My Happiness Depends On Me

One of my very favourite singers is Dolly Parton and one of my very favourite songs of hers is Jolene and one of my very favourite performance of it was when she sang at Glastonbury in 2014. I watched her performance on BBC4, which broadcast the show live, and my husband, who had been a little ambivalent about her before then saw why I’ve been such a fan.

I think it’s one of the saddest songs ever written, and, in a twisted way, one of the most beautiful songs about love for a man I’ve ever heard. Dolly is begging Jolene not to take her man just because she can, and pleads with her that her happiness depends on Jolene’s decision.

I won’t go into the rights and wrongs of leaving one’s happiness in the hands of a decision another woman takes regarding your man, but suffice to say it’s probably not the healthiest message to send to anyone. My happiness depends on me, and whatever I decide to do.

Changing my mindset from expecting those around me to make me happy to realising my own actions and thoughts were what would make me happy – a feeling of being in control instead of hoping other people would deliver happiness to me – has brought me great peace of mind.

I often wonder about Jolene’s happiness. I hope she turned out ok in the end.

Date Night

Almost every Saturday night we cook together while listening to opera on the radio. We cook the same thing, pasta with a sauce made from garlic, anchovies, chilli and lemon juice, drink wine and talk. It is one of my favourite times of the week and the rituals we’ve developed around it are really important to me. This Saturday night, however, we get to go out and I can’t wait. It makes going back to work tomorrow after a nice long winter break much easier to bear.

Can you afford a husband?

This is a question Marjorie urges her readers to consider very carefully. Thankfully, I could indeed afford a husband. Even better, he has happily agreed to use his IT skills, which I could most definitely not afford, to make this blog much more interesting visually than its current rather bare appearance. This is a highly prized orchid in my book.

 

I am also happy to report that Marjorie eventually decided she could afford a husband and by all accounts seems to have been happily married herself. I like to think she’d have shared her eminently sensible advice via a blog if she was writing today, in between interesting evenings spent with beaux and wielding a cocktail shaker with a crowd of friends.