Sunday night at the hotel is always a weird time after 221B Con ends at five. People have been leaving throughout the day, as a lot of people have to work on Monday, and non-Sherlockians start checking into the hotel. The magical environment that has surrounded you for three days slowly dissipates, and reality begins to set in . . . except this was your reality for three great days, so that's not even correct. More exact to say "all the cares and obligations of every day life set in." It's been a good escape from those.
The hotel bar and a few room gatherings keep the torch burning for a little while longer, as people decompress and share thoughts on what just went down, as well as cons past. I got to spend a couple lovely hours in the bar with some of the best Sherlockians you'd ever care to meet, but I'm not going to name names as, you know, it's not a competition for "best Sherlockians" because we happily have so damn many of them. But every person there deserves all the rewards that Sherlock heaven can give.
I had to leave that happy venue a little earlier than I might otherwise have, because I wanted to give the good Carter a call and apprise her of the last forty-eight hours since we spoke last, and that call wound up going on for a very long and enjoyable time. When you've been together thirty-five years, you do occasionally run out of things to talk about, and since she couldn't come this year, I had a whole lot of things to tell her about . . . and even just telling someone about 221B Con for an hour or so can be a fabulous thing.
Time to get dressed and load the car, but I'm going to leave this post open for a little while longer . . . leaving is hard.
Two trips to the car down, one to go. Good to take home less than I brought, somehow turning a bunch of Sherlockian items I didn't care so much about into a few new ones that I'm really happy to have. I got to say hello to Lyndsay and Elinor one last time in my travels, and any morning with writers in it is a good morning. Beautiful weather out there to hit the road with, and I hope all the air travelers have easier journeys today than they've had of late. But I guess that means it's finally time to hit the road . . . .
I'm definitely not done writing about subjects, ideas, and other residual effects of this weekend . . . definitely my favorite 221B Con yet, which is saying something considering the open-mouthed sheer amazement I had over the very first one. The con has evolved and matured, just as Sherlockiana itself evolves, even though it's been so well-run and high-functioning from the start. Yeah, there's a hiccup now and then, but even those can lead to better things. (Though I have to say, for me . . . not really seeing the hiccups so much.)
Thank you, everybody. And I do mean everybody involved or participating in 221B Con and those who wish they could have been. I don't really drink . . . I literally had one rum and Coke the entire weekend . . . but I'm definitely feeling the "I love you, man!" of an over-affectionate drunk at the moment. It was soooo good. And I'm actually getting a tear or two of pure gratitude as I write this. But what's done is done, and it's time to head for the future . . . which means next year's 221B Con and the whole Sherlockian year that comes before it!
Onward and upward. To the Bradmobile!