"I care more about our house than you do!" I wailed at my husband.
"That's not exactly true," he said.
We didn't even need to continue the conversation; we'd recited this play's lines so many times before. The director's notes would point out that the heroine's world is a domestic one--she works in the world, but subconsciously, she's convinced that if she keeps her home beautiful and harmonious and orderly, she will have a refuge from the world's evils and ward off some sort of danger she's never bothered to articulate. Also, she just plain enjoys a weekend project.
The hero, by contrast, throws his heart into his work in the world (you'd think this play was set in the '50s, wouldn't you?) and thinks their home is just fine already. He has grown wary, after 15 years of marriage, because each completed project seems to inspire three fresh ones. There is no end to his wife's enthusiasm, so his solution is to splash water at the first glimmering of an idea about home improvement.
The play gets rehearsed over and over again precisely because it has no resolution. But a few weeks ago, confronted with a bed of ivy and weeds and a concrete patio that used to be a basketball half-court and has no more charm than that, I decided to try once more.
Tentatively, I brought up the subject. Instantly, I felt the resistance, like a poltergeist's chill settling over the 95-degree heat.
"What would get you interested?" I finally asked.
"I am interested," he said, then saw my expression and started laughing. "Babe, I really am. The problem is, it's never finished. If I thought we could do one thing and be done with it, I'd be ready to go. But once we do something with the patio, you'll start thinking about what to plant by the fences" (rhododendron and false spotted St. John's Wort, I'd already decided) "and how to reorganize the garage..."
I conceded his point, and we made a contractual agreement: this summer, just the patio.
I went downstairs not really believing it would work. But the next day, he told me he'd had an idea: What about a circular fountain in the center of the patio?
Everything fell into place. I'd been toying with a fountain by the wall, a fountain in the ivy, a hose splashing the dog because it'd be easier and cheaper than either one ... but I'd never thought dramatically enough to stick a fountain dead center.
"It's brilliant," I said, half jealous. "How'd you think of it?"
"I stole it from the Alhambra."
Ah, it's good to have a historian around. I think too small (that domestic curse). Hadn't dreamed of going to Spanish Muslim palaces for inspiration.
So now we're looking for a round fountain, if anyone has any ideas of where to find one short of stealing it from Spain. We may not be able to afford anything grand, but I'm already happy. We're planning it together, I'm not nagging, it's 50-50, we've reached a solid compromise and drawn firm boundaries around the task.
Maybe something more Spanish along the fence, to complement the fountain?
--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer
