Tag Archives: love

Scrabble Divas Rule

It makes friends of strangers, enemies of friends and binds like-minded souls in a pleasure that cannot be experienced by the uninitiated. Scrabble.

Those who have never owned a well-worn Scrabble set and a much-thumbed Scrabble dictionary may scoff, but the pain and the pleasure of Scrabble cannot be beaten.

Like most people, I’d played as a child, enjoyed it at the time but moved on. That was until I met the Scrabble Queen. I was living in a small country town and she took me under her wing. Every Sunday afternoon I would go around to her place and she would wipe the board with me. Month after month this went on. But as I watched and I learned, she passed on her skills to me and I became powerful. The day I beat her I became worthy of the title of the Scrabble Princess.

The legend grew and people would travel to that small town to take on the Scrabble Queen and the Scrabble Princess. One cocky Sydney journalist thought he would have his way with us using his vast knowledge of verbs, nouns, adjectives and adverbs. But no.

He left a defeated man, his tail between his legs and our laughter ringing in his ears.

I moved to a bigger town and kept my skills a secret for some time. Sometimes it is best to watch and wait.

Eventually, I found a worthy opponent.

Once again every Sunday we would meet and while her boyfriend cooked us dinner we’d hit the triple scores with everything we had. I taught her tricks I’d learned from the Scrabble Queen and before too long she became a Scrabble Diva to beat the best of them.

Once again I moved on, my Scrabble destiny not quite complete.

It took a while to find an opponent brave enough or foolish enough to take me on. This time I took pity on a poor little Scrabble Tadpole. She reminded me of myself in my younger days. I passed on the skills that had been taught to me by the Scrabble Queen and eventually I bestowed upon her the honour of her very own Scrabble set. But if you challenge her, beware, she has the training of many generations of Scrabble Mistresses. She may toy with you for a while but eventually, she’ll hit you with a seven-letter word on a triple word score that will blow your mind.

These days I play online. I keep in contact with the many Scrabble goddesses I’ve met along the way and we battle it out with each other, thanks to the glory of the internet. But whenever we do get the chance to catch up in person, the Scrabble board gets dusted off and it’s game on. Nothing can beat the clatter of the tiles on their wooden stands, the scribbled scores mounting ever higher on a hastily found piece of paper and the satisfaction of stealing that triple word score, quite literally, from under your opponent’s nose.

Scrabble on!

The Miserable Joy of Eeyore.

I’m a year older than I was last week. There’s something about having a birthday that always reminds me of Eeyore. After all, what’s a birthday? Here today, gone tomorrow, as he would say.

Eeyore has always been my favourite of the Winnie-the-Pooh characters. With such lines as, “Good morning Little Piglet. If it is a good morning. Which I doubt. Not that it much matters”, how could you not love him?

On his birthday Eeyore is sardonic, witty and urbane but most of all he is miserable. Eeyore makes us all feel better on our birthdays. He takes on all the pain of ever feeling forgotten or abandoned on what’s supposed to be our special day. He makes even the most monumental loser feel good. No matter how bad things get they’ll always be worse for Eeyore. And that’s a form of comfort.

When I was a kid I was always jealous of my sister’s toy Eeyore. It was a home made job way before merchandising came to be the market force it is these days. It had character and was well loved. From an early age my sister and I both knew that Eeyore was the only one who saw the world as it was but still found something worthwhile in it. Even better he expressed his pessimism in no uncertain terms to anyone who’d listen and they still loved him. But most of all he was funny.

I once met a man who used to size people up by finding out who their favourite Winnie-the-Pooh character was. To him it was a reflection of how people viewed the world. Pooh types were optimistic, undemanding and simplistic. Piglets were insecure, needy and eager to please. Owls were quirky, odd and kind of interesting. Tiggers were arrogant and immature. Kangas were often nurses, caring but tired. Roos were wishy-washy. And Rabbit? Who on earth would choose Rabbit as their favourite character? You’d have to be perverse.

Very occasionally you’ll find someone who cites Christopher Robin as their favourite. According to his theory, it shows someone with a marked lack of imagination or a male going through a mid-life crisis.

But when you find another Eeyore you know you’ve found a soul mate. It takes a special type of person to love and appreciate an old grey donkey who pretty much keeps to himself in a damp corner of the 100 Acre Wood.

“I might have known’, said Eeyore. “After all, I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And it was last week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said ‘Bother!’ The Social Round. Always something going on.”

Thanks Eeyore.

The Book of Love

variation-of-books-in-library

Recently I had a major eureka moment. I discovered how love works. I should really keep the details to myself and write a best-seller about it. And that’s a clue as to how this discovery was made. Books. Best-sellers, biographies, histories, romances and horror stories.

I went to a charity book sale, just out of curiosity. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular but I do love books. To tell you the truth when I got there I was a bit overwhelmed; so many books, rows and rows of boxes upon boxes of books. I didn’t know where to start, so I just browsed.

I picked up a couple of books, had a look at them and then put them back. I wasn’t really interested. I picked up a book I knew a friend would love but still nothing for me.

Then I started looking seriously and methodically. I walked up one aisle and down the next looking at each box of books as I went. I found a book that I really should read, a book that would be good for me, a book that would look impressive in my bookcase.  And I chose another book that was uplifting and inspirational, I knew because it said so on the cover.

But still, nothing that excited me.

Then I saw it. I couldn’t believe my eyes or my luck. A book by my favourite author, a book I didn’t even know I was looking for until I found it. And then I knew why I’d come to the book sale. It was purely to find that book. It was fate. The book and I were meant for each other.

That’s how love works.

You don’t know what it is until you find it. You don’t know why you’re doing what you’re doing and then suddenly everything becomes clear.

Occasionally you’ll find a great boyfriend for a friend while you remain single. You choose the person you think you should be with, or someone your mother thinks would be good for you, or someone whose cover looks impressive, but none of them really excite you. Plus you’ve got to sort through a lot of stuff that you don’t want first. 

But when love does arrive, it’s totally unexpected and totally wonderful.

So, when I got home did I curl up in bed with my miraculous discovery? No. I put it on the shelf and started reading the book I thought I should read because it would be good for me.

Books may be meant for the shelf but I think I still have a few things to learn about love.

Photo via Glen Noble via Visualhunt

What makes a girl fall in love? And out?

Petersham InnWhat makes a girl fall in love? Even more interestingly, what makes her fall out of love?

It was another great night at the Petersham Inn on Parramatta Road in Sydney, thanks to the enigmatic Duncan who booked the music and was the licensee. (Duncan died last month but his legacy lives on.)  The band was firing and the buzz about them was beginning to grow.  They were a long way from the multiple ARIA Award winners they’d become but all of us in the Pismo Bar sensed we were witnessing a legend in the making.

Now, I’ve been guilty of falling for a few boys in bands myself in the past but I was nothing compared to my friend Angie. All the excitement got her hot and bothered. She’d caught the guitarist’s eye and wanted to move in for the happy ending.  Neither of them had a car so I was coerced into driving them, and his guitar, back to her place. He and I chatted about music while she hung onto his arm and gazed into his eyes.

That was how it started and that was how it was destined to remain. They didn’t have a lot in common so whenever she was going out with him she’d ask me along too. I’d act as a kind of interpreter; they could both have conversations with me but were at a loss when it came to talking to each other. The three of us spent many happy evenings at No Names in Darlinghurst eating spaghetti while I acted as their go-between.

However, there was one area of their relationship where I couldn’t help them. It’s an area that doesn’t require much talking so I assumed everything was ok. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. It became clear that after the initial rush of excitement something was dreadfully amiss. My friend was not happy. She didn’t mind that he was lost for words but she found it inexcusable that he was tongue-tied.

It’s been my experience that ultimatums don’t work but try telling that to someone with a bee in their bonnet. They can’t hear you, the buzzing’s too loud.  She borrowed a friend’s apartment to ensure privacy and cooked an amazing dinner with candlelight, wine and Peggy Lee. Lord knows what they talked about over dinner but I do know what was said at the end of the evening.  He took the “or else” option and opted out of her life.

She didn’t miss him, but I did. I missed our conversations about music, guitars, books, bags and bands. Was I ever tempted to go out with him? No way. After all, this girl could never fall for a guy who didn’t….have a car.

How Michael Franti Saved My Marriage

Many years ago, when our relationship was just a young bud, I took The Hubby to the Byron Bay Blues Festival. I’d spent many years at music festivals of all different kinds, as a performer and a punter. I loved them. I loved music. I’d spent most of my twenties and thirties playing in bands, touring and recording. Now I was working in radio. Festivals were still on the agenda but this time I was usually presenting an outside broadcast or interviewing musicians.

The Hubby had spent most of his twenties and thirties in a very different world. A world of aircraft carriers, trackers, Orions and uniforms. Sure he liked music but his tastes were formed by the mainstream and restricted by what was available on board or at the base.

Bluesfest was an ear opening experience for him. I dragged him from one must-see, or must-hear, to the next. I was in heaven. The Hubby was not. He became decidedly downcast. He didn’t know any of the acts, he’d never heard of them and what he heard he didn’t like. I couldn’t believe it.  Here we were, surrounded by the best music in the world and he was unhappy, dejected, out of place.

I thought dancing together might cheer him up. Another disaster. When I’d played bass and then rhythm guitar in bands  I’d always sat just behind the beat. I liked to stretch out the rhythm into a relaxed lope. The Hubby, perhaps due to the military bands and all that marching, sat right on the beat, or even just in front, always vigilant, always aware. Our dancing became an awkward, wordless struggle. We were clumsy together and became impatient with each other.

In the meantime the kind of bloke I used to go out with was circling. A three-quarter boy with a lopsided grin, a cigarette and a pair of drum sticks. Yep, yet another muso. Charming and shiftless but talking a language I understood. The more The Hubby struggled with the sounds he was hearing, the more I was tempted to stray. Back to the world of talking crap and hanging out, of being surrounded by a pack of wise-cracking musicians strutting their stuff. The world I used to live in. The life I left behind. The pull back to that louche existence was strong in this time of doubt.

I looked at The Hubby and saw a stranger. The man I loved, the honest, soulful, wise and funny man, was gone. I couldn’t see him. Instead a saw a grumpy, rhythmless lump. A millstone. I wanted to be free. Free to enjoy the kaleidoscope of music, free to dance to my own beat, free to indulge in the sonic feast spread out before me. Free of my husband.

And then Michael Franti came on stage.

The Hubby stopped frowning. His body loosened up. There was a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘I like this man,’ he said. ‘I can understand every word he’s singing. His message is great. He has something worth saying. And I like the music.’

The Hubby nodded his head in agreement with Michael Franti’s words. The nod became a smile, the smile became a dance.

I stopped frowning. I loosened up. I began to smile.  I reached for my husband’s hand. If this man could love Michael Franti, I could love this man.

We were back. Back in alignment. Back in love. All thanks to Michael Franti.

Ten years later The Hubby and I were at another music festival. Michael Franti was playing. I said to The Hubby, ‘Let’s go check out his sound check, before the crowds get there.’

We sat on the grass in the natural amphitheatre at the Woodford Folk Festival. Michael Franti gave us, and the other ten or so people who’d had the same idea, a private concert. We danced, we cheered, we clapped, we laughed. And then he came down from the stage in his bare feet, walked over to the grass and sat with us for a chat and an acoustic song. It was magical.

And did I tell him the story of how he’d saved our marriage? You bet I did. He looked askance at first. Unsure of where the story was heading. But when I got to the end there was laughter and hugging. Lots of hugging. “Everybody gotta hug somebody at least once a day.”

Thank you Michael Franti, the man who saved my marriage.

Above is the song he sang on that magical afternoon. If you listen closely you can hear The Hubby and me singing along.

 

 

The Beatles Were Wrong

All you need is loveThe most entrenched beliefs we have about love are handed down to us through popular culture; the fairytale ending, the handsome prince, the knight on the white charger, the perfect man. Then, there’s advertising. Some of the beliefs we have about relationships are insinuated into our heads through commercials depicting happy-ever-after couples. The idealization of love in popular culture in everything from music, writing and film is enough to make your head (and heart!) spin. How can we help but be convinced that when we meet our one true love, they’ll complete us and we’ll gaze into each other’s eyes in blissful happiness for the rest of our lives? And for some, for a while, that might work.

But what usually happens is this: You disappear off the face of the earth and your friends stop hearing from you. Then, as soon as the cracks appear in the fairytale, you seek them out to cry on their shoulders. And they’re there, if they haven’t moved on to friends who are there for them in return, and not just flit-props for the latest dalliance.

When you’re in love, it feels like nothing else matters. It’s so easy and seductive to let your life go – your friends, your interests, your beliefs, your hobbies. I get it. It feels good and it’s fun and smoochy and yummy. You don’t need anyone or anything else. You’re feeling smug wrapped up in your love cocoon. And that’s the way you think it should stay. But what happens when he wants to go watch football with his friends? Or she goes on a girls’ night out? How could he possibly want to be apart from you for even one minute? How dare she have a life of her own? You just want to be with her all the time. He’s all you need. Love is all you need. The Beatles were right. Wrong.

Talking to your best female friends is different than talking to your romantic partner. Best mate drinking talks are different to relating to your love interest. There’s so much more to life than your primary relationship. Conversely, having other friends and other interests bring more life into your relationship. Other voices, other opinions, other senses of humor and other connections all add up to a fulfilling life.

Khalil Gibran’s words in The Prophet have been quoted often. His writing on marriage really does feel wise:

“Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.”

Antoine De Saint-Exupery, a French aristocrat, author of The Little Prince, poet and aviator also clearly knew a bit about love:

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward in the same direction.”

That sums up marriage for me. You’re finished with the infatuation stuff and into the real meat and depth of a relationship. The part where you have each other’s backs. You know, love and support each other and you’re building a life together that will be much greater than the sum of its parts. That’s where life and love get truly delicious.

Get your free copy of Mary-Lou’s Seven Tips For Your Best Relationship Ever

Right or Happy? What Would You Choose?

2015-02-24-nARGUMENTlarge-thumbThe first time my husband and I argued it was terrifying. I thought it was the end of our relationship.

I’ve done a lot of meditation so during the argument I knew I should walk away, sit outside and observe my breath. It is a good tool, however it doesn’t solve anything. And in this case it just made my husband angrier.

“You just can’t hide away and meditate,” he said. “We have to talk about this.” I wished he’d go away so I could keep meditating. I was happy when I was meditating. I didn’t have to deal with anyone else and their points of view and their big voices. But unless I’m going to become a hermit (tempting at times), then I need to learn how to deal with disagreements.

What I’ve found? It really works to just listen to the other person. When my husband wants to vent I let him and I don’t take it personally. I usually know it has nothing to do with me. It’s his opinion and he’s entitled to have it. He might want to blame me for something, that’s okay. It might have been my fault, it might not have. If I’m able to observe my thoughts and emotions, to keep breathing and not get all caught up in the heat of the moment and keep listening, things usually go okay.

Arguments and disagreements are going to happen. They’re part of life. And the most important step to repairing them is to hear the other person’s perspective and to let them know you’re really listening. To respect their opinion. And naturally they need to do the same for you. We’re not being doormats here.

OK, so that’s what happens in an ideal world. What happens in the real world is that you get scared, upset, angry and most of all you want to be right, you want to win. When someone I respected, who was helping me sort through an issue, asked me, “Would your rather be right or be happy?” I said “Right of course. It’s important to be right. If I’m right then I am happy. I get the best of both worlds. I am right and I am happy.”

She looked at me as if I was an alien.

It’s taken me many years to work out that having to be right all the time was making me miserable and lonely. That most people don’t want friends who put more importance on being right than they do on being happy. Old grumpy-pants self-righteous me might have thought I was right. But it felt all wrong.

In an argument, take a breath, listen and ask yourself, “Would I rather be right or would I rather be happy?” Then, remember, that sometimes, you might prefer to be right, and that’s okay too.

Get your free copy of Mary-Lou’s Seven Tips For Your Best Relationship Ever

The One Big, Not-So-Secret Secret of a Happy Relationship

Love on a MountaintopRelationships. They’re a source of endless joy and angst. We might be deliriously happy for a while, but then the gloss wears off and we’re stuck with reality. Most people get into relationships expecting they’ll feel better about themselves and their lives when they have someone to love them. We will meet the man or woman of our dreams and they will fulfil us, be our everything and we’ll both be deliriously happy for ever.

When that’s not the case, what do we do? Often, we blame the other person. The thinking might go like this: I don’t feel fantastic anymore, so it must be the other person’s fault: they’re not good enough, good-looking enough, rich enough, smart enough. A solution? Move on. The next relationship will bring all the things I need. And many people chase the high that new “love” brings.

Another solution might be to stay in that relationship because, very conveniently, we now have someone else to blame for everything we don’t like about our lives. If it wasn’t for them and all their flaws, our life would be wonderful. Love promised a perfect life, but I still don’t have enough money and have no friends. Life didn’t deliver. It’s all their fault. How convenient not to have to look at our own stuff and stuff-ups. Those arguing, bickering, bitter couples are all locked into the blame game. Are we too afraid to say “What’s my part in this? Why do I feel so unhappy? What can I do to change this?”

Being in a relationship that works means asking all those questions of yourself and then doing something about them. A something that doesn’t involve running away, getting divorced and making all the same mistakes in your next relationship. In short: Own your own crap. If something annoys you in your relationship, look at your part in it. Then look at why it annoys you. It’s your responsibility. It’s so easy to blame everyone else for everything. I know, I spent most of my life doing it.

My husband called me on it early on in our relationship. I hated him for it at the time, because it meant I really had to look at why I always played the victim. Sometimes I want to be weak and helpless and have someone else to blame for everything that’s wrong in my life. But if that’s true, where does it leave me? What can I learn or improve from that position of helplessness? Playing the victim may feel easy at the time, but it’s a cop-out. In the long term, it kept me stuck and miserable.

Now when I feel bad and I want to blame him, I have the tools to turn it around, knowing and really understanding that I am responsible for my own misery and my own happiness. I take him out of the equation and own my own crap. He can’t do anything about my crap and I can’t do anything about his, but to the best of our ability we don’t dump it on each other. That, my friend, is the one big not-so-secret secret of a happy relationship. Own your own crap. And do something about it so you don’t feel crappy.

There is one proviso: If he or she ever physical assaults you, even a “small” hit, that is not your crap. That is not your fault. That is definitely their crap. And grounds for divorce.

Get your free copy of Mary-Lou’s Seven Tips For Your Best Relationship Ever

Trust your Truth (Even When it Doesn’t Match Your Beliefs)

HTSM ShopfrontWhen I first met my husband I tried to ignore him, even though he fascinated me. We met at a dinner party; I thought my friends were trying to match-make us and being the mature and sophisticated woman I am, I avoided him for the entire evening. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of succeeding.

Fortunately the things we had in common, the soul truths and connections were too strong. When I finally surrendered to the fact he was intelligent, funny and many of his beliefs aligned with mine, we talked late into the night. I went home, alone, and had a dream. I dreamt we’d had dinner together and then the next day met up for a cup of tea. When I woke I realised I could do something we rarely get to do in this life. I could make a dream come true. I rang him. He swears if I hadn’t, he would have rung me. We met for a cup of tea. And so my dream came true. There’s a longer version of this story in my first book Sex, Drugs and Meditation.

He was very different to any man I’d ever dated. In my old way of thinking, he was a nerd and a dag; not cool. I believed I should only go out with musicians, writers or artists; men who dressed and acted in a certain way, were mysterious, slightly dangerous and never fully present.  It took me some time and effort to relax enough so I could accept him for the way he was. And the way he was, was perfect.

Later, when friends told me to leave him, I had to examine what was true for me, not for them. We all had the belief that a man should provide financially and take care of his wife. My husband had promised he would and though he may have had trouble doing so financially, he was committed to learning how to take care of me in other ways. As I said to my friends at the time, “I can either have an investment property or I can be with the man I love”. I made my choice. By the time our financial situation improved, our investment in our marriage had brought us immeasurable wealth in all the ways that matter.

A lot of the beliefs that I have (and probably many of you, too) are drummed into our heads by advertising. The most entrenched beliefs are handed down to us through our cultures; the fairytale ending, the handsome prince, the knight on the white charger, the perfect man. Nothing else will suffice. The man I married was none of these but he was perfect for me. I just had to discard those beliefs and find the truth underneath.

Mary-Lou’s new book How To Stay Married is available now. For a free copy of  7 Tips for a Happy  Marriage sign up for Mary-Lou’s newsletter.

On the Anniversary of my Mother’s Birth

Mum & 6I noticed the date and realised that today would have been my mother’s birthday, if she was still alive to have birthdays. The realisation caused me to pause, to breathe and to allow myself a little bit of space to remember her.

I’ve written about her in my latest book How To Stay Married and how instrumental her impending death was on my marriage. I honour her in my Seven Tips for a Happy Marriage (and one from my mum.) And today, on the anniversary of her birthday I’d like to share with you just a snippet from How To Stay Married. How fitting that this extract is from the chapter called Heaven.

I wake the next morning with a very strong sense of my mother. After she died I had a dream. Our country was under attack. Air-borne missiles filled with toxic chemicals were heading our way. It was clear we would all be killed. Though our government had sent missiles to intercept the threats there was no guarantee we wouldn’t be contaminated. I was part of a task force sent to secure a high-rise building. Our mission was to make it airtight so people could shelter there, safe from the chemicals. As we were making final preparations I was told our enemies had captured my mother and were holding her hostage in the basement of that very building. We were ordered to leave or else they would kill her. I rushed to rescue my mother and free her from the evil clutches of these doomsday merchants. Clearly I’ve watched too many action hero films. However, when I eventually found her she was free, happily walking in a park by the water. The sun was shining, children played. My mother was safe, the danger was gone.

When my mother was ill and first told me that all the months of chemotherapy she’d endured hadn’t made the slightest difference, that none of the chemical weapons they’d used on her had worked, I was devastated. Hearing she had, at most, six months to live left me incapacitated, only good for crying.

A long-held dream of my mother’s had been to see the colours and beauty of the wild flowers of Western Australia in the spring. She’d seen them on television and in magazines, but wanted to see the spectacle for herself. What really caused my heart to ache was the fact that, once the prognosis came through, her dream would never come true. But one day I had a growing realisation. Who’s to say she won’t? Who’s to say that she won’t be a part of those wild flowers? Who’s to say she won’t be in the warmth that causes them to blossom, in the breeze that blows over them, the rain that falls on them? Who’s to say she won’t be in the very soil that nurtures them?

Her life was abundant and blessed, a cornucopia of children, grand-children, friends, gardens, creativity, good works and the church. Hers was a life filled with learning, loving and informed conversations always touched with her wicked sense of humour. A life well lived and well loved. Why would anything change now?