As cranky as I can get about life, there is one thing that in my opinion is the only thing that can keep me functioning on a relatively civil basis. That thing, or more appropriately, that person, is my wife. Without question, when someone talks about "true love," there is no greater description in the flesh than the woman who more than 30 years ago, saved me from myself.

I can't overstate this fact enough. She is the only reason that I am able to function as a relatively normal citizen of the world, and with absolutely no qualms, gets my vote for sainthood, should the time (fat chance in hell) that anyone who can take care of such things would ask me.

We met at one of the lowest ebbs of my life. We met after I had ended a five-year marriage, filled with almost constant turmoil, anger and bitterness just eight months prior. My first marriage was the kind of relationship that was doomed from the start, begun for all the wrong reasons, with the wrong person. It had however produced two wonderful little girls, to whom I was completely devoted. Telling them that I was leaving, and hearing the oldest of the two at the age of four ask me, "does this mean I won't have a Daddy any more?" still brings a wrenching hitch in my chest and tears to my eyes.

I spent the first six months of the separation and divorce doing little more than hanging out with friends, drinking, and doing just enough work to pay the bills. After more time living the life of a bum than I could stand, I took the gamble to begin a new career in advertising, which resulted in a job with a regional car dealership, a crappy salary, but free use of brand new Hondas with all of the gas I wanted.

I dated a bit…mostly looking to make up for the lack of sexual activity that being in a horrible relationship for five years produces. But, by the time I had tried the "bachelor" life for a few months, I was pretty bored with the whole scene. I spent all most all of my time with one friend, or my kids, doing my best to carve out a new life as "single dad."

My one true vice, and most likely the reason that I did not end up killing someone in a barroom fight, was that I had started playing rugby with a local college club team. Because it was a club team, players who did not attend the university could still play. After playing football for almost my entire life, rugby was a perfect way to blow steam and avoid aggressive behavior in the general public.

Rugby is actually one of the most perfect games ever invented. And as much as I played and excelled at football all through college, I can honestly say that had rugby been an option, I would never have strapped up the pads to do battle on the gridiron.

There are no pads in rugby. There is no blocking in rugby. This means, that if you want to tackle someone, you can fly across the field, with no impedances, and clock the holy freakin' hell out of them. However, there are also no helmets in rugby, so "unlearning" the practice of tackling by "sticking your head in the numbers" as taught in football, must happen quickly or you will break your nose. I was a slow learner on that one, and broke my nose at least 7 times in the first two years I played.

However, the BEST part about rugby (after the hitting and bleeding part) is what is called the "third half." The third half is actually the party that is REQUIRED to be thrown by the home team following the game. Any team that does not throw a good party quickly gets a reputation as lame-ass-slacker-weasels and is ridiculed by the entire international rugby community. The parties consist of drinking competitions and the singing of traditional rugby team songs. The songs are almost entirely comprised of dirty limericks, sung to traditional English and Anglican tunes. Great fun. Absolutely filthy lyrics.

So what does this have to do with "the love of my life?" I'm getting to that.

Every spring, the university held a singing and marching competition between the classes (it is actually goofier and rigorously competitive than it sounds). Called "Glee" (the name says it all), the competition is comprised of the classes marching in formations and then singing a song that is composed by one or more of the class members. As luck would have it, somebody with only half a brain, thought it would a great idea to have the rugby team entertain the audience while the judged votes were being compiled. We readily agreed.

The event took place the same day as one of our games, so we showed up after the "third half" party, a bit drunk, very dirty and with barely enough time to hit the stage and get into formation. I had written a blues song with a lyric about a football player trying to learn the game of rugby, the rest of the team provided the "doo-waps" and dance moves as I belted out the song, played guitar and wailed on the blues harp. It was an overwhelming hit, with the rugby team being almost as surprised as the audience.

As I was leaving the auditorium, a gorgeous girl (with unbelievably blonde hair) and her parents stopped me to tell me that they loved the song, and that I was great. I was caught off guard, but thanked them as I moved back into the crowd to head out for some more celebrating.

A few days later, I was sitting at the favorite college watering hole with some friends of mine and a girl who had become the latest "potential lady in my life," when I was surprised by the feeling of a leg being thrown over mine.
I snapped my head around to see the hot blonde girl from the Glee competition with a huge smile on her face. She winked and said, "Remember me?"

Caught off guard, and just a little taken back with my "date" sitting to my left, I sputtered some nonsense about remembering her and her family, and "how was she doing?" and "thanks for coming over to say hello," as I turned back to my date and friends and began talking.

Again, the leg came flying over mine, and this time she said with a little louder (and perhaps obviously besotted voice), "Remember me???"

Laughing, I started to talk to her. She WAS gorgeous, and her naturally blond hair was equaled only by her naturally curvy figure, so I would have been a fool not to talk to her. Right?

What started out as one of those "bar pick-up stories" rapidly evolved into an "Oh my GOD who is this girl?!!" moments. After my "date" realized that I was no longer giving her my complete attention (a gross and horrible understatement), she left. It was just about closing time, so the only real option was to try and take this girl home, or be a gentleman and take her back to her sorority house. I opted for something in between, and took her to an all-night restaurant, where we literally talked until almost sunrise about everything that came to mind.

In just a few short hours, I found out that we had both been raised in the Episcopal Church, she had traveled to Spain and Columbia, living in both as an exchange student. She had just come through a horrible relationship (her first serious relationship) with a psychotic, habitual liar, who had made her wary of relationships, she was smart as all get out, finishing college in just three years with honors and getting ready to begin studying for an MBA in the fall, and she was wild about big thighs on guys. I also learned that she was an incredible kisser, and had the most amazing breasts of any girl I had met in my entire life.

One could call it "true love at first sight," but they would be wrong.

After our first night, both coming from horrible recent relationships, we both delayed a bit in getting together again. In fact, almost a week passed before I ran into her at a basketball game. I had just come back from a rugby trip and had a couple days growth of beard, was wearing sweats and a torn letterman's jacket. She had been studying for three days straight for mid-terms, and was in sweats, no make-up, and had most likely not washed her hair for a day or so. We did the "oh…hi…how are you doing?" thing, and started to walk away, when I said, "Uhm…hey…I have a rugby match in Corvallis this weekend. Do you want to drive down with us and come and watch?"

She gave me a polite response, and her phone number. But, I was feeling that I had really must have been drunk to think she was hot, and she was giving me the look that she felt exactly the same.

Saturday morning rolled around, and I knocked on the door of the sorority house in my rugby uniform, complete with shorts, knee-sox and jersey. She answered the door in a pair of tight-fitting six-pocket pants and a cashmere sweater that clung to her braless breasts in a way that simply screamed, "I KNOW you should be looking at her eyes…but DAMN!" She told me I looked hot in my shorts, and reminded me that she loved big thighs. I told her that she looked absolutely amazing, and that her sweater fit all of her parts in a way that should be against the law.

We have been together since that day.

Reading this up to this point, you would think that "true love" is all about sexual attraction. And you would partly right. Because through all of the ups and downs of the more than a quarter century that we have been together, it has been our mutual lust for one another that has been a constant salve to many of the wounds that life inflicts.

She is the perfect woman, friend and lover for me. She challenges me. She doesn't take abuse or attitude from me without standing up and demanding respect. She is sentimental, thoughtful, empathetic, practical, funny, sexy, intelligent, and insightful like no other person I have ever known. And best of all, she loves me with all of my foibles, inconsistencies, and "unique personality traits" through thick and thin.

There is nobody else with whom I would rather spend time. She makes me a better person. There is no doubt in my mind that I would have very few friends at all, if she didn't come with the package.

She is the only true love of my life, and helps me realize why we are here.

We fight. We challenge one another. We give each other lip over the dumbest things. One of our most persistent arguments is whether some arcane actor was in some arcane movie we have seen. We see a lot of movies. We have seen thousands over the years. I am almost always wrong, but it doesn't stop me from arguing.

She is almost never on time. I am a "time freak." She has a "relative attitude" about the household budget…meaning she constantly overspends on our kids, and I have to ply the account with make-up money. She drinks way too much coffee, and is not the "strongest" driver (driving with a coffee cup in her hand). But, that is all I can come up with on the negative side.

The list of my negative attributes could fill an entire web site.

I strongly suggest that you find the "love of your life." It makes life worth living and the unbearable parts, bearable.

I feel sorry for everyone who doesn't have the kind of relationship that we do.

I know we have set the bar extremely high for our kids. But frankly, I would hope nothing but the same for them.

As we love to say to one another, quoting from "The Princess Bride," one of our favorite movies of all time… "Wuv…Twoo Wuv…is a dweem wiffin a dweem."

And that's what it's all about…