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My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word “shmily in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving “shmily around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged “shmily with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. “Shmily was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave “shmily on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places “shmily would pop up. Little notes with “shmily scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. “Shmily was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents’ house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents’ game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love — one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents’ relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship as based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. | 
