The Vintage Reader

Today, on my way home from lunch with the Vintage Toddler in the back seat, I decided to drive past a house we're considering. It's a wonderful little brick house, built in those lovely days right after World War II when the boys came home and married their faithful sweethearts and set about raising their perfect little Baby Boomer families. Since it was in a fairly affluent area, where the wives had cars, it's even got a two-car garage!

It's a great day to drive around Tulsa; the sun is shining, the azaleas and dogwoods are blooming, the redbuds are just starting to fade out, there's a bit of a breeze. The tree-lined streets of Midtown, with their cozy brick cottages and austere traditional houses, are calm and lovely. "Talk of the Nation" was on. It was nice. So I just drove around for a while.

And then I saw it: the perfect midcentury split-level, made of the long, narrow stone that characterizes Midtown Tulsa. It was on a corner lot. It had tall trees all around it. But here's the kicker: in the carport, there was a Nash Metropolitan convertible. Yellow and white, my favorite combination. Wide whitewalls (of course), with buttery yellow hubcaps and the big red "M" that means they're original.

I feel like writing a letter and addressing it to "occupant":

Hello, I think you've got my life. If you'd like to sell it to me, please let me know. Thank you.