Marching On

With a heavy heart, I say goodbye to Williamsburg tomorrow. In the past four days, I have toured and hung out in the historic area in my full Revolutionary War uniform. I have posed for at least 50 pictures with kind strangers and their families who have beckoned me over while walking down the street so that they may have a colorful keepsake. It does not matter that I am not one of the official Colonial Williamsburg historical interpreters. I have been confused for one several times, I gather.

I have also danced one short but memorable dance in full 18th Century fancy dress inside the House of Burgesses inside the Williamsburg Capitol Building. I have bowed to many ladies on the street -- historic and modern. I have tipped my tricorn to many gentlemen passing by. And I am now a familiar face to several of the interpreters, who are heartened and encouraging of my colonial spirit.

Walking back to the hotel room this evening after another beautiful period concert, I mulled a question over again: Should I quit the news business, move here and take up a CW interpreting job? I actually consider it, but that consideration lasts all of 15 seconds. I would be giving up way too much: stability, friends, job security, nice weather in December, good money, and so forth.

One day, I figure I'll do it. But not tomorrow. Not next month, year, or decade. Someday.

Until then, I'm leaving part of my heart here. I left another part here four years ago.

"Are you going home?"
"I am home."
--From Williamsburg: The Story Of A Patriot