As my husband and I celebrated our 14th anniversary, I realized that my first marriage lasted exactly 14 years. Heading into our 15th year, I have every expectation that I will beat my personal best. And things look promising. So after a total of 28 years in marital experience, you would assume I've learned something about love.
I'm not so sure.
A good example is the question I remember asking my mother around age 12: "How will I know when I meet someone, if he is the right one?"
And she answered serenely, as mothers have through the ages, "You'll KNOW."
I KNEW at 28, when I married my first husband. Enough said.
My younger sister Carla asked our mother the same question and got the same answer. Carla KNEW at 15, when she decided her first boyfriend was the love of her life.
And she was right. So you tell me---how did she figure it out?
I broke up with my boyfriend the night before I took off for Ohio to canvass for Obama. Well really, I broke up with him three nights later, but I knew in my head that I would do it the night before I left. What I did that night before was tell him I could not talk to him for three days. Three days of: landing in Ohio the morning after the red-eye; having breakfast with Carol Ogline (my 84 year old host) at the fanciest restaurant in Alliance; Ohio (where the side salad is $3.00 extra); driving to the Alliance, Ohio campaign office (the first national campaign office to ever exist there); taking off from the office to canvass down the street; getting chased down that same street by a rabid dog, finding out the owner was an Obama supporter and recruiting him to volunteer; returning to the office to make phone calls; going back to Carol Ogline's house and eating peanut butter sandwiches with her at 1am while her 1 month old puppy rolled around on the floor; getting back to the campaign office the next day to canvass some more; promising a man I would show up at 6am the day after election day and chop the wood piled in his yard if he voted; taking a picture at the end of that street; returning to the office to make phone calls; going to Applebee's with my volunteer coordinator; returning to the office the next day to canvass, swaying a voter, swaying another voter, going to another county to meet the 20 new volunteers that had just arrived; jumping on a conference call to hear Obama give us all an amazing half time speech; and going into the backyard after that phone call to sit by the empty pool and have that final phone conversation with my boyfriend.
Sharing things is always dicey, and dicing while cooking together is definitely no exception. The kitchen can morph into a metallic boxing ring. One of you is the wild, inventive cook and the other is the chop-a-holic, compulsive one. But one thing I’ve realized after decades of co-cooking is that both co-chef-partners are actually doing the same things, just at different moments. 
Valentine’s Day marks the anniversary of the day I turned left at a crossroads. I’d like to say I never looked back, but I look back all the time. On February 14th, 1995, I left New York for good, although of course I didn’t know at the time that I wouldn’t be back.
I have two boys. At the ages of eleven and one that's moments away from turning thirteen, it's getting harder and harder to impress them. Or maybe it's better to say, it's getting harder and harder to do things together they think are cool.