Before listening to my

Truly Tasteful Friends' suggestions about updating the

house, I laid out some ground rules.

One is that I like the

house the way it is and I don't really want to make any

major changes. Especially not in color. First time

around, when we built in 1984, I stuck to a plan that

kept the rooms deliberately neutral. The most striking

feature of the central space is the glass wall that

gathers in a tree-packed vista. From season to season,

the light changes, the trees change, the colors change,

and that's what I wanted to see, not furnishings and

carpet.

The torrents of sunlight

that pour into the room inevitably fade everything they

touch, but the walls are a rough cedar which merely looks

richer (no, I wouldn't do that today, but I did then, and

they stay), the ceramic tile in the entry and greenhouse

area are a warm honey color, and the carpet is a beige

that faded exactly as I intended it to - to a pale

sand that you can't tell was ever darker.

In the hall and bedroom,

the walls are eggshell. Any other color comes from the

outdoors, from magazines and books, from the rich

jewel-tones of pottery. Most of my consultants understood

and agreed, but not Viki. "This is your chance to go

for a whole new look," she said. "Put down a

nice blue carpet and ditch that drab beige wallpaper in

the kitchen. Get something bright and colorful."

Not one to mince words,

Viki. We proceeded with the project, ideas and warnings

swirling in our heads. The couch and love seat we chose

are a copper-brown tweed, darker than I'd planned, but

neutral enough not to intrude. The darn things are huge,

however, and invoke that mental image of the elephant in

the middle of a room - everyone pretends it's not

there and walks around it.

But I kept running into it,

bruising thighs and stubbing toes because the familiar

paths around the old furniture have been sacrificed to

allow walkways from kitchen to table and into the

bedroom. Worst of all, I just knew my sophisticated

friends would hate it. Their decor runs from elegant to

eclectic. None of them match pieces - they have the

artistic confidence to mix patterns and styles, and their

homes look grand to my timid imagination.

For weeks, I avoided having

any of them over. About the time we were bringing home

carpet samples, I could put them off no longer. It was

time to celebrate the birthday of one of our crowd, and

my house was chosen, "because we haven't seen your

new furniture yet."

I agonized.

Julie was the first to

arrive. Julie of the artistic sensitivity and the most

sophisticated taste in town. "Oh, it�s

beautiful!" she effused uncharacteristically.

"I just love it," and sank into the couch,

fairly wriggling with pleasure. She wasn't kidding. And

suddenly the couch that had swallowed Dave seemed

proportioned exactly right. "You mean it?" I

still mistrusted my own judgment. "I mean it,"

she assured me, and I was starting to love the furniture.

"Then look at this

carpet sample. What do you think? I really don't want to

make a big change here, but... Should I go for

color?" "This is perfect," she said.

"By keeping the carpet close to the color of the

tile, you expand the area visually."

She gave me what I needed:

validation of my own judgment. It might not have been the

way she'd have done it, but she supported my choices. I

was starting to feel confident. "Now listen," I

said. "When Viki comes, she'll say she hates beige

and why don't I get blue. She'll say, `When Dan was in

seminary and we were poor, every room was painted beige

so they'd go with whatever color our furniture was, not

that we had any. To me, beige is the color of

poverty.'"

The others came. Each and

every one swore convincingly that they loved the

furniture, it fit perfectly, looked and felt comfortable,

and the color was perfect. I was flying high. Caroline

arranged a pretty fruit dessert on one of my deep blue

fish-shaped platters. We washed it down with freshly

squeezed lemonade, and watched Julie open her gifts. When

I could gracefully return to the subject of my decorating

project, I unveiled a carpet sample so nearly the color

- beige - of the existing carpet that it almost

disappeared.

"Perfect!"

Caroline enthused. "I thought so too," Julie

chimed in. "Why don't you get a nice blue?"

said Viki, right on cue. "And put some color on

those kitchen walls." She never even noticed Julie's

astonishment. "To me, beige is the color of

poverty," she began, and by then, Julie and I were

convulsing.

Younger women, take note

here. You can't do this if you're new in the neighborhood

or if your mother-in-law is the one asking your opinion.

This only works with old friends (old in the tenure of

friendship, that is), with dear friends, with friends who

trust each other beyond doubt. And that's what I've got.

I may not trust my judgment in decorating, but I trust my

friends, and that matters a whole lot more.

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