Banff 2009 - Last Dispatch from the Front

For those of you who have been following the exploits of our heroine as she attempts to transform the life in her head to match the life without I realize that I do need to fill in some gaps in the reporting of my activities over the last few days.

I’m writing this post-dinner Wednesday night sitting in the Harry Potter bathroom. Bigger than my apartment and only three stalls. Big swaggy silk drapes and settees designed for women wearing big hoop skirts.  Wi Fi not working here, and no bar service though, so won’t linger for more than a paragraph or two. Though I can still see a slice of the sun teasing the mountain peaks from my vantage though the leaded stained glass, it is only a slice and I know of a dozen places here to taste the full vista.

When the Empress, Mr. Mystery, Delicious and the Shooter showed up Monday I had no idea how they would become so central to my Banff experience and to the metamorphosis of self that has transpired. The Empress took meetings, Delicious alternated between sharing her sparkle via the Internet and popping into whatever conversation the rest of us had on the go to contribute knowledge and humour.  Mr. Mystery and I kept leaping up and off to various sessions only to locate and report back into the group.  A blessing was the little couch alcove off my room where set up base camp, hauling the chairs from my room and having a bit of space and privacy to bounce ideas, thoughts, fears, hopes and reactions off each other.

 

While Delicious was the cheerful Vicarious Rex of the herd, Mr. Mystery was the grizzled campaigner, and the Empress and I alternated between elation and self-doubt and over-analysis and back, (me so much more than her of course!) but each of us in our way hustled, yes we did. Shooter was our hero-- always hyper aware of our surroundings, scoping out a free table, first there with the extra chair, an eye on the clock to ensure each of us was where we needed to be when we needed to be there, taking care of us.

But if my Banff was more than the surface hustle and bustle, the biz cards and summer camp for grown-ups who can’t stop believing in stories, then Shooter deserves both the praise and the blame. Like the twin ravens of Norse mythology, Thought and Memory, he sat on my shoulders speaking first into one ear, then into the other.  Every moment I wasn’t in a panel or pitching he was asking questions. Asking questions and damn him, challenging my answers! Can you imagine?  His insatiable curiousity about the process was only matched by his enthusiasm for minute detail. If that was the Thought manifestation of him, Memory was the weapon he used to tear down the walls of my inner world and drag out both the treasures and the trash for his education and my transformation. He asked me some very, very hard questions about myself and my life and my dreams. And when I gave him one of my standard answers, nooo, wouldn’t settle for that. Why I didn’t just tell him to frack off? Who knows?  His charm?  Certainly his attention flattered and those of you who know, know what an idiot I am for flattery. The man is a force to be reckoned with, that is for damn sure. He is that weird combination of kindly and hard-assed, hold your head when you puke and kick your butt when you’re being stupid. Oddly both joyful and deadly serious.  Man certainly didn’t require a gun to be a deadly shot, that I can tell you. He’ll be a formidable producer and those of us lucky enough to be in his care will indeed count ourselves blessed. And though I’m still kind of pissed at him for poking me in places that I really don’t like to be poked, I also find myself desperately hoping that our conversation is just beginning. Crap. I guess I like him. And we are planning to work together. Frack. Just what I need, a producer that makes me get shit finished. Bastard. At least he gives okay hugs. Needs a bit of practice at it though.