LETTERS FROM HOME: THE CHINA WARS

Nov. 4 1993

Dear Carol,

What is china and what is it doing in my marriage?

I mean china as in fine dinnerware. It was everywhere in "The Age of Innocence," adorned with exquisite foods eaten to the hieroglyphic sound of polite conversation. Now it is gnawing at my life.

Early on, I told DC I love some people's ability to make things beautiful -- my Martha Stewart fantasy. It requires artistry to live beautifully, just as creating beautiful children does.

You have this talent to make beauty -- I'm recalling at this moment a simple arrangement of fruit in a bowl on your kitchen table in Santa Monica -- and so does DC. Only hers is up against it now.

Bringing me back to the c-word. Having turned the proposition of marriage as upside down as we can, two months after saying I do in California we're planning a Missouri reception complete with cake and bridal registry. Which means picking a china pattern at a distance of half a continent.

This is not a manly thing to discuss, but I have willingly paraded past shelf upon shelf of dishes until my eyes were as glazed as the plates. I now spout the names Lenox, Royal Doulton, Mikasa and Noritake as if they meant something to me, and trust my heirs will appreciate the sacrifice.

I do, however, acknowledge the loveliness of these creations that have the names and dreams of people in love pinned on them. But something about china is more important to DC, something to do with the future and being a family.

Matrimonial veterans have advised that the trick is picking a pattern you can live with the rest of your married life -- theoretically a piece of time. "If you're not crazy about it now, you aren't going to be able to stand it in 20 years," one told me.

Sounds like a recipe for marriage itself.

Anyway, there have been near-panicked trips to the porcelain wonderland of San Francisco on her part. They have many patterns, but can they be found in Cape Girardeau?

Names in hand, my part has been to drive to the mall or walk downtown to check out the latest candidate.

Usually I say, I like it fine, and mean it. She says, hmmm.

This is foreign territory to me no matter how many movies with genteel themes I've seen. At least half my silverware has wooden handles. I buy glasses because they look like they'd be hard to break. And my dishes were a gift from my sister in Cincinnati that arrived suspiciously subsequent to a visit by my parents.

Which is to say I admire that talent for domestic beautification because I don't have it. So I have looked on DC's agony over the china decision with compassion and respect for the difficulty. Also with some bemusement and frustration.

A few days ago, in an act no doubt signifying that meltdown is near, I received a full place-setting in the mail for my approval. This was it -- yea or forget it.

I showed it to some women in the office. They seemed to like it fine, even oohed and aahed over the shape of the cup. I liked it fine, too, and told her so.

Dead silence on the California end of the phone line. Trying to make polite conversation, I asked why it's called china. She said she doesn't want to talk about it any more.

I suspect this is just too much stress on top of our tilt-a-whirl romance and marriage-by-Sprint. I also suspect I'm not much help.

Maybe you can appreciate her conundrum.

I'll never forget "Carol's Feast." Made Babette's look like a night at McDonald's.

Which is where I'm willing to do my fine dining if this will all just go away.

I repeat, what is china and what is it doing in my marriage?

Love, Sam