| You can never pick a crossword lover out of a crowd |
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Crossword fanatics are part of a strange underworld, grouped together by their fierce loyalty to the daily puzzle of phrases, words and oh-so-clever clues. Not much defines these puzzle junkies, other than their love of the crossword. They span all income levels, all job types, all educational backgrounds, all personalities, male and female, young and old. You can never pick a crossword lover out of a crowd. If there is something unique and special about those who schedule their day around this addiction, then there is something special about those of us married to these crossword freaks. I had no idea, before I married my husband, that I'd spend my Saturday mornings walking around and over a focused and zoned, human word machine. The day cannot really begin until the crossword has been finished. Not just one, but both the Oregonian and the New York Times. He's even managed to keep his obsession intact with the addition of each child. Many of my habits have disappeared - exercising, scrapbooking, sleeping in - but he has kept his alive. Those of us married to Crossworders put up with a lot. Often, on vacation, I have to schedule our travel plans around the location of a morning newspaper. If we are heading to the zoo, the beach or the grandparents, I am asked to drive, so hubby can continue filling in the mysterious white squares. No real conversations get started. I take in the scenery while I get asked, "Where was the battle of ...?" I find neatly folded puzzles throughout the house and yard. If he volunteers to watch the boys outside, I know he's really volunteering to work on Sunday's toughie. This has helped our boy's in their independence, and my oldest has perfected the loud scream to break through his father's trance of concentration. I see logically why they place the crosswords in the Living Section, but I still don't like it. I have read the beginnings of many fascinating stories, only to find that the second half was located on the same page as the crossword, which is now resting neatly on my husband's lap, basking in the morning sun, as my boys spray each other with the water hose. I know that my husband is exercising his brain and keeping his mind in shape. I tell myself he does all this for us, for his family, so that when he's 90 he'll still know who we are, but this is little consolation since I won't remember who he is, let alone 21 Across. Rebekah Schneiter is a Newberg resident and freelance columnist. Columnist Rebekah Schneiter |