

But, here we are. We are here. Suite is back. Suite is finally back and ready to take names. I am ready to resume being ultra-literal, tangential, self-mocking and water-proof. I am ready to make others laugh, cry, think and yearn for a simpler time before this whole world wide web was invented. So draw up a chair or set of chairs if you happen to have a large collection of chairs just gathering dust in the corner. I'll be the writer, you can be the reader and then we will eat a huge plate of digestion-hampering nachos. It will be grand.

Welcome back Suite. I, for one, am happy as a clam. Really. And a particularly happy clam at that and not a regular old down-in-the-dumps clam like we always hear about. 

Bumped into a Princess

Okay, so I was walking down the street the other day, trying to unwind from another long day at the office where I was either being barked at by superiors or by random dogs. There I was striding down the sidewalk, working off some steam, music pumping in my ears, head in the clouds as usual. And I was just minding my own business, as I've learned the hard way that no one wants me to stick my nose, let alone my head, where it doesn't belong. I was just attempting to avoid any and all eye contact or any other kind of contact now that I think about and just when I was almost home, who do I bump into but Suzie from high school! That's right, Suzie! You know, the one with that hair and those cheeks and the legs that everyone said went on for days but I mean how do you even measure that sort of thing without coming across as super creepy.

It was a late-afternoon/early-evening stroll, although some would argue that it was actually solely an evening walk and my desire to connect it to the afternoon was misleading at best and a cause for concern at worst. It was a fairly non-descript walk that I wasn't going to be writing home about, which is an on-going bone of contention between my mom and I, as she insists on me writing vertible essays about all walks I venture on. I mean aside from a few near-miss collisions with cyclists, potentially-scaring encounters with rabid neighbourhood dogs and mace-raising pleasant exchanges with little old ladies, it was completely uneventful. So I was walking just like I do everyday, thinking about the morons I'm surrounded by at work but despite how frustrating they can be to interact with, I do enjoy being seen as relatively brilliant which is a huge step up from how dumb I felt on a daily basis being raised by my adoptive parents who used to scoff at anyone with less than a 150 IQ.

I turned the corner as I rounded towards home and "pow", there she was, standing before me as if we were 17 again or, more accurately, as if I were a pimply-and-freckle-faced 17 year old whose voice was just maturing even though puberty started years ago and people were not only starting to talk, but had been talking for years now and she was a smoking-hot, runway-ready, just-about-drop-dead-but-not-quite-totally-lethal gorgeous young woman. To say we made quite the odd couple would be completely accurate and would lead any passerby to assume I was either filthy rich, she was blind as a bat or both. Despite my best efforts to remain cool and composed and vertical, I momentarily lost all control of my limbs and my ability to speak even semi-coherently. Thankfully, all of those bladder-control lessons as a toddler paid off in spades.

I was just super shocked to see her, and a bit dazed from our actual head-on-head collision and even more so based on what she was wearing - full on glimmering and shimmering princess. What with the setting sun and my light sensitivity and my horrible headache, her costume was so shiny and sparkling that it was nearly impossible to stare directly at. As I shielded my face and attempted to stop blinking rapidly, I gazed up at her from the spot on the sidewalk where I found myself and it was if she were literally glowing as she hovered over me with a look that could best be described as either concerned or seductive, with the seductive part almost definitely a result of my being partially concussed.

For a moment I almost thought I was imagining her, seeing as she was the object of so many of my daydreams and fantasies back in school and I hadn't seen her since graduation. Back in high school, I had spent an embarrassing number of hours planning, scheming and devising how I, someone she barely knew existed, could approach easily the coolest, most attractive girl in school, woo her and whisk her away. However unlikely that scenario was, it didn't stop me from filling journal after journal with graphic drawings and fairy tale-like stories and heartfelt proposals to her that somehow fell into the wrong hands making me the laughingstock of the school for a few weeks until someone else, thankfully, drew the attention away from me.

And yet, despite all of the attention, she always acted as if nothing had happened. She was above it all and attractively didn't care or notice. We never talked and then when school ended, she went her way and I went mine; until today. How I had dreamed of a moment like this - the two of us, alone together. True, I had never envisioned the princess outfit, or me being knocked to the ground or my lip-syncing to 70s disco wearing old sweats at the time or the meeting seeming completely random and unplanned, but I still counted this as a victory.

You know I always wondered what had happened to her after graduation. Everyone had plans - acceptance letters to big schools, plane tickets to exotic locations, pig farms to manage because "they aren't going to manage themselves" my dad wrote in my obviously-scribbled-at-the-last-minute graduation card. But she was different. She was that typical girl most likely type, except that in her case, it was actually true. The world was her oyster - so much talent, so damn good looking, ridiculously brilliant and so over-the-top hilarious. I would have believed anything that anyone said about her as there was nothing that she couldn't do.

The mystery surrounding her sudden dropping off the face of the Earth led to so many rumours. Some believed that she had travelled to Europe and fallen in love with a local artisan cheese maker or that she dropped out of law school and was currently defying local regulations by raising sheep in her backyard or that she had sailed around the world to avoid walking on land for a while. For me, there was always so much regret that I never looked her in the eyes and told her how I felt. She was "the one who got away" and also "the one who "the one who marched to the beat of her own drummer and even went as far as booking an actual drummer every third Saturday"

Long-Term Relationships are Tough: Why some work, when others don't.

Relationships are tricky. Relationships are tough. Relationships work, until they don't.

I ran into an old friend at the pool while we were both swimming with our kids the other day. We chatted for a bit and then after I stuck my foot in my mouth (not literally!), he revealed that he and his long-time wife had been divorced for the past two years. My initial reaction was one of shock, but maybe it shouldn't have been,

This sort of news has always hit me hard. They were one of those couples that, to the public eye, always seemed so happy, so together, so ideal. The kind of couple we all aspired to be, and yet, they were no more. I expressed to my friend how sad this new (to me) news was, and he nodded in agreement. In his face I could tell that, though it had been two years, it was still so difficult to deal with.

We've all been there. We've all been rejected. We've all faced the impossible-to-face words "it's over".

And nothing can prepare you for how hard 'the end' is to deal with, even if you've faced it before. I know, for me, that I always poured my heart, my soul and all of my energy into the relationship I was in and, because of that approach, so much of my happiness, self-identity and self worth was tied up in the success of that relationship. And when those relationships ended, often abruptly (thanks a lot, rose-coloured glasses!), I was crushed.

When I was in my 20s, there was this other couple that also seemed untouchable, as if protected by an impenetrable shield. They were one unit - their names were never said apart - and they almost seemed like a single entity. Who knew that behind closed doors issues and problems had been growing for years and were rapidly becoming the wedge that divided this seemingly indivisible couple apart. When they split up, it was as if someone had told me that Santa Claus wasn't real or that high-fructose corn syrup was bad for me - I was as stunned as one could be without drooling.

I remember wondering that if this "perfect" couple couldn't work, then was there hope for the rest of us sad saps? I remember wondering were two humans even meant to stay together long term? I remember wondering if I should have a snack, as I was hungry at the time.

As my kids and I showered after our swim and we walked back to the car, I got to thinking about why some relationships work while so many other, equally shiny, couples grow or fall apart (but never at the same time). Why some couples that fight and argue all the time last forever and other couples that are in serious need of a room sputter and barely make it out of the gate? And of course there are no easy answers, but I didn't let that stop me, as the lack of easy answers never does.

In my own experiences, as well as in both my professional life as a counsellor, as well as observing the relationships of friends, one thing has always been clear to me - every relationship can work. Boom! That's right, you heard me correctly, I firmly believe that every partnership, couple, relationship can work and flourish. Now before you write me off as a quack, there are a few catches, and then you can write me off however you'd like.

First, there has to be some physical attraction, at least a bit. As much as we all go on and on about not being shallow and loving who someone is on the inside and being attracted to someone's brain, good looks must have a place in every successful relationship. Some degree of "hotness" or "damn!" or "yummy" is needed when conversation lags or when brains are overworked. "It's just nice to have something to look at that makes me happy" I'm always saying to my wife without blinking before she gets up and leaves the room. And I am well aware that looks fade and and are fleeting but, at least initially, they are needed much in the same way hot coals are needed to grill meat. Let this be the last time a relationship is compared to grilled meat on my watch.

Second, both people have to be equally invested in the relationship and seeing themselves together long-term. Usually, from what I've seen, one person just cares more, spends more time and energy fighting to make things work and eventually gets frustrated as the other person, for a variety of reasons, just can't summon up the resolve or emotion to match that. We've all been that first person - buying flowers, cooking surprise dinners, dressing up as a gigantic, fluffy bunny (don't ask) - getting excited and doing all of the great things one is supposed to do as one-half of a successful couple. And it works, for a while, but deep down, in the back of one's head, we all know that we are living on borrowed time. When these relationships invariably end, we are sad, but mostly sad that we are alone again and our friends tell us (rightfully so) that we are "better off" and "that the right one is still out there" and "you need to shave that mustache".

Third, people change over time. I know; spoiler alert or stop the presses. But we do, as much as I've tried to resist all change, of any kind, in any way. The person I am now is quite different than the person I was 5 years ago and incredibly different from the person I'll be next week (big changes in store, I don't want to spoil the surprise - here is a two-word teaser: heal lifts). And if both people in a pair are both changing at light speed, then there needs to be a flexibility, a growth plan (pie charts on flip charts are totally optional), a bond (and not of the mutual fund variety, although those don't hurt either) that always connects them. Change should be embraced (keep it clean, all ages show here). Change should be rewarded. Change requires fresh undergarments on a daily basis. As long as there is love, and both people still want things to work out, then they can.

Fourth, people need to communicate. Communication is so easy, and yet it is also so hard. Why, oh why, is it so hard sometimes? Why do we all feel like we are speaking to a brick wall? For myself, I actually am, but why do other's feel like this? Why can't we talk to each other and work things out when we seemingly care about each other? Cat's got your tongue? (that excuse only works once) Pride? A love for suspense and film noir? Well, once again, it can be so easy as long as both members are committed (note: being actually committed, like imprisoned, so not a deal breaker - just makes face-to-face communication more challenging on a day-to-day basis).

Here is how it should work. Person A feels upset at something Person B is doing. Person A goes up to Person B and says in the least passive/passive aggressive/aggressive way "When you do ____________, it makes me feel ___________". Person B then replies "Why thank you, I had no idea that __________ was making you feel ____________" followed by "Now that I have gained a better understanding, I plan to make some alterations to my behaviour and would love the chance to explain fully to you why I have been doing ___________". Person A would then say "I appreciate both your explanation as well as the opportunity to express myself. I consider this situation resolved. Thank you for your time." Scene.

Here is how it actually works. Person A feels upset at something Person B is doing. Instead of taking the risk of saying something that could risk "rocking the apple cart" or "ruffling any feathers" or "burning the toast", Person A does the "smart" thing and bottles up/represses/saves for a rainy day his or her feelings thus helping preserve the peaceful facade. Whatever Person A loses in not expressing themselves, they gain in helping maintain the status quo even if it means walking on some egg shells from time to time. But as you and I both know, facades can only last so long, until a wreaking ball either real or fictional comes along and smashes it to smithereens. The fallout from a long term lack of real sharing of feelings can be so intense and yet, we've all been there and have wondered while in the midst of an argument full of mud-slinging and hurtful comments and awkward silences why we didn't just communicate better initially.

Since we all hate feeling crappy and we all hate not speaking up when a situation isn't how we like it and we all hate the eventual argument/discussion about "what has happened to us?" or "what is really going on?" or "why won't you tell me how you really feel?" then why do two people who love and care about each other let it get there? I'm not sure. I'm really not. But, once again, if the two people both want to work things out, then they always can. Except that a couple can dig themselves a hole that, while not impossible to climb out of, just requires so much work that maybe it either seems impossible or just to challenging. I think that if you go down the road of poor communication too often, which also invariably involves lack of emotional understanding and intimacy, it ends up becoming the "new normal" and the fixes that worked in the past become less and less effective. It is just easier to blow things up rather than renovate or rebuild with a new foundation.

Some people just weren't meant to be together. Some people are like oil and water. Some people, even when attracted to each other, just don't work together in the long-term no matter how hard they work at it.

(sure oil and water can be correctly emulsified, but that technique is much harder to pull off when actual people with complex emotions are involved.

In the initial honeymoon phase everything is wonderful, spectacular and blissfully easy. Couples all think that their love will last forever and that they could be the greatest couple that has ever existed and they briefly consider writing a series of How To books. But, like the ball that no matter how high tossed will eventually fall to the Earth, all good things come to an end. When the honeymoon phase concludes one of a few things happen to our lovely couple

(1) the relationship was based solely on physical attraction and that there is absolutely nothing else of substance to keep these two people together so things end.

(2) the couple genuinely cares about one another and they sense on some deep biological, lineage-preserving level that they were put on this Earth to buy a shelter* and produce offspring together (*shelter optional).

(3) one or both of the members "needs" this to work out and so they conveniently are able to fight off the voices in their head that the other person may not be right for them.

(4) it's fun for each of them and fun is fun so why not have it (harder to sell this to yourself, your parents and each other once past a certain age).

(5) they shake hands, mutually decide to go their separate ways and agree to "never speak of this to anyone ever again even if offered large sums of money to do a tell all".

Many relationships are over before they start. Many relationships stand the test of time. Many relationships start strong, but blow out like a candle in the wind.

And there are couples that stay together even when things aren't perfect. They hope that taking the plunge and getting a dog, or buying a house, buying mutual fund, having a kid or getting matching back-covering tattoos will gloss over the issues. But, the issues don't just vanish because the couple came up with a timely distraction no matter how large the tattoo. In the end, if it ain't working, it just won't last and I don't just break out the cliched poor grammar for nothing. But, as I mentioned earlier, no matter how frayed the edges of the rug of the relationship are, no rug is beyond repair if the two take some sort of rug-repair workshop together.

I think back to my friend and his failed marriage and wonder what happened. Sure some marriages fail because someone does something horrible - they cheat, tax evade, slash tires, but most of the time the speed bumps of life just get in the way. Each person gets busy while they still love each other and they just don't make time for each other, especially once kids, promotions, extra responsibilities come around. Resentment and unhappiness build as communication and intimacy decrease and the grass starts to appear so much greener elsewhere (optical illusion or some sort of turf builder). Puzzle pieces that once fit are all of a sudden from two different puzzles.

But for all of the couples I know that have not worked, I know an equal number that are still going strong year after year. How do they do it? A match made in Heaven? Hours of expensive counselling? Naked Twister? We'd be lying to ourselves if we believed that any couple that seems "perfect" doesn't argue, go through ups and downs and struggle with the same issues that the partnerships that fail struggle with. I happen to enjoy lying to myself from time to time. The members of the couples that work have learned to compromise, support each other through tough times, and communication with each other. And, in my opinion, the most important thing of all and one thing myself and my wife have in spades, the ability to make each other laugh.

Relationships are tricky. Relationships are tough. Relationships work, until they don't. But when you find one that does they are amazing, like really good gravy.