The love pond

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Step 4: Fill with water

I am now spending much of my workday thinking about ponds. The Pond Lady of New Orleans Page recommends that you put your pond where there is plenty of sunlight. In Usenet's rec.ponds chat room, an anonymous user tells me to be sure to place my pond "where the water accumulates during rainstorms."

That night, I ask my sweetie where the rain accumulates in our yard.

"I have no idea," he says, "It hasn't rained in months."

I sigh.

"Is everything OK?" he asks. I nod, and walk away, lest he see my blistered hands.

The next morning, after he has gone to work, I dig for 20 minutes or so. In approximately three years, I should have a hole big enough to accommodate the damn liner I have hidden in the garage.

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Step 5: Add fish

You can have many types of fish in a backyard pond, but the insiders all seem to go for koi. Greg, in Iowa, has pictures of his koi, Miss Piggy and Marge, on his Web page. On Andrew and Jackie's Australia Koi Page, I am treated to a look at the koi digestive system. I sign up to be a member of the Texas Koi and Fancy Goldfish Society.

Bob whispers that I should really stop surfing during work time.

At home, the digging goes slowly. By the time our anniversary is three days away, my darling has begun to question the tarp in the middle of the yard, and the gloves I wear around the house. I put him off with winks and vague allusions to anniversary thrills. He expresses concern about the hours I spend on the computer, chatting with pond pals from around the globe.

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Step 6: Skinny-dipping by moonlight

Tuesday: My baby cuts me off.

Over coffee, he demands to know if I'm seeing someone, and why my hands are red. He mentions a recent "Dateline" which featured a woman who buried husbands in her yard. He looks at me pleadingly. He gestures to the tarp. Finally, I admit my dreams of trout, and nude swimming in the moonlight.

He calls the Doubletree Hotel, and makes reservations. "Is the pool still open?" he asks.

"At your own risk," says the operator. My man promises the best fish on the menu, and a moonlight swim to boot.

Tonight, we'll fill in the hole in the yard. I'll say adios to my beleaguered buddies at the rec.ponds chat room. And as soon as I return that liner, I'm splurging on the closest thing to a swimming hole we're likely to get in our backyard: a neon plastic Slip-'n'-Slide.

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