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"In the day-to-day, my marriage was rock solid. Steve and I shared chores; we equally divided kid care. Sexually? We didn&amp;#039;t scrimp (if &amp;quot;scrimp&amp;quot; were a newfangled sex technique, we would try it). And yet, in the moment-to-moment, when I looked across the dinner table at my husband, I was more likely to dwell on whether it was his turn to take out the recyclables, rather than how deep was my love.  When Steve and I first started dating, we had crazy love. We wrote long, funny, sexy e-mails to each other; every trip to the hardware store was a romantic interlude. The shift from passionate to placid was gradual (seven years) \u2014 and inevitable as we became domesticated. Was it unrealistic to hope for a few sparks now and then, to crave not just comfort and warmth but joy and heat?  My twinge of nostalgia for those premarital days was triggered by the arrival in my mailbox of a book called Happiness for Two: 75 Secrets for Finding More Joy Together. The sender was an editor friend who thought I&amp;#039;d make good use of it. The author was Alexandra Stoddard, an interior designer and author of dozens of books on &amp;quot;the art of living well.&amp;quot; A self-proclaimed pioneer of the happiness movement, Stoddard spreads the word \u2014 literally \u2014 at &amp;quot;Happiness Weekends,&amp;quot; where she lectures on how to find joy, bliss, and, for a little change of pace, color coordination.  A quick glance at the book&amp;#039;s table of contents revealed three of her main themes:  Improve yourself. (Hence &amp;quot;secrets&amp;quot; like &amp;quot;Read some quality literature.&amp;quot;) Be considerate. (E.g., &amp;quot;Mess up, clean up&amp;quot; and &amp;quot;Sincerely say you&amp;#039;re sorry.&amp;quot;)  Do things \u00E0 deux. (&amp;quot;Explore together your invisible wealth,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Read together&amp;quot;...and, just to drive home the point, &amp;quot;When you are together, be together.&amp;quot;)  I&amp;#039;d read only three pages, and I was altogether ready to scorn Stoddard&amp;#039;s neo-Victorian idea of a harmonious marriage. Any adult in need of reminders like &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t correct each other in public&amp;quot; would be better off with a marriage counselor.  That said, some of the suggestions weren&amp;#039;t as easy to scoff at. So I read on, and after cutting out the trite, irrelevant, and useless, I whittled down her list of 75 to 10:   Write each other&amp;#039;s New Year&amp;#039;s resolutions. This intrigued me. It was a bit early for resolutions, but we could certainly make a wish list of what we would each like the other to accomplish. If written, prods weren&amp;#039;t nags.  Begin each encounter with a smile. So quaint, but there was hard research that smiling does improve outlook.  It feels good to look good. An opportunity to get Steve to wear nice clothes for a change, and not his ragged favorites.  Write love notes. As mentioned, we used to send beautiful, hilarious e-mails to each other. I wanted to revive our epistolary connection.  Give the gift of eye contact. We both had the bad habit of staring at the TV or computer screen when we talked.  Grumpiness is contagious. Being more mindful of mood could ward off secondhand blues. Try not to interrupt. Stoddard meant bothering a partner during his alone time, but interruptions in conversation were also a problem for us (me).  Generous compliments lighten the heart. He was fairly reticent with the flattery. I wouldn&amp;#039;t mind more of it. Control your tone. Sometimes, I could be as obnoxious as a 16-year-old prom princess. For his part, Steve could be a tad condescending. Celebrate more. We lavished gifts and parties on our daughters, but Steve and I downplayed our own birthdays and accomplishments. Making a big deal of little things could add excitement to our lives.  I presented the list to Steve. It took some convincing, but he agreed to Stoddardize our marriage for a one-week trial period, after which we&amp;#039;d see where we stood \u2014 ideally, a little closer. Day One  Steve refused to read Stoddard&amp;#039;s book aloud (our first act &amp;quot;together&amp;quot;) because of its flowery language: &amp;quot;Love is our life force. We cannot live fully without loving and being loved,&amp;quot; etc.  Her overdosing on the &amp;quot;L&amp;quot; word was a bit hard to take. So we put down the book and did some writing of our own. Never mind that New Year&amp;#039;s Day was months away (in Stoddard Land, no time like the present!). My resolutions for Steve were pretty predictable: Exercise three times a week, clean out his side of the closet, be nicer to my friends, drink less beer, go to the doctor for a checkup. The stuff of daily nag. Steve read my list, rolled his eyes, and handed me his: Think before you bitch, watch less reality TV, expect more from the girls, and don&amp;#039;t eat while on the phone. &amp;quot;I eat when I&amp;#039;m on the phone?&amp;quot; I asked, shocked.  &amp;quot;All the time,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s weird. The phone rings. You pick it up, go into the kitchen, and open the fridge. Especially when your mother calls.&amp;quot;  I had had no idea, and was horrified to hear it. That was a habit I was determined to break. Otherwise, regarding his list, I just couldn&amp;#039;t give up The Biggest Loser and Project Runway. But I would try to stop snap bitching and babying the kids. Steve agreed to clean out the closet and see his doctor. Less beer? He said, &amp;quot;How about, I&amp;#039;ll be more discreet.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Wait,&amp;quot; I said, before he walked off. &amp;quot;We have to smile at each other and make eye contact.&amp;quot; Stoddard promised that doing so would engage our souls, putting us on &amp;quot;the same wavelength, emotionally in perfect union.&amp;quot; I forced up the corners of my mouth and gazed at him. Steve reciprocated by crossing his eyes and grinning maniacally. We laughed (together), making eye contact in a genuine way. I felt the zing of connection. We got there via ridicule. But we did get there.  Day Two  If I expressed mushy thoughts every hour to Steve, he&amp;#039;d drown in an ocean of sap \u2014 and then the recyclables would never go out. But for the sake of happy week, both of us would have to start upping the verbal puffery, since Stoddard believes that &amp;quot;honest compliments are the language of love. When we praise our significant other we lift each other up into greater heights of happiness.&amp;quot; To that end, over breakfast, I smiled (broadly) at Steve, and said, &amp;quot;I admire the way you started cleaning out the closet yesterday. And how you didn&amp;#039;t drink beer last night.&amp;quot; He smiled (insanely) at me, and said, &amp;quot;And I admire how you can turn a nag into a compliment.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s a gift,&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;Like eye contact,&amp;quot; he replied, giving me some.  After the morning meal, we usually went to our separate spaces in the apartment. I work from home. Steve is a musician and opera singer who performs at night. During the day, while I write, Steve studies scores and scripts, prowls eBay, vacuums. We rarely communicate via e-mail. (No need, since we&amp;#039;re in shouting distance.) But that afternoon, I set out to write a love note. &amp;quot;Keep the words simple,&amp;quot; suggested Stoddard. &amp;quot;The truth is the prize that will shine brightly.&amp;quot; Simple truth. OK, I thought, here goes.  Darling:  I&amp;#039;m grateful that you have limited social needs, a high threshold of pain, get mad at dirt like Joan Crawford, tolerate this romantic experiment, and make sweet, sweet love to me. I really do adore you and am humble (groveling) in my affection.   XXOO,   Your Wife I thought I walked the fine line between mocking the exercise and making an earnest effort. After I hit &amp;quot;send,&amp;quot; the real emotions of gratitude for having Steve in my life washed over me as I sat at my desk. My thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the computer, alerting me to new mail. It was from Steve; subject line: &amp;quot;My love for you.&amp;quot;  My dearest darling:  Thank you a million times for the gift of blueberries this morning. How I love you for buying fruit. Truly, my love, my soul is yours to maim as you see fit.   Your slave forever,   The Husband Just as I finished reading it, Steve came into my office. &amp;quot;Did you get my note?&amp;quot; he asked.  &amp;quot;Funny,&amp;quot; I said. He&amp;#039;d hit the mocking tone, but missed earnestness by a mile. I was surprised by my disappointment.  He said, &amp;quot;I do mean it, you know.&amp;quot;  I looked at him (gift of eye contact), and saw in his face that he did. His soul was mine. He just couldn&amp;#039;t deliver the message without the mitigating humor. Not his style.  Our marriage often felt less like a meeting of minds and beating of hearts than a partnership in duty, a comfortable arrangement of sharing responsibilities and swapping fluids. Sometimes, rarely, there were romantic glimmers that shone through the curtain of amicable domesticity. Stoddard&amp;#039;s idea to write love notes obviously had the intention of provoking such moments.  And, you know what? It worked.  I got up from my desk to kiss him. And that put an end to work for the rest of the day.  It occurred to me later that none of Stoddard&amp;#039;s tips were about sex \u2014 a glaring omission, it seemed to me, in a book about marital bliss. Or, possibly, she knew all along that just a small bit of kindness and affection could easily turn into passion.  Day Three  &amp;quot;One way to keep our love alive is to clean up our act when we&amp;#039;re at home,&amp;quot; Stoddard suggested. &amp;quot;Rather than always dressing down, there should be times when the spirit moves us to dress up.&amp;quot; She also confessed, &amp;quot;Whenever possible, I wear colored bras and panties, just to add zest.&amp;quot;  As a lingerie junkie, I had &amp;quot;zest&amp;quot; well covered. That said, I did let some things slide. I usually pulled my hair into a pony instead of styling it. I rarely wore makeup. In cold months, I&amp;#039;d go a week between leg shavings. Steve had the opposite problem. He was extremely well-groomed \u2014 toenails to nose hairs. But his clothes were faded, frayed, and ugly. I&amp;#039;d bought him upgrades, but he preferred his old familiars.  Now that we were Stoddardizing, I started blowing out my hair and using mascara. Steve reluctantly put away his tattered zip-up cardigan and ratty tees, and dressed in the shirts and sweaters I&amp;#039;d picked up for him instead. With this new attention to detail, he doled out the compliments readily. My shiny hair and longer lashes had an internal effect on me, too. I got a lift, knowing I had something extra going on. Steve didn&amp;#039;t report a boost in his confidence (honestly, he could wear a garbage bag or a tux and be the same person), but the blue shirts made his eyes brighter than ever. Since I&amp;#039;d been gazing into them so often lately, I really enjoyed the change.  Day Four  Steve got into a disagreement with the director of his opera company, and he sank into a funk for the whole day. My peppering him with annoying questions (&amp;quot;What exactly did he say to you?&amp;quot; and &amp;quot;Is this really such a big deal?&amp;quot;) did not help matters.  Regarding grumpiness, Stoddard warned, &amp;quot;Negative energy tends to spread...In order to save the situation, there must be a confrontation where you lovingly explain that this behavior is unacceptable.&amp;quot;  I liked the advice to confront, but I&amp;#039;d have to do it the right way. &amp;quot;Soft, sweet tones coming from one loved one to another are powerful...Sweet voices seduce, opening us to be more intimate, romantic, and loving,&amp;quot; she maintained.  I put that theory to the test, with my daughters&amp;#039; help. During dinner, we all spoke to Steve with gentle, mellifluous voices, like we were talking to an ornery puppy. He didn&amp;#039;t seem to notice. And then, to my amazement, I watched him visibly relax. A lilting &amp;quot;please pass the salt&amp;quot; affected him like an airborne narcotic. By dessert, Steve&amp;#039;s blues were gone. Props to Stoddard. This trick actually worked. Day Five  My Sweet:  You looked incredibly sexy this morning when you promised to go to the gym next week.  Imagine how turned on I&amp;#039;ll be when you actually go!   Adoringly,   Your Wife  Dear Wife:  I knew what you and the girls were doing last night, speaking to me like a mental patient at dinner. I went along with your ploy out of love, which I have for you, in truckloads.   On to you,   The Husband Day Six  The problem with two people who are home all day isn&amp;#039;t in finding time to be together, but in leaving your partner alone. Everyone needs privacy. Today, I vowed to give Steve his space. It wasn&amp;#039;t easy. I had to stop myself from plopping down next to him on the couch and asking, &amp;quot;&amp;#039;Sup?&amp;quot; during my breaks. At the end of the workday, Steve gently knocked on my office door. He said, &amp;quot;&amp;#039;Sup?&amp;quot; A refreshing role reversal.  I asked, &amp;quot;Did you miss me today?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Not really,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;But it was nice to get the chance to. Maybe I&amp;#039;ll miss you tomorrow.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;I look forward to it.&amp;quot; I eye contacted and grinned meaningfully.  Later on, after the kids went to bed, Steve asked, &amp;quot;Remember how we used to lie on the bed and listen to music?&amp;quot; I did. Steve plays the French horn, and in our early days had subjected me to classical concertos and rondos (his attempt to raise my cultural literacy). Nowadays? Not so much. &amp;quot;How about we do it tonight?&amp;quot; he asked, eye contacting (sweetly). I loved his overture, but, but...Project Runway was coming on soon, a show he refused to watch. I decided it&amp;#039;d be selfish and rude to turn him down (and I knew I could catch a repeat of the episode tomorrow). He put on Strauss. While we listened, we kissed and spooned. Waltzes had never sounded so good \u2014 more satisfying than Project Runway, which was saying a lot.  Day Seven  &amp;quot;Celebrations are not just to provide pleasure,&amp;quot; Stoddard writes. &amp;quot;They help us to honor each other, to recognize that, in truth, we should celebrate life together every day.&amp;quot; Any old reason to celebrate would do, she claimed, so Steve and I hired a babysitter and went out to dinner to celebrate the end of our week of Stoddardizing. I asked, &amp;quot;What worked for you?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;How you didn&amp;#039;t bug me during the day and talked on the phone without chewing,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;And the mascara. You should wear more lipstick, too.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;What about smiling and eye contact? And the love notes?&amp;quot;  Steve scoffed. &amp;quot;It was forced.&amp;quot;  True. Grins, gazing, and gushing were much more meaningful when spontaneous. For me, the week&amp;#039;s biggest bonuses were seeing Steve in nicer clothes, and getting more compliments from him, which I urged him to continue. &amp;quot;If we hadn&amp;#039;t written resolutions, I&amp;#039;d still be eating on the phone,&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;And the closet would be a mess,&amp;quot; he said.  We decided, too, that grumpiness happened to everyone, and instead of manipulating each other with lulling tones, we should just back off and let the mood pass naturally.  Our drinks arrived, and we toasted our happiness. &amp;quot;The question is,&amp;quot; I said, &amp;quot;are we happier now than we were a week ago?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Of course!&amp;quot; Steve blurted. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;re happier because we were together that much longer. And we&amp;#039;ll be happier next week than we are today for the same reason.&amp;quot;  That did it. Major sparks were flying. Stoddard was right, that love and happiness could deepen after years together. As for the how, I&amp;#039;d give the credit to our shared humor, bemused tolerance of each other&amp;#039;s flaws, and an enduring sexual chemistry. Stoddard&amp;#039;s tips and tricks didn&amp;#039;t make our marriage stronger, but they did, I admit, remind us of what we have.  Valerie Frankel&amp;#039;s memoir, Thin Is the New Happy, has just been published. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/advice/a16477/happiness-experiment/>