A lot of Sherlockian societies have resumed their in-person meetings now, and a goodly share of those are dinner meetings. With the Miranker exhibit in at Indiana University and a Saturday organized to celebrate that, the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis held a down-the-road dinner meeting with the Tankerville Club of Cincinnati and representation from about fourteen other midwest scion societies last night at a Bloomington restaurant called the Irish Lion.
And, if you've ever tried to get forty people in and out of a restaurant, you know that such things can go delightfully well, and also . . . well, sometimes be a bit problematic.
Bloomington, Indiana being a college town, and this being a weekend in which students were starting to come back to school, Saturday night was a little busy and parking, as in most college towns, wasn't plentiful. Also, metered using those apps so many places like to use now. And it's August, on a hot and humid summer's eve. And the Red Lion had us up a long flight of stairs which not everyone in attendance was up for, with seating so tightly packed that the eventual eating experience was conducted in a sort of praying mantis fashion with elbows held almost in front of the chest.
So my first Sherlockian society dinner in a few years began hot, claustrophobic, irritated at parking apps, and with another little thorn in my paw of late I shall not get into. Not pure delight. The kind of situation one considers removing one's self from just for peace of mind.
But, eventually, I had a good time. You know . . . Sherlockians.
Steve Doyle ran the meeting in that happy, genial hosting style I remembered from years back, and even though the program was kept to a simple show-and-tell in honor of the library collections we were here to see, and hearing folks speak from the heart on their treasured possessions is always a treat. There was a goodly range of things and stories behind them, from good-hearted gifts to miraculous finds. And all around and in between was very pleasant table conversation, even in too cramped quarters giving the greatest possible virus exposure I've had in years. (And, yes, I'm one of those uncommon folks who doesn't seem to have gotten the cursed bug as yet . . . at least that I know of.)
After a long line of paying checks, most headed for home. I went across the street with two of the Zoom-iest Sherlockians around, Rich and Madeline, for some chat in the lounge of Rich's hotel and a little podcast audio recording for the Watsonian Weekly.
It was good to re-connect with that old Sherlockian tradition and its Indiana representation, but now my own road home awaits. On we go.
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