Photo courtesy of Emily Lodish

I am ready now to tell you about the crossword puzzles.

Here is what I know: I was exposed to them at a very young age. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but I do remember the moment. Padding down the stairs and into the kitchen to find my mother pensive and sitting at the head of the table, completely absorbed in something that wasn’t me.

What was it that could occupy my mother so? I had to know. Once she left the room, I went over to see. And before me was a near perfect vision. A crossword puzzle, done in its entirety. One question mark in the margin and some stray eraser shavings, but other than that, pure. A gem.

A feeling of calm came over me. Like when I eat a burrito or, less frequently, when I listen to classical music. A feeling of awe and appreciation that disparate elements can come together so neatly, in one nice, slick package. I felt, just, sated.

I started doing them myself, somewhat haphazardly and without instruction, in middle school. Things escalated toward the end of high school, and there were times in college and immediately thereafter when, I can now admit, the situation got out of control.

I began to need more than just one a day. I would identify publications around town that had their own puzzles, and then I would make excuses to pick up those publications. I’ve been guilty of hiding them in my apron while waiting tables, sneaking some at the water station. Guilty of putting off whatever task I’m supposed to be doing until I’ve had my fix. You pretty much know what I’m doing in the restroom.

In Cambodia, my relationship with crosswords deepened, if such a thing was possible. In a place where I didn’t speak the language and where I was forced to buy clothes that said extra large, I gravitated toward a familiar friend who soon became more than that.

We started going to bed together, and waking up together. We dined. We would laugh. Well, I would laugh. There wasn’t much to complain about, though I would, at times, need a little break. I never heard about it later.

Not every puzzle is a blissful experience. I get frustrated when one lets me down. When the theme is lame or the clues unoriginal. I can’t tell you how many times “jai alai” has appeared. Or “eked,” for that matter. And how many people have read Melville’s Omoo? I’m guessing far fewer than the number of people who spot it in every other puzzle under the sun.

But if it’s too difficult, I get antsy. Partnering up is a good solution to a tough puzzle, but it isn't something to be taken lightly. It can draw two people closer as fast as it can push them apart. I like to be bold, for instance, and sometimes just go for it without cross-checking multiple clues. When I use ink, this can put people off, like a certain ex-boyfriend who will remain nameless.

I have pored over puzzles with my best friends and fought over puzzles with my mother. I once witnessed my sister stash a Tuesday under the sofa cushion when she thought no one was around.

My sister shares my affliction. Though, probably because she is busy chasing around two little kids, she has managed to keep it a little more in check. Still, it’s clearly genetic and therefore something I will have to deal with for the rest of my life. I learned it from you, Mom.

The odds an adult will do crossword puzzles at least 2 times a week are 1 in 15.99 (US, 3/2007 - 10/2007).

The odds an adult will do crossword puzzles at least once a month are 1 in 9.89 (US, 3/2007 - 10/2007).

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