Come to think of it, I guess I was venting too many audible groans. As if these long, old bones of mine were protesting the effort it takes to maneuver into position behind the steering wheel.

"You all right?" said my wife, scrutinizing me. "Sounded like you were in pain."

She was abruptly assured I was OK. Admittedly there was a time when it was easier to enter and exit an automobile. This, however, had nothing to do with my action of that moment.

One simply indulges in a comforting moan or two, that's the way it goes, to ease the chore of folding oneself into the snug quarters of a vehicle.

At least that is the way it seems to be with me — followed by a peaceful sigh. Surely I wasn't the only guy who emitted these weary old noises. Was I?

I got my answer when my kid brother, 80, and his wife, age withheld, came by our house. Later, when my brother climbed back up to the driver's seat of their SUV, he made some familiar moaning and groaning sounds with each physical move.

His wife gave him a reproving "tsk" and intimated that he sounded like — well, like an old man on his last legs.

Instantly, I shared an amused, sidelong glance with my wife.

And at that moment, folks, and this is strictly on the level, I felt an ascending, sensual flush in my breast.

The shared glance. I don't think there's a single word or phrase in any language that adequately describes the evolving experience or emotion that results from exchanging a private, silent, satisfyingly revealing glance with your spouse.

Not love? No, it rises above and beyond sheer love.

Put this picture in your mind. You are separated across a crowded room from your chosen one, and yet, prompted by that fact or by some other natural social hindrance, all it takes to communicate with each other, to get your message across — if there's a need — is that quick, quiet, knowing glance.

It's an incomparable occurrence.

And I felt a strong hope that my brother and his faithful mate, and multitudes of other committed couples, have the same warm continuity of feeling.

Not necessarily do the eyes need to make contact, either. Sometimes, from the deepest corner of your vision, it's possible to detect a slight tilt of your loved one's head in your direction, say, while listening to several glorious bars of music in a concert hall.

Or at a banquet table, or in a darkened room watching a nuance-filled TV drama. Anywhere. And never having to speak a word.

That moment, my friends, is life's diamond moment of understanding, comprehended only by a husband and his wife. Although love makes everything tick, this is something quite singular.

With each passing year it entrenches just a little deeper into the heart.

Lucky are those who've known it. Luckier yet if they still have it.