M & E: A Love Story

Last night at about 9pm I realised I was out of milk. This is not uncommon for me, given that a) we get through litres of milk a day, and b) I have twenty billion things in my head at any one time and would forget my nose if it wasn't directly attached to my face.

I sighed heavily and trudged out of the house to the shops. I was extremely tired and a little cranky, as a) it had been a long day, b) two out of three kids were still awake, and c) I had tons to do before bed. All I wanted to do was get to the corner store, get my milk, and get home.

I pulled up outside the store and saw that the light was off. The owner's son, M, was closing up. My heart sank. In desperation, I called out "M! Stop! Can I please just have some milk?"

"Sure thing, mate," he said cheerily, and ducked into the store to fetch the milk. "Pay me next time."

M is a big, bald Greek boy who loves a beer and the footy. And, as he approached the car, I noticed that he was glowing like a pregnant angel.

"I got married yesterday!" he cried, pushing his face into my window, his face nearly split in half with the most magnificent smile I'd ever seen.

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed. "I didn't realise it was yesterday! Congratulations!"

"It was the best night ever," he told me, beaming. He was ecstatically happy, literally shining with joy. I couldn't help but smile with him.

"Is E around?" I asked. E is M's new wife. She is a big, beautiful Jewish girl, who I thought to be M's sister for years because they look so similar.

"She's over there!" M said, pointing down the road. He called her over and E bounded up to my car. She, too, radiated happiness. M wrapped his arms around her and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. Their love was so infectious I felt high. I wished I had been at their wedding.

"M sobbed the whole way through the ceremony," E told me, rolling her eyes. It made me laugh.

M and E have been together for ten years. TEN. They seem as madly in love as they did in those very first years. Now, as a writer, I spend a lot of time thinking and writing about the challenges of relationships, and M and E do not negate those. I am sure they have had their rough times, too. But they did remind me, just for a few moments, of the pure joy of true love. It is there and it is heart-soaringly magnificent, and it can be found in a suburban store in Sydney.

And I am grateful for having a glimpse into it last night. M and E, if you read this, congratulations again.

And THANK YOU.

When I Married The Architect

Today is a very special day. Fourteen years ago today, I married my husband in a quaint beachside ceremony. Okay, so we didn't get married in a quaint beachside ceremony - we got married at the zoo surrounded by a giraffe and seven noisy chimps. Which isn't quite accurate - we got married in Vegas by a Justin Bieber impersonator after knowing each other for twenty minutes. Which is also not true, as Justin Bieber wasn't even born when we met, which shows how incredibly young he really is.

We actually got married on a pontoon moored in Rose Bay, Sydney, and that is the absolute truth.  The Aquashell is a magnificent, architecturally designed floating stage that hosts rock concerts and the like, and is usually moored at places like Darling Harbour. We were the first wedding party to hire the Aquashell, mostly because my husband has incredible vision and style, but also because we were a little nuts.

The Aquashell (minus us)

The Architect and I told only my parents about the pontoon, as we wanted to keep it a surprise for everyone. Naturally the day was overcast and threatening rain, which caused consternation amongst the other guests. They all believed the wedding was being held at Rose Bay Wharf, so were worried that they were going to get wet. All morning I was fielding calls from worried friends: Do you have a contingency plan? What about rain? Smugly, I told them to relax, and that it was all taken care of, knowing the magnificent surprise that awaited.

The Architect was getting ready at his brother's house, and my brother-in-law was concerned about the rain situation.

"What if it rains?" he asked The Architect.

"It's not going to rain," The Architect assured him.

The clouds were darkening. My brother-in-law looked doubtful. My sister-in-law walked into the room.

"What if it rains?" she asked The Architect.

"It's not going to rain," The Architect assured her.

The clouds were getting fuller. My sister-in-law looked doubtful. She left the room in search of an umbrella.

A half an hour later, my brother-in-law was getting anxious.

"But what if it rains?" he asked The Architect.

My husband sighed. "Come on," he said.

He took my brother-in-law to Rose Bay, and showed him. My brother-in-law looked at The Aquashell, and nodded. They got back into the car, and drove home in silence.

"What if it rains?" my sister-in-law asked her husband.

"It's not going to rain," my brother-in-law said.

Later that afternoon, I walked on my father's arm to the Aquashell. The rain held off, and I got on the stage without incident. As the ceremony was being performed, I realized how nervous I was. I was so jittery I was swaying, the ground felt like it was moving under my feet.

And then I realized, I was standing on a pontoon. The ground really was moving under my feet. 

It began to rain lightly as the ceremony ended. I stayed nice and dry under the cover of the Aquashell. The guests around the open sides weren't quite so lucky, and several of them got quite wet. It seems that I forgot in my excitement that rain doesn't always fall vertically.

Later that night, one of the interstate guests got set on fire. But that, my friends, is another story.

Happy Anniversary, Architect. x