I recall as we entered the 21st Century, my wife vowed to quit smoking – again.

“This is my last cigarette,” she said one evening in our Greater San Antonio abode, holding the slim cylinder out before lighting up after dinner as we sat in the family room.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve heard that tune before.”

Anita had quit smoking more times than she changed hair dyes. I knew the routine by heart. First, she cuts back. Then buys one pack at a time. Then she smokes fewer cigarettes over a longer period of time. Finally, she announces, “I’m quitting.”

Blessed with an almost photographic memory, I recall on Feb. 11, 2003, a Tuesday, when she pledged, “This is my last cigarette.”

On Feb.18, she asked me what day it was. At first, I believed she was hinting her birthday was 10 days away. Naw, I learned, she was counting the days she hadn’t had a smoke.

To make sure I wouldn’t forget her promises, I started a journal so I could accurately keep track of her progress. The following May 16, I overheard a long distance phone conversation with one of her sisters: “I’m getting these urges to smoke.”

Two days later she looked me in the eye and said, “I could use a cigarette.”

I quickly looked away and changed the subject: “What should we have for dinner.”

I give her credit -- she didn’t give in even though she began coughing. I knew why.

Years ago I learned about the cough from former jockey Walter Blum, a steward at South Florida thoroughbred tracks. That’s one of the negatives, he told me one afternoon in the Gulfstream Park press boss.

Blum said he quit several months at a time for years, but couldn’t hack it. “I only smoke maybe two or three a day. I just can’t take the withdrawal. I coughed a lot after I quit. So I just cut back.”

Anita encountered that hurdle more than once. Then she’d say, “I feel like a cigarette.”

Then I’d joke, “Funny, you don’t look like one -- eat a carrot.”

“I really could use a cigarette,” she said.

“I’ll get you some ice cream,” I said.

When Anita appeared more irritable than usual I laid off the funny remarks. And I did not utter a word that had anything to do with the subject.

She did fall off the smokeless wagon shortly after we visited the granddaughters, who encouraged her not to light up. She tried again and I began the count again.

Three weeks later, shortly after the coughing subsided, my love remained smokeless. I’m proud to report that a cigarette hasn’t touched her lips in nearly five years.

Giving up the habit is often easier said than done. Yet, when some people put their mind to it, they can overcome.

One case in point: A good friend, a bartender, was smoke-free about five years back in ’03 when I last saw him in South Florida.

Bill really had will power because he continued to collect side panels from cigarette packs, the brand he once smoked, and got free items for the mailings: watches, cameras, jackets, lanterns, tote bags, telescopes, etc., from friends and customers.

“I don’t miss the cigarettes a bit,” he told me, “but I would miss these freebies.”

I must admit I was a smoker, starting my first year in college. By the time I graduated, I was a two-pack-a-day man. Then back in ’72, I decided to give it up.

I quit cold turkey on that New Year’s Eve. After several days, I didn’t even crave a cigarette. Really!

So the following year I decided to share my good fortune with Anita when a carton only cost about $5. I put away that much every payday unbeknownst to her.

For our 10th wedding anniversary that Nov. 22, I bought her a pair of diamond earrings, total weight 1.05 carats. She still wears them today.

Greg Melikov is a featured writer for Xomba.com. Read the rest of his work here .