Looking for a Husband (Short Term); Serious Writing Completed and Contemplated; Medina Cafe Bar Again; My New Mecca VPL; My First Canadian Thanksgiving in Fifty Years

I need a husband, for two days, at the max three days. His major responsibility would be as handyman. I need some pictures hung (please honey); the television and its remote operation are a total mystery although the Telus man was so very helpful it does seem intrusive to be calling him. (That and the fact that I cannot, at this present time, find his card.) I could do with some snuggling. I need someone to carve the turkey. I do have a barbecue on my balcony. What possible good is a barbecue without a husband?? Some guys even clean – I need either a husband or a cleaning lady. Cleaning lady is a much better choice, upon reflection. CCC’s original duties included screening potential men as I have not traditionally done such a great job of choosing a proper one on my own. I guess his job responsibilities could be expanded. I shall speak to him later about this; perfect an application process, invite resumes. I can draft the prenuptial agreement. This just might work. 

Cousin Gail and I did an admirable job of transporting the stuff I had stored at her place in Coquitlam, with a husband or any man. We were such an efficient pair. Now I pretty much have all of my stuff. It is not unpacked as yet. Do I ever have a lot of clothes and shoes! I am going to count how many pair of shoes but it is going to take all of my fingers and toes and then some. I have no idea where I am going to wear all of these clothes being that I live a simple life these days. The gym is my main destination and, ultimate irony the only major deficit in the wardrobe department is gym clothes and shoes. Drat! Postal Code! I am attempting to stop swearing and so have substituted words. I was going to say my postal code as a way of remembering it but I cannot seem to master the thing so I am forced to say: “Postal Code Off” or “Postal Code It” or “What the Postal Code!” People are quite amused but think I am crazy which is better than thinking I have a foul mouth. (Maybe). 
I accomplished what I said I would accomplish and finished the rewrite of the Tate Britain book.You can find a reference to it in the blog of February 18, 2017. The end was very moving. I said in an email to CCC

Me: It was so moving that even I cried. And I wrote it. 

CCC: Don’t cry! 

Me: That is what all of the guys say. 
So here are the final sentences. It is probably necessary to read the entire introduction to feel their impact but here is the shard:   

“This book rescued me from hopelessness and despair, loneliness and alienation. My creative juices were dried up, I was barren. Now I have a fertile mind, more so than ever before. 
I would like to thank the artists who painted, the Gallery that collected, Chris, Jessica, my friends at the Rex Whistler and Lynne. I weep as I write, but not tears of sorrow.” 
I emailed the Intro to Lynne for editing. But this is life and the reward for good work is more work. It is time to buckle down and go back to work on Uncle Dave. After a wonderful breakfast at Cafe Medina I trundled off to Vancouver Public Library (hereinafter, VPL) I decided I wanted to do book research rather than internet research. They were so helpful, Maggie was a jewel. The book is going from the end to the beginning and will trace the relationship I have with my uncle (dead since 1948). The final chapter in rudimentary form can be found in the blog post of September 5, 2017. Its construct is the concept of the fatal flaw, the research topic. I brought home five books which Maggie helped me locate. I am excited. I just might go to the library to write. I usually write in bed. Even if it rains I will be Ok because now I have my boots and all of my rain gear and the library is so close. I am settling in for winter. 
I strode into the library and was so irritated with all of the noise. “What is going on? This is a library and it is supposed to be quiet!” I said to myself (not out loud). But as I approached the noise I found it was Diwali dancers led by a woman in a beautiful Indian dress. She invited the audience to join in, to come and dance with her and the other dancers. Did I? Of course I did and was joined by another woman white folk (an expression from the pen of an Asian man describing me). It was so freeing and fun but suddenly I began to cry. I was moderately successful in hiding my tears. Afterwards the woman and I spoke (I cannot read her name, stamped on my ‘invitation’.) She asked me why I had been crying, I told her of my dilemma. She said she was sent by God to help me. I am going to attend Diwali In Kits on October 15th. It certainly cannot hurt and just might help. 
I am excited about Canadian Thanksgiving, my first in fifty years. I have already made a centerpiece and include a picture of it on this post. I am getting domesticated.  

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