Lost Behind the Wheel

Something is driving me crazy! Haven't we all used the phrase "driving me crazy" once or twice?

For about the past six months, a retired Army psychiatrist has put a new spin on the phrase. Each day, starting around eight a.m., the fellow begins circling our tiny, one block neighborhood in his car; he then travels one mile up and down the golf course road. He drives, drives, drives his Sebring convertible all morning, breaks for lunch, then continues motoring until approximately four in the afternoon, at which time he steers to a local watering hole.

According to our local constabulary, the man's wife and dog died within three days of each other, thus prompting the daily trip. Since his grief-driven circling hasn't hurt anyone (a young mother, concerned about her tots, complained about the head doctor), nothing can be done, short of setting up a sting operation to catch the fellow once he leaves the watering hole (I hear he leaves in an inebriated manner, though I haven't witnessed his exits).

Is his driving indicative of a dangerous obsession? Is it harmless therapy? Does it allow his mind to go on autopilot, thus relieving him his grief, while imperiling pedestrians, joggers and anyone else caught in his blank-brained path? One can only speculate. I always wave at the fellow. I've sat in his seat, and I know how it feels.

When we were attending the Homecoming parade, my inventive spouse mused that it was a shame we couldn't enlist our circling psychiatrist in the festivities. We decided the idea a bust, as the doctor would have refused to allow the parade to end, and would've driven round closed-off streets until arrested or, following petrol depletion, rescue by Triple A.

Life can be cruel, and sometimes it seems like we must rely upon nothing but the likelihood of future loss. Still, one thing you can count on if you visit Colonial Williamsburg is an impromptu history lesson, sometimes delivered in strange venues.

During a recent market jaunt I decided to purchase some black & tan. Got to the check-out counter just in time to hear, from two customers away, a loud British exclamation.

I turned around to see tall, stately "Ian", local bed & breakfast owner and Bruton Parish choir member, looking rather confounded by my choice of beer.

"Black & tan in bottles!" he proclaimed. "I didn't know one could buy black & tan in bottles! Why don't you just make your own? It's simply one part stout to one part lager."

"Well," I replied, looking past the head of the obviously nervous coed wedged between us, "I do all the cooking; so why should I bother to make beer, too? Why, just yesterday I baked an entire cake from scratch."

"As I said," he tittered, "you just mix together stout and lager." "Anyway," he continued, (beginning to sound slightly pompous, as the British- forgetful of their embarrassing defeat just a few miles up the road at Yorktown-often do), "do you know the history of black & tan and the wealthy Anglican nobleman?"

Although his inquiry piqued my interest, as I did not know the brew's pedigree, his remark seemed to alarm the young college student. Indeed, she looked a tad terrified, as if wondering to herself whether "Ian" might be a history professor whose identity she should learn in order to avoid numerous dry lectures, or if he'd ditched his pajamas and escaped Eastern State (mental) Hospital.

While the cashier began ringing up my purchases (rather slowly, as some consider the pony-tailed "Ian" a bit fetching), the innkeeper/slash/singer regaled us with the following tale: "Once there was a wealthy nobleman who was also an Anglican bishop. When he lay upon his deathbed, he called his favorite servant to his side. At that time, the failing lord bestowed upon the Irishman his secret, royal recipe for black & tan, as well as enough money to pay for the construction of a brewery, thus giving birth to the Guinness empire."

I applauded "Ian's" entertaining tale, wondered about its veracity, and hoped, as I departed, that the ten annoyed-looking customers queued behind my cross-Atlantic cousin enjoyed the story. One never knows these days. History is an underappreciated subject.

Likewise, the hip-hop crowd is also underwhelmed by the world of classical music. New William & Mary symphony conductor, Czechoslovakian Bohuslav Rattay, considers it his mission to entice young people to broaden their musical tastes. To do so, Rattay injects creative ideas into standard format.

Thus, the symphony's Halloween concert featured famous film scores and movie highlights projected on a screen, as well as Strauss and Stravinsky. Musicians and patrons wore fancy dress, and intermission featured a costume contest with one winner chosen from the audience, and a second from the orchestra.

I must say that the costumes were impressive. A wheelchair-bound FDR accompanied Calvin & Hobbes. Quail Man made an appearance, as did several superheroes, the Phantom of the Opera, Frida Kahlo and Audrey Hepburn. A mummy won best-dressed audience member. "Roy" of Siegfreid & Roy received best costume from among the musicians. The bassist compiled his controversial yet hilarious garb by attaching a stuffed tiger to the collar of a faux blood-splattered shirt.

I also must admit I thought that the Czech's ideas (while perhaps popular in Prague) would be a bust in dear, staid Williamsburg. Boy, was I wrong. The concert sold-out! Many people remained, pleading for standing room, but the fire marshal denied them entrance.

Since Joanna served as concertmaster, and performed an incredible violin solo, I felt extra glad the evening proved a success. It was wonderful to see young mop tops among grey craniums.

It's nice to see people getting off the beaten path and changing direction, broadening their horizons. Sometimes painful change is handed to us by fate. My kind-hearted spouse gave me a Hallmark card with the following sentiment: "Some people will say that you are going the wrong way, when it is simply a way of your own." How true. It's okay if one needs to circle around for a spell. In Williamsburg, you're certain to receive a friendly wave while you try to find your way.