This is before the "Governor's Musick" -- Colonial Williamsburg's chamber orchestra -- played a suite of beautiful melodies in period costume on flutes, violin, viola da gamba and harpsichord.
Once the performance starts, my mind conjures up the dream once again.Before I am gone from this world, I shall dance a minuet with a beautiful lady in a fine ballroom such as this.
I meet up with my fellow re-enacting companions on the dark Duke of Gloucester Street after the performance. The plan was to head to Chowning's Tavern for a few late morsels. But they're closed, much to everybody's disappointment.
We begin wandering over to where we might find our next meal and pass by Bruton Parish church. Organ music wafts out the door. We stop in for a few moments as the woman at the registers finishes practicing. Our leader asks her to play the Doxology, and she happily indulges us.
"Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow,
Praise Him All Creatures Here Below,
Praise Him Above, Ye Heaven'ly Host,
Praise Father, Son, And Holy Ghost!
A-men!"
"Now that we've nourished our souls," I begin.
"Let's feed our bodies," our leader completes.
One if by land, two if by sea. Good grief, what does five mean?
We walk on... and on. Every restaurant near the historic area of Williamsburg is closed, and at only 10:00. It's just as bad as downtown Cleveland.
Our hunger is finally satisfied at Mamma Mia, a pizza joint that graciously keeps its doors open for our band of patriots. We sit in the back room, on the modern plastic chairs and reminisce about the day gone by. I offer a prayer of thanksgiving.
It's not Chowning's, but it doesn't matter. I am among gentlemen who crave a late plate, fine company, and pleasant conversation.
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