We'll Always Have Paris

Ms. Rachow says a do-it-yourself project is a great way to get stuck in the mud.

On our 28th anniversary, my husband brings home a beautiful orchid.
“For you, Sweetie Pie,” he says.
Originally, the wise elders who designated “silver” as the theme for the 25th and “gold” for the 50th didn’t bother to come up with themes for the in-between-er years. Perhaps they figured when people are married so long, they won’t bother celebrating every cotton-picking (2nd anniversary) year.
Then some marketing genius realized husbands could use a shopping list, and my hubby, the champion Googler, has done his research well. It’s official. Orchids are for the 28th.
The plant’s a beauty, but I’ve been dreaming of a romantic anniversary trip to Paris. A quick check of our travel fund tells me even an afternoon in Pomona would be a stretch.
Still, I’ve been married all these years to a man who does the vacuuming, puts the toilet seat down, and picks up his own socks…sometimes all in the same week. I can’t let our anniversary go by without doing something to show my appreciation.
“Honey, I’ve got a great idea to celebrate this year,” I say. “Let’s get rid of the lawn.”
My husband’s used to my hare-brained schemes, but he still does a double take at this idea. But then, after a moment to think, he smiles. “Ya think our mower’ll fit in the garbage can?”
The one chore he hates more than anything is cutting the grass. Sure, we could’ve long ago hired a mow-and-blow crew like all our neighbors, but my guy likes to do things himself, especially if he can save a couple of bucks. And now we’re going to save a ton, by xeriscaping the front yard ourselves. If we shrink the water bill, too, that’s all the better.
And besides, we’ll have beaucoup fun. Who needs to sip Bordeaux on the Champs-Élysées when you can stay home and get sweaty with your spouse?
Early the next morning, after fortifying ourselves with flakey croissants and a couple cups of French roast, we set to work removing a thousand square feet of sod. Shovel 16 tons, and what do you get? A huge pile of dirt and grass to haul away. Lucky for us, we have a low spot in the back that’s rapidly becoming the world’s largest compost pile. Lucky for me, I have a hubby who knows his way around a wheelbarrow.
We discover plenty under the sod besides dirt: Sixty-year old construction debris. Ants, worms and pill bugs. And roots, roots, roots. Who knew there could be so many roots in one front yard?
We dig deeper and discover a disturbing amount of mud, which means we have a sneaky leak in the soon-to-be redundant irrigation system. We excavate along the pipe to the soggy source, and we have a good start on the world’s largest mud pie.
While we work there’re plenty of passersby, joggers, dog walkers, and my favorites, the two ladies in floral frocks and floppy hats. The pair gives a running commentary on everything they see. “Wow, that’s a big job!” they say about us. We know they really mean, “Where’s your landscaping crew and your bulldozer?”
Obviously, they haven’t heard that when you put a steadfast Nebraskan (me) and a relentless French Canadian (him) together on a project, you get a hybrid brand of stubbornness that trumps power equipment and sheer manpower any day.
Yes, we sweat a lot. We groan over sore muscles. We empty a bottle of ibuprofen. But we make that lawn disappear.
Of course, once the grass is gone, we realize our 60-year-old shrubs need pruning. And once we have them looking tidy, we see our 60-year-old house needs painting. And while we’re looking at paint chips, we discover our 60-year-old driveway needs paving. This job is going to take a wee bit longer than we thought, but that’s always the way projects go, n’est-ce pas?
When we’re so tired we can’t move, we sit under the elm and eat Brie on crusty baguettes. We pretend we’re at a sidewalk café, watching our neighbors, the “Parisians,” stroll by. In our best French accents we discuss wheech of us has gotteen zee most feelthy zhat day.
Our future projects will cost us plenty. Our real trip to Paris will have to wait a few years. But for now we’re having fun. We’re getting dirty. And we already know how we’ll celebrate our 29th (painting) and 30th (paving) anniversaries.
How many couples can say zhat?
First published in the Montecito Journal October 2, 2008