by LouAnn Edwards
The experts say, before you marry someone, get lost in the car together. If this advice gets out, there goes the wedding industry! Nobody survives it. Unfortunately, my husband Gary and I were thirty years in when we were put to the test on a recent trip to Arizona. Add a rental car to the mix and it really gets fun.
We were trying to meet up with our friends in Scottsdale when the “GPS Lady” started taking us in endless circles and had to be ditched. I told Gary not to worry—I once read a copy of Arizona Highways in the dentist’s office, so I felt fully qualified to direct our navigation. Gary was squinting behind the wheel (sunglasses forgotten) hoping I knew where to turn next. I sort of remembered…
LouAnn: “There’s a street we’re supposed to come to,” (I offered with confidence.) “It’s named after that famous guy…”
Gary: “Which one?” he begged.
LouAnn: “Oh…I know you know him….”
Gary: “I need more than that. Who is it?”
LouAnn: “I remember. Andrew Lloyd Webber!”
Gary: “Are you sure?” he pressed.
LouAnn: “Well…no. But it has the name Lloyd in it.”
(Now it’s going to drive me nuts. What musicals did that guy do??)
Gary: “Look, there’s a huge intersection coming up, is that where we turn?”
LouAnn: “Hmmm. I dunno. Lemme think…was it West Side Story? No, that’s too early…he did later stuff.”
Gary: “I’m getting honked at! What is the name of the stupid street?”
LouAnn: “Lloyd, Lloyd… that’s sure not a name you hear very often, is it? Kinda strange how names come and go, huh?”
Gary: “LouAnn!”
LouAnn: “I remember now! Phantom!”
Gary: “Turn on Phantom?”
LouAnn: Huh? No…silly, he did Phantom of the Opera…let me see…something doesn’t seem right…”
Gary: “Yeah, my wife!”
LouAnn: “Oh! I know! I’ve got the wrong Lloyd! I think it has Frank in it. Frank something…”
Gary: “Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s Frank Lloyd Wright, and I think we just passed it. You’re no help. Now I’ve gotta turn around somehow.”
LouAnn: “Well, what musicals did HE do?”
Gary: “Good grief, he’s the architect! Is it left or right now?”
LouAnn: “That’s it!” I screeched pointing ahead.
Gary: “What?” he yelled, slamming on the brakes.
LouAnn: “That’s the license plate holder I want! Just look at those rhinestones!”
An hour later we finally found Stella and Dan at the Tipsy Taco. My stomach felt like it had been tied to the Tilt 0’ Whirl due to brakes Gary wasn’t used to, and his voice was shot from yelling out pleas for directions. After devouring our Tuesday night specials, it wasn’t long before our friends were having a lively debate about who discovered the Moscow Mule. Dan insisted it was the bartender in New York, while Stella swore it was two guys in LA. We didn’t know, but we said that we were pretty sure it wasn’t one of the Lloyd guys. After dinner, our flaky GPS decided to work again and guided us home. Pulling into the driveway, I suddenly remembered that my former school principal, Sister Fidelis, had told us that St. Raphael was the patron saint of travelers and that we should always call on him when we were lost. I wondered if this hard-working archangel ever had to help Frank find just the right angle in his cantilever or guide the hand of Andrew searching for that final resonant note. Either way, I have a brilliant suggestion for the next new desert street sign that everyone’s sure to remember: Saint Lloyd Raphael.
