Who'da thunk it?

As long as I've known Ken, and for many years before we met, he has dreamed of some day building a 1915 Model T speedster.

He has collected parts for this dream car since he was in high school. (The first time I visited his bachelor pad, in fact, I was shocked, to put it mildly, to see that his idea of interior decorating was to mount an antique steering wheel on his living room wall.) He has carried boxes of car parts to our first home (a rental), to our first purchased home, and to this home.

He has gone to abandoned junk yards, antique shops, flea markets, and the big antique auto extravaganza in Hershey, PA, all the while accumulating just about everything his imaginary speedster would need.

He has built parts that he couldn't find: the front fenders, the tool box, etc.

He has refinished and painted old parts that needed spiffing up.

Meanwhile, over the years of our marriage, he has built two garage/workshops, finished off two bedrooms and a bathroom, built a family room, remodeled a kitchen (complete with custom-made kitchen cabinets of Brazilian mahogany. Gosh, I miss those cabinets!), added dormer windows to a roof, replaced a standard living room window with a bow window....You get the idea. The Model T sat waiting to be assembled.

Ken started assembling all of the T's parts about two years ago. Gradually, I began to understand that he really was building an antique car. For some reason, this had been a difficult concept for me to grasp.

Retirement is a beautiful thing if you have your health, an imagination, much ambition, and a little spare money. You finally get to do those things you'd been dreaming of for the past 50 years.

Ken's dream is finally a reality. Two weeks ago he registered his speedster, and last Sunday he drove it to the center of our little village for an antique auto meet. What surprised me most, though, is that I was seated beside him as he chugged into town. I'd always said I wouldn't be caught dead riding in an antique auto (I'm someone who hates being conspicuous, and nothing screams conspicuous like riding in an antique automobile), but suddenly my thinking changed.

I'd watched Ken wait patiently for the time to come when he could actually build his car. I'd encouraged him (usually) to buy parts, refinish parts, even bid on and win the genuine 1915 Maine license plates which he found on eBay in March.

How could I not share with him the thrill of the ride into town?

The auto isn't totally finished. The seats need upholstering. Ken needs to build rear fenders. But that antique steering wheel is now part of the T, and the little speedster runs with a certain perkiness. I'm developing an affection for her. Ken says he wants to teach me to drive her. I say let's take one step at a time.