So here’s the thing…do you remember the show with Buffy and Jody and Mr. French? Yes, I realize this dates me as something from the Miocene or perhaps more like the Plasticine era, but bear with me. There was the dad, the oldest sister was Sissy? Surely that couldn’t have been her name? But maybe.
Anyways, that was the first time it really hit me that there were other ways to live than our Mennonite world at 33152 Cherry Street in Mission, British Columbia. Those television people lived in this hotel-like galaxy with Mr. French at their beck and call.
The reason I’m remembering this? I’ve just checked in to the Listel Hotel on Robson. It’s pouring rain, as only a Vancouver afternoon in April can, but I’m surrounded by Northwest native art in my room, a great desk set-up and the space to just think…and write…or whatever. The only thing missing in this set-up is Mr. French. No. Not like that…my husband will be here tomorrow night.
No, I mean the qualities Mr. French embodies of selfless service and attention to every detail. But it sort of feels like Mr. French was here and set it all up. Clean, simple, quality but with real art. My husband stayed in a motel in Skookumchuck on a hunting trip once. He told me the art in that motel room were puzzles that had been glued to cardboard and framed in duct-tape. Hmmm… I think this is much nicer than that. After all, Buschlen Mowatt Gallery curates the art on the Gallery Floors as well as some of the great exhibits in the public spaces of the hotel.
This is my version of a writer’s retreat. It’s not quite Artist in Residence up in Banff, but it’s two nights, one of which I’m completely alone, so that I can just sit with my books and my computer and thoughts. There is no laundry to do. No meals to make. Nada. This is when my Inner Hermit is in her total glory.
Tonight I’m going to the bound-to-be-inspiring BC Book Prizes event, conveniently located in this very hotel. But first I’m off to have a glass of wine in O’Doul’s, the hotel’s restaurant & jazz bar that has live music every night.
And then I have all day tomorrow to pretend I live here.
Halloo! Mr. French?!
