Deadline for the Book accompanied by Very Strange Occurrences and Coincidences; a Walk to Davies and an Indian Wedding

Last week the Emperor asked me how the book was coming. The book for all of you late comers is the biography of Dave Dryburgh, my paternal uncle and the man of my dreams. Infatuation is what happens to biographers and definitely did and has happened in my case. Uncle Dave was a gifted Saskatchewan sports writer but more than that, a man of such incredible integrity and charisma. He drowned in July,1948 -trust me I will not be blogging on that day. I will not be going near water either, not even the jacuzzi here at the Trump International Hotel unless I have someone to hold my hand.
I told the Emperor that I probably needed a deadline. So he magnificently tossed off December 6, said it was St. Michael’s Day and immediately strode off as he is wont to do. I had never even heard of St. Michael but in my thoroughness (a trait shared by Uncle Dave) I researched the saint. Holy cow – to switch metaphors and religions. (hahahaha)
How could have I not heard of St. Michael. He is huge, enormous, immense, gigantic, and colossal. He figures in every religion known to God and man. He plays a role in Judaism, in Christianity, and Islam. Within Protestantism he strikes in every branch, even the obscure ones, even sects. For example, Mormons view him as Adam and the patriarch of families. Jehovah Witnesses worship and bow down before him. I do admit I did cheater research by looking up Wikipedia but for my purposes it was adequate. My purposes are talking about him on this blog. If I were going to write a biography of him, for example, I would go to original sources. But I am not, so far. After I meet my December 6 deadline, who knows? 
But not only is he huge, there is so much personal meaning. Here is the easiest one to describe. My iPad screensaver is a picture I took of Mt. St. Michael – guess who appeared as apparition there and hence its name, St. Michel. Each time I open my iPad (the old stuff was transferred to the new one) there is Mt. St. Michel. I think the photograph was taken about fifteen years ago but it was during my troubled third marriage and so I cannot really remember dates and times. If possible, if the photograph is  iPhoto it will be attached to a blog – but it may predate this computer’s usage. 
Then here is another strange coincidence. St. Michael is the patron saint of warriors because he did in Satan. Last year I sent an email to this man in London. The subject line was something like I May Have Misled You. I spoke of by bold and sassy self, the one that he had seen but informed him that I was also other facets – scarred, sad and vulnerable. He wrote back – I am paraphrasing – Thank you for your honesty. Oh warrior woman. Another man from London independently referred to me as warrior woman but that was later and in a different context. 
Then there is another belief about St.Michael. He went to Hell but he was thrown back to earth. That same man, the first one, once said jokingly that I came from Hell but they threw me back to earth. He said that about a year ago, as I recall. He was very funny; we were very funny together. 
But the humor abounds. Somehow a picture of that man jumps up on my new iPad. I have not figured out how to get rid of it. Son, the Crooner was admiring my new iPad, looked at the picture and said: “There is my Dad!” Of course, that is ridiculous! Son the Crooner is seeking adoption so the Dad is totally irrelevant to the whole situation. Moreover, it would be utterly impossible for the pictured man to be the father of any child of mine – for obvious reasons. But that makes it even funnier of course. But no problem, the loo was nearby. 
But back to the book. December 6 is my deadline and I am going to do it and as we all know – I am a driven woman. This is the best place for me to write for oh so many reasons. One being is that the Apple Store is four blocks away and I am planning to publish it through iBook Author. 
Yesterday I managed to stray more than four blocks beyond this hotel, my sanctuary. I turned left on Bute and walked to Davies. Such a precious walk as it is possible to see what Vancouver once was with its trees and precious old buildings. It is sad, in a way. But as I got away from here it was possible to see where I live. What an amazing building and I did research on the architect which I will share at some point. 
The walk was a blog related task, ordering and picking up another supply of blog cards. I give them out like candy to men, women, children and dogs. On the way I ran into the West End Farmers Market. What a great place with its produce and people. I bought a cinnamon bun, it was yum. Then waiting for my cards to be produced I went to Vera’s Burger Shack and had the best burger of my entire life – seriously! I had the Canuck, and those fries, also the best of my entire life. 
Then it was back to the Trump, an Indian wedding in progress. The women’s dresses were beautiful, the men resplendent in their tuxedos. I stopped to chat with a couple, not the bride and groom. 
Me: Your sari is so beautiful and the bride’s dress is unbelievable.
She: Thank you. 
Me: And you Indian men, you are so handsome. I have been married three times before but I would consider a fourth if I could find an Indian man. You are so good looking and there is always the dress. 
He: I would marry you if I were not already married. 
Well, I am not sure about that but pictured is the wedding party. I took the picture with their permission. 
Indian Wedding
Farmers Market

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