Although I seemed to be the last person up last night when I retired at 10:58 p.m., there was to be considerable activity where my two step-sons and youngest step-son Poté's girlfriend Priyanka were concerned. I was to learn of it this morning from Poté.
I rose this morning at 7:18 a.m., quite fresh from a dream whose details were lost, but it involved my old friend Norman Dearing. I think we both were of an age approximating our heyday back in the 1970s, oddly enough.
When I came downstairs to make my morning's hot beverage, Poté was up ─ his girlfriend must have had to go to work earlier. He greeted me with a "Good morning," and then commenced his account of last night.
I am unclear on just who it was that became aware of noises in the den area where Poté's bed is, but it might even have been his older brother Tho.
I have a dresser down there comprising five drawers in which are my various tee shirts amassed over my working life. However it was discerned, the three young people zeroed in that the scratching and rustling seemed to be coming from the bottom of that furnishing ─ which is against the same wall separating it from Tho's bed..
We have known of a rodent that has been resident here since at least as far back as Boxing Day ─ that was when my wife Jack first brought its damaging evidence to my attention.
Four mousetraps and a pair of mouse glue traps have yielded nothing, even though one of the traps was apparently sprung.
Well, the boys pulled out the bottom drawer of my dresser, and came face-to-face with the culprit ─ apparently a rat. It was transfixed, staring at the three humans who were equally immobilized. This face-off endured some while until Tho moved to see about getting something with which to contain the vermin.
At his movement, the rat made a bid for escape and reportedly fled up the four or so carpeted steps that lead to the kitchen, but made a sharp left towards the living room ─ another set of carpeted steps right there leads to the upstairs.
But kitchen, living room, and the upstairs were all in darkness, so the boys could not tell just where the varmint fled to.
I guess Poté had been doing some research this morning and has determined that maybe investing in some ammonia will be the best method for repelling the animal. Soaking some rags or cotton housed in a can or jar, which is then placed in areas the rat frequents, is supposed to be overpowering to its sense of smell, and will thus keep it from returning to that area.
Unfortunately, we would need quite a few such deterrents spread about throughout the house, for it has definitely also been upstairs ─ I know of it being here in the room where I use my computer, and my younger brother Mark has discovered it to have been in at least one of his dresser drawers.
There is no sense poisoning the damned thing if it's just going to retreat into a wall or some such place to die, treating us to the stench of its decaying corpse for an indeterminate period of time.
Poté never had to work yesterday, and also has today off ─ most odd for someone working in the retail field. He has two part-time jobs over in Guildford.
My brother Mark had spent the night at his girlfriend Bev's home. When he came here this morning to shower and so forth, I do not believe that anyone communicated with him about the events of last night.
Just ahead of noon, he headed away for the afternoon. His girlfriend Bev works in a bar and is quite involved in the NFL playoffs ─ there is a key game on today at noon.
What manner of company will he be for me this evening, I wonder?
Our mild weather continues, and it has been very lightly raining much of today.
Before I forsake this account of my day thus far, here are a few photos taken (I think) on November 1, 2016, when Jack was back in Thailand last Fall to see her mother after more than 3½ years.
Jack's sister Penn is in the first two photos with her own son Daniel; Jack will be wearing the white tee shirt in the other photos. My guess is that the setting is likely the Nong Soong area, very near to Udon Thani.
This last photo just below seems to have been an attempt to photograph a collage of other photographs that might have been taken on October 29, 2016, in Bangkok when the Grand Palace was first opened up for the people to file through and view the funeral urn of their late King Bhumibol Adulyadej:
It was just yesterday in this blog that I included information on opioid pain medication, and how some researchers have concluded that quite apart from addiction and a host of other harms, the medications actually start to cause the pain to aggravate in the long term.
These drugs were never intended for use longer than three months at most.
I do not wish to link to the same material all over again ─ as I said, it is all in yesterday's post. But I do want to point you to this excellent diatribe lambasting these drugs and the physicians who continually prescribe them:
It truly was unfortunate that the late musician Prince had to die from opioids as he did, but I still do not fathom how he still gets commended for following his religious beliefs and shunning alcohol.
He shunned alcohol, yes; but instead, he became a drug addict. Better, I think, that he should have relied on some alcohol to ease his pain, and stayed entirely away from the opioids.
Also in the past day or two, I posted of another study wherein researchers concluded that older folks who managed a daily nap of about an hour's duration actually improved in brain function.
Who's to say that the same benefit would not accrue for anyone younger? After all, the study just happened to comprise seniors ─ not a broad swath of the population.
Anyway, since I have come across a few more reports on the study, I am going to present them now:
Alas, I never had my nap today ─ nor yesterday. Blogging usurps too much of my time.
I had not heard about this incident until today ─ the headlines make clear what the incident involves:
Nothing is going to change.
We have far, far too many lazy physicians who can't be bothered to deal with their bounteous annoying patients seeking help for every sniffle and sore throat.
Nor do mega farms and concentrated animal feeding operations have any intention of changing their ways. Government recommendations just will not do ─ they need to be made rigorously enforced law.
We are indeed already falling over the cliff.
I see that my younger brother Mark must have brought home this morning a couple of mousetraps, and maybe even at least one of those mouse glue pads.
I must close now, and will do so with this journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.
I was renting my small space in a house located on Ninth Street, and likely one or two houses up from Third Avenue.
Apparently I went to bed at 6:45 p.m. the evening prior.
THURSDAY, January 22, 1976Well, I managed to get to sleep last night, though it wasn't steady; I came around for good shortly after 3:30 a.m., I guess.I managed a WD. I was attending a school, and a class I was in went outside for a lesson, all of us sitting about on a pile of rocks. The teacher was a woman, and quite attractive in her pants suit or whatever. I sat next to her. She was asking us to link sentences by completing a word or phrase to that offered by the person called ahead of us. Anyway, while we were absorbed in study, this seemingly officious woman (I believe we were proximal due to the difficulty of finding seating on the rocks) began to unobtrusively and casually caress me and, belike, rub closely against me with her body with obvious intent. I came. Thence, I lived in fear of my actual life at the school, trying mightily to avoid this teacher, and a male one as well, a tall, middle-aged, all-business sort with an interest in her.It was quite ridiculous though at the time rather scary.My suite was really cold this morning; I was most reluctant to get up.I delivered my declaration for assistance to the welfare office, then went to the health food store and spent $2.05 on a pound of almonds, a price cheaper than Safeway where I bought powdered skim milk ($2.79) and a toothbrush for a total there of $3.68.I came home in a thick spray of rain.I typed up a letter to Ron.I retired for a nap about noon, and was aroused near 1:15 p.m. by Mark & Cathy who brought me 2 information books on BCIT education; Mark left with Almuric and Dennis Dorgan.Around 8:20 p.m. or so Bill dropped by for about 5 minutes; he left when he saw that I was pretty deep into The Waltons and didn't care to miss any going to his place to watch them.I'll bed at 10:00 p.m.Going to the toilet for the final time tonight, I found 2 letters in my box: one from Jeffs requesting I come for an appointment the 29th; and one from dad requesting I visit, else he will on the last Saturday of the month. He was looking for me to show last Sunday.
I sure do miss having erotic dreams!
I worked one day a week through an employment initiatives or incentives progarmme in place between my employer and New Westminster social services. The former would pay me a monthly pittance of something like $50 through a grant that they had received, while the latter would pay me the going social assistance rate for a Single person.
But each month, I had to submit a declaration indicating that I still wanted and needed to be involved.
Mr. Russ Jeffs was my social worker.
The letter I typed was to an American pen-pal I had, Ron Bain.
My first visitors were my younger brother Mark and his beautiful girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther. I may still have those two Robert E. Howard books that Mark borrowed that day.
My next visitor was my old friend William Alan Gill, who only lived about four or so blocks from me in a bachelor suite that he was renting. He had a fairly large colour T.V., while I only had a smaller black & white model.
The mailbox I referred to was not located outside of the door I used to exit from my room into the outside world. Rather, the mail receptacle was just outside another door that led into the basement proper ─ I had a cubicle just outside that door containing a toilet and a shower unit. Thus, if I was not to use the toilet, I might not notice any mail left in that mailbox for me.
My poor father Hector had evidently sat in the lobby of his apartment building watching for me on Sunday to come and visit. He shared his apartment with his girlfriend Maria Fadden, but she and I had undergone a terrible row the week or so before Christmas, and I declared that I would not return.
He had written to me quite recently and asked me to come and visit him again, and said that if I did not come during the week, he would watch for me on the Sunday.
I had in turn replied back that I would not be coming...but my letter was returned. Like some fool, I had used his former address, and so he never knew that I was not coming to see him.
I feel bad reading about that.