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Thursday, August 17, 2017

Study Finds Evidence That Curcumin May Suppress Pancreatic Cancer │ The Deadliness of Being Lonely

My younger brother Mark remained conscious all of last evening, so I don't understand why he felt like sitting up until maybe 10:50 p.m. before making his way upstairs to his bedroom for the night.

He always shaves and brushes his teeth before 'hitting the sack' so that he won't be faced with those chores in the morning when his clock-radio sounds at 4:30 a.m. to alert him to rise for work.

I remember that it was 11:01 p.m. when I was under the covers.

It wasn't a flawless nights sleep, and I probably rose once to use the bathroom. Just after 5:00 a.m. I was ready to get up for the day because it felt like I couldn't easily sleep any further. However, I decided to roll over onto my front and give that a try.

When next I checked the time, I think it was 6:21 a.m., so that was when I commenced my day.

I keep having some interesting dreams, but not enough of them remain in memory to be worth trying to outline here.

When I went downstairs to make my morning's hot beverage, i was disappointed to see that my eldest stepson Tho's sleeping area had its door shut ─ this generally means that the slouch never bothered getting up for work. And I was right, as it later proved out.

His younger brother Poté was still in bed, but he was to rise awhile after I was upstairs here at my computer; and at 7:17 a.m. he headed out the front door to his car to drive himself to work.

I busied myself with the task of adding further content into the post I am building at my Lawless Spirit website. I also wanted to get away this morning to mail a bill payment at Surrey Place (Central City) about a mile away from here, and then do some grocery shopping at Save-On-Foods a little farther on here in Whalley.

Normally I suspend work on posts in order to get away early enough to avoid the worst of the day's heat and / or crowds, but the work progressed remarkably well. I decided to finish the day's full content assignment.

Then just after 10:00 a.m., Tho decided to get up, and was soon upstairs here showering.

That somewhat 'crimped my style' because I had wanted to use the bathroom in order to trim my moustache and goatee, and also freshen up a tad.

When he finally vacated the room and I was slowly getting myself dressed for the outing, and wanting to be able to slip away without him being aware, he suddenly had company ─ his girlfriend showed up.

Thankfully, it was only to pick him up, and the two drove off just ahead of 11:00 a.m. And I was home alone.

By the way, I had earlier gotten a text from Poté:
...Can you please find the number for my dental plan please? I booked an appointment to go in next Wednesday and they said that the number I gave them for insurance was for health insurance, not dental. They need a dental plan number or something like that
So I had to break from my post work and hunt up my Public Service Pensioners' Dental Services Plan membership information.

Poté is 19 years old, and will be my dependant until he has his 21st birthday.

He can probably apply for both extended health and for dental care coverage from his employer, but he would likely have to pay at least some of the cost for membership ─ so why bother when he's already registered as my dependant on both of those plan types?

He can apply for his own coverage under whatever insurer his employer is with, anytime after he turns 20.

Anyway, it was 11:03 a.m. when at last I was standing outside of the locked front door, ready to begin my hike. The sky was a mix of light cloud and Sun.

There was nothing remarkable about the expedition. Hardly any customers were being checked out when I had completed my shopping (realizing later here at home that I had forgotten one item), and I was even further fortunate in that an open cashier no one had yet noticed summoned me over to be served.

She was a middle-aged gal and looked serious, but she quickly warmed up to me and was soon all friendly smiles.

Heck, she even packed my purchases into my tote bag for me, and then zipped it closed!

I didn't hold back on my compliments for the service.

The load was more weight than I had anticipated, and by the time I was well on my way home, my face was beading with perspiration. The sky had pretty much become cleared of cloud.

I believe that it was 12:16 p.m. once I had unlocked the front door and was into the house.

That outing was my exercise for the day.

A good-sized meal was next on my agenda. And then with such blue skies, I decided to garner at least another 20 minutes of sunshine, so I sat out in the backyard at 2:20 p.m. for that duration. I wore my pants, but doffed shoes and my top.

And here it is 4:27 p.m., and still I am home alone.

I want to post this old photo ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the scanned image saved:

This is a photo of Alex Dorosh, who was eventually to marry my mother Irene in (I think) 1973.

You probably know that the August 1968 imprint at the right of the photo is probably when the roll of film (that this exposure was a part of) was developed.

So it could have been taken that very month, but more likely any month prior to then ─ who can know now?

Unfortunately, I have no idea where the photo was taken.
But back to my shopping! Two things I bought were a smallish green cabbage, and three organic beets with all of their leafy stalks still attached.

I have just finished slicing and chopping them up into a large rectangular plastic container, adding nearly enough cold water to cover, and liberally salting the top of the vegetables with some Mediterranean sea salt.

I will turn over the batch in a couple of days, and each day thereafter; and in five days, I should be able to start having some once or twice a day ─ a homemade probiotic and prebiotic batch of naturally fermented vegetables.

I hate that I only have a plastic container, but limitations are what they are when one is on a monthly pension.

I have not tried to include beets before, so this will be a new experience.

I still have enough of a previous fermentation project to last me until this new batch is ready to start eating.

Unfortunately, Save-On-Foods didn't have any organic cabbages.

I've been trying to ensure that I have some naturally fermented vegetables daily ever since my wife Jack surprised me by preparing some bok choy for fermentation back in the Spring. She had learned how to do it back in her home village of Nong Soong in Udon Thani, Thailand.

Until I had watched her prepare her "pickles" a couple of times, I had no idea that the process could be as simple as it was.

Of course, I am not as particular in adhering to her "recipe" as she is, so she won't try sampling my versions. But thus far, I have not had any symptoms of trouble such as diarrhea.

She's also wise to the health value of turmeric in cooking, but she doesn't use as much of it as I do ─ I don't even bother cooking with it. I'm quite happy to load up a dish of food with one or even two tablespoonfuls of the stuff mixed in.

Of course, a person probably wouldn't want to be having a meal like that before going out ─ it's impossible not to get some yellow staining around the mouth, and even of the fingers if one is at all handling the food being eaten.

Anyone at all concerned about pancreatic cancer would probably do well to liberally incorporate turmeric into his or her diet, as a recently published study suggests.

See the following report on that study:


That article referenced the following, but did not link to it as I am doing:


Who cares if the study was not one that used people as its subjects? Why on Earth wait for that to ever take place?

While watching the news late last evening, there was a report about how loneliness is almost becoming an epidemic, and this is negatively impacting health and longevity.

Living a lonely life is supposedly as harmful to the health as smoking 15 cigarettes daily, and worse than being obese or physically inactive.

Here are a number of reports about the latest research into this:





And how heart-breakingly evocative is this photo?

There are times when I pine so painfully for companionship and even human contact that I feel like it would be better to just not be.

And with that said, I am going to close out now with a 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 in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I think that I must have just about been near the final month of a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I was a swamper on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck, which was usually driven by Esther St. Jean, a dear woman who was then in her early 40s.

Prior to this contract, I had enjoyed some part-time, broken employment with S.A.N.E. that may have stretched back as much as 1½ years.

S.A.N.E.'s  old  home no longer exists, but it was a building that used to be located right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station today stretches out to Carnarvon Street.
TUESDAY, August 17, 1976

Some sleep! I didn't rouse till at least 7:15 a.m.

On my way to S.A.N.E. I shall mail in my book order, lottery tickets order, and a $39 tithe.

I had a fair day, but for other events in the stead of labour.

I bought some groceries, including a 2 lb jar of dark honey.

Returning in the box of the truck, I bashed my left knee of [sic] the dolly; it is well damaged, apart from swelling and broken skin. In fact, I fear I may be disabled for heavy work, for stairs are formidable.

I later was discovered by Samantha Smith in Safeway.

Esther gave me a pastry and a couple peaches.

Melodie was with us all afternoon, and now here I am at home anticipating with little pleasure her promise to visit me about 7:30 p.m. just for a drink (she said; she bought the bottle).

David was down at S.A.N.E., but he never saw me as I was called off for truck duty.

I finished reading The Tonto Kid by Henry Herbert Knibbs at work today. 

I'm going to leave for mom's at 7:30 p.m. if my company doesn't arrive by then; I'll leave her a note.

I had just begun the bridge when I responded to a series of honks behind me; Esther, Melodie, & Gordie. 

I joined them (they'd been to my place; Charlie was rampaging), and got a ride to mom's. So, I was able to give Esther the Preventions tonight.

My knee is serious; when I originally smashed it, it hurt so much I was nauseous.

At mom's I had a small glass of buttermilk, some Japanese plums, and chocolate cake. 

She gave me a bit more than an inch remaining of a bottle of Absorbine for my knee.

For mail I had August's Plain Truth, the 2nd issue of Co-Worker Newsletter, and volume 1 of "55 Original Hits" from Downers Grove, Ill. (if the second volume doesn't come by the week-end, I'll send an inquiry).

There is a heavy moving job likely on for Friday, and thus my knee concerns me.

Sandy & Randy apparently celebrated a wedding anniversary today.

Coming home, I found an enormously frolicsome and friendly young short-haired husky-like dog chained to a bus stop across the street from the track turn-off; I left it thus, but would have taken it had I a home and means to afford it.

Bed at 11:35 p.m.
I don't know just what time I started work each morning at S.A.N.E., but it was probably around 10:00 a.m.

I often had time on my hands there, so I did a lot of reading of books that had been donated to them.

I located a copy of that book at Amazon, but there is no description of what it is about: The Tonto Kid. However, I did find this brief description elsewhere:
Well worked out series of adventures make this above average western. Story of a young boy, who without seeking or wanting to, becomes notorious as a dangerous outlaw. (Kirkus Reviews)
I don't remember bashing my knee, but it certainly sounded nasty. Still, it didn't seem to halt me from doing lots of walking.

Samantha Smith was at least 10 years old, and the oldest of three kids of a former S.A.N.E. co-worker of mine in his early 40s named Art Smith. I didn't say so, but she probably encouraged me to come by and visit her father. I had been staying clear of late.    

Melody or Melodie was the youngest of Esther's two daughters ─ she was at least 17, but had an eye for me. I mentioned "Charlie" ─ he was Esther's husband, and thus probably Melody's father. He reportedly liked to drink.

Philip David Prince was an old friend of mine who lived fairly near to S.A.N.E. ─ if he had not yet moved, the old 'rooming house' apartment building he lived in was at 115 Tenth Street. If these were the Fraser Apartments, then the building was demolished years ago.

I was not proud of my little dive ─ I would not have been at all comfortable having Melody come by to visit me. I wouldn't even know how to entertain her, or what to talk about ─ if she brought a bottle, then I sure would have needed to get into it!

Thus it was that when she had not shown up at 7:30 p.m., I would have wasted not a minute in hightailing it for my mother's home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ her home was my main mailing address.  

The little house she and Alex shared no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. The hike to get there was about 1½ hours of fast-paced walking. 

I was evidently hiking over the Pattullo Bridge when Esther and Melody came along after me in the S.A.N.E. pick-up truck. "Gordie" was likely co-swamping with me that day ─ he was a rather strange young fellow, if I am remembering the proper chap. But I don't know why he was still with them that late into the evening.

I expect that they made a quick stop on the bridge, and I hopped into the cab with everyone.

I wonder if Esther ─ and "Gordie," too ─ would have also come in had I still been at my room when they had arrived with Melody and looking for me?

I had promised the previous day to give Esther some of my mother's Prevention magazines because Esther had learned that her heart was "dying" (as I had described her condition in that day's journal entry). She was deeply concerned.

Anyway, Esther gave me the ride to my mother's home, and Esther got a batch of the magazines, I would expect.

Concerning the mail awaiting me at my mother's home, the Co-Worker Newsletter was from the Worldwide Church of God ─ the same church I had that morning mailed a $39 tithe to.

The volume 1 of "55 Original Hits" was most probably an 8-track tape.

Randy Halverson is my slightly older maternal cousin ─ he and his then-wife Sandy were the ones celebrating an anniversary. They eventually divorced, and he has been remarried happily for  many years.

Well, I got to walk back to my room later that evening. I expect that the dog I found was  probably at the intersection of Scott Road (120th Street) and 99th Avenue.

You can see where the railway tracks cross Scott Road right at that intersection. I would have been walking from the bottom of the map along Scott Road, and then turned right onto those tracks, following them until I was not too far from the Pattullo Bridge ─ it really cut down on the ugliness of the street traffic.

But was that poor dog on the opposite side of Scott Road, and I was drawn over to interact with it?

I would have hated to have to walk away from it after making friend with it, but what else could I do? I had nowhere that I could take it to; and it wasn't like I was packing a cellphone 'way back then!

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

💀 ☠ Inspiration and Despair

My younger brother Mark just could not retain consciousness last evening long enough to watch the last of the episode of American Ninja Warrior that I had tuned in, and so he failed to enjoy Jessie Graff's stirring performance.

Of all the challenges, this astounding young woman only failed to ascend to the top of the 35-foot 'Elevator Climb,' and only one male competitor that night was able to actually get to the very top.

But I see that her whole run is on YouTube, so I won't describe anything more ─ you can watch for yourself:

If I was a young man, I would be helplessly in love with that woman!

Mark was to come back into his senses early into the next programme, so he was able to enjoy the bulk of an episode of Fargo. He essentially only missed the opening scene, but it had nothing relevant to do with the episode.

It seems to me that he stayed up until maybe 10:45 p.m. before heading on up to his bedroom for the night to start his pre-bed ritual of shaving and teeth-brushing, making it unnecessary to be bothered with either chore after his clock-radio would be getting him up at 4:30 a.m. for another day of work.

I don't remember exactly, but I would venture that I may have gotten to bed ahead of 11:15 p.m.

Sleep was 'so-so.' I think I was awake enough to rise and use the bathroom around 3:00 a.m., and to have a good drink of water.

I dreamt quite a lot. 

I rose well before 7:00 a.m. ─ perhaps closer to 6:00 a.m., but I no longer remember.

Initially I was not sure that my eldest stepson Tho had gone to work, but he had. His younger brother Poté, however, did not have to work today, and was in bed with his girlfriend who seems to synchronize the same day off work. They were not to get up until after 1:00 p.m.

I got busy in the morning with the day's allotted post-building at my hosted website Lawless Spirit, but I had to break off shortly after 8:30 a.m. to seek my bed and spend just over 20 minutes there in an effort to revive myself sufficiently to handle a session of exercise out in the backyard tool shed.      

I could easily have embraced a good nap, but I didn't want to waste the morning like that.

I had the exercise. And when I weighed myself in the house afterward, stripped entirely down, I seemed to be registering about 189 pounds at my height of five feet and 10¾ inches.

That's not good news, incidentally. I should be at least five pounds lighter.

I finished the post work I had been involved with. And then instead of having the nap I was considering, since it was likely around 11:15 a.m., I catered to my 'sordid addiction' for nigh two hours. 

Soon after, Poté rose and was showering, so I headed on out to the backyard to sit in the sunshine.

Early this morning when I was making my day's first hot beverage, I saw that there must have been a little bit of rain at some point earlier. The morning had been fairly cloudy and cool.

But when I started my session sitting in the sunshine at 1:32 p.m., there was only a brief interference by some light cloud early into the session, and the remainder of my 40 minutes were hot and sunny.

Because I was not home alone, I wore pants; but I was barefooted and topless.   

I am too discouraged today to bother trying to get into the topics of health or fitness. I find my life to be so barren, banal, friendless, and uninspired, that I am unsure just how much longer I can continue with it.

Debt sure does not add anything worthy of living for; nor does that damned barking and baying brown hound just beyond my backyard fence that in fact daily makes my life a most cursed experience. 

I might as well bring today's sorry post effort to a close 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 in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

This was the start of a new week working on a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I must have been closing in on the final month of that contract by now, working as a swamper on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck that was generally driven by Esther St. Jean, a woman in her early 40s whom I liked very much.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was located on Carnarvon Strret approximately where today the New Westminster SkyTrain Station reaches out to Carnarvon.

I had not made it to bed the night before this journal entry until about midnight.
MONDAY, August 16, 1976

I roused about 6:40 a.m.; it's pouring out.

I'm pretty tired, and in no mood for S.A.N.E.

Before checking in, I'll mail Ron's letter and cash my $125 cheque.

It's good I didn't shop, but went directly to work; a woman from the Government was there to speak to us grant employees.

I had an easy day. At lunch I spent about $6.41 at the Met for a pull-over shirt, then I bought two money orders: $13 for an Olympic and a Western Lottery ticket from St. Joseph's School, and $30.61 for books from F. and S.F. Book Co (1977 Star Trek and Frazetta calendars, Akers' Arena of Antares and Bladesman of Antares, Bradley's Heritage of Hastur and Star of Danger, Chilson's Shores of Kansas, Collier's His Monkey Wife and Best of Collier, Van Vogt's Book of Ptath, Wagner's Legions from the Shadows, and Morris' Glittering Plain, Golden Wings, and Wood Beyond the World).

I told Esther I'd lend her some of mom's Prevention magazines; she's sure worried about her dying heart. She left with me at 4:00 p.m. for the end of the day, taking me to Woodward's; I nearly got off in view of Gilles, but we noticed him in time.

I bought $8.43 worth of produce. Then home.

Note: Margarite Weibe at her place gave me, Esther, & Steve a glass of diet 7-up.

As sometimes happens, I met little Angela at S.A.N.E., with her cousin; she asked me why I don't come over and visit, and was quite thick with the "Uncle Garnet"s.

Bed at 10:30 p.m.
The letter I mailed that morning was to American pen-pal Ron Bain.

It is a true shame that I was to lose almost all of the immense collection of books, periodicals, and fanzines I had amassed. They probably would have had a fair worth today.

I remember that Esther had some health problems, but nothing on the order of a "dying heart." 

She dropped me off at Woodward's, which used to be located on Sixth Avenue where today the Royal City Centre Mall is. "Gilles" was a young and excessively sociable French Canadian lad who had worked part-time at S.A.N.E., and who would have probably clung to me if he had seen me. I didn't have the time to expend filling his social niche that day.   

I have no memory of "Margarite Weibe" I have little doubt that I likely have her name misspelled. "Steve" (Thackeray?) was apparently my co-swamper that day, but I no longer recall the chap, either.

Angela ('Dee Dee') Smith was the youngest daughter and middle child of Art and Angela Smith. Art ─ in his early 40s back then ─ had worked part-time for S.A.N.E., and he and I had become extremely chummy. He loved having someone to drink with at his home.

However, I had begun avoiding him on two counts: first, because he was consuming too much of my life; and second, because his wife Angie (in her early 30s) was far too interested in me, and scared me with the chances she would take at seduction.

It was little Angela I most missed, I would say. Her open affection was almost irresistible, and she was a very attractive little girl of around nine years of age.

I would have loved to have been privy to her life as she grew older.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Annual Flu Shots Seem to Reduce Flu Immunity │ Health Facts About Peaches

As I mentioned at the end of yesterday's post, my wife Jack had shown up unannounced from Vancouver at about 5:58 p.m. We live in the Whalley area of Surrey.

It's always rather pleasant having her around. However, even her presence was insufficient to keep my younger brother Mark from passing out in the latter half of the episode of Wynonna Earp that I had tuned in soon after he was home from the bar.

Actually, I tuned it in after watching an episode of Atypical that was playing when Mark arrived home. The Atypical episode was the second consecutive episode I had tuned in after quite enjoying the premiere episode earlier. Mark surprised me by settling into his living room chair and watching the best part of that second episode with me, and seemed to enjoy it; maybe I will soon re-watch the first episode so he can have a chance to see it.

But apparently the episode of Wynonna Earp thereafter wasn't arresting enough for him.

I found it especially enjoyable, however, thanks to actress Dominique Provost-Chalkley who plays Wynonna's younger sister Waverly.

Throughout the episode, Waverly wore a skin-tight gold dress with a pair of fishnet-style stockings or leggings. She looked devastating ─ such a physique! 

I'm still watching the first season, so this was the seventh episode and titled Walking After Midnight.

Anyway, Mark headed on up to his bedroom for the night at his normal time, which is around 10:30 p.m. He still has to get up at 4:30 a.m. for work, after all.

As for me, well, I now cannot recall my bedtime with any approximation. I had the T.V. off and was here at my computer while Jack was showering and whatever else; and then when she emerged and went downstairs, I began my preparations ─ I had needed to use the bathroom first.

Perhaps she was cooking something and thus waiting, but I could see her downstairs in the darkened living room, sitting on the chesterfield, and staring at the bright screen of her iPhone 6. 

For some reason, 12:11 a.m. comes to mind ─ was that when I got into bed? Or was that the time when Jack eventually joined me?

I cannot recall.

It certainly wasn't my worst night's sleep, but it ended when I heard Jack stirring and talking as she got up. It was about 6:00 a.m., so I correctly surmised that she was speaking to her eldest son Tho.

I presumed that he had roused her to drive him to the SkyTrain so he could finish the commute out to Burnaby where he works, but she must have simply heard him readying for work and got up on her own.

She did not drive him. So either he already had someone he was catching a ride all the way to work with, or else he was unlikely being thoughtful and sparing his mother in honour of yesterday having been (the observed) Mother's Day in Thailand.    

The official day was the 12th, Saturday; but it is a national holiday there in honour of Queen Sirikit's birthday, so Monday becomes the observed public holiday (from having to work). 

I got up because I had a Rogers Wireless payment to write up and mail off ─ it is due on Friday. So while I was busy with that, Jack went back to bed.

Once I had it mailed less than a block away and was then back home, I got busy compiling content into the new post I started yesterday at my hosted website Lawless Spirit.

My youngest stepson Poté was soon enough to rise; and I believe that it was 7:39 a.m. when he headed out the front door to his car to drive himself to work.

I was especially tired, but I stuck to the post work until I had accomplished all that I had pre-scheduled for myself today.

And then I sought my brother Mark's bed and lay there for perhaps an hour, definitely dozing. And still Jack was not up, despite it being after 11:00 a.m.

She soon enough did rise, though, and had another shower. The mostly cloudy morning had become fairly sunny, so I went out into the backyard and sat in a chair, facing towards the Sun.

I may have been there for about 15 minutes when my cellphone rang ─ it was Jack wondering where I was. She announced that she was about to go shopping at Henlong Market.

I dutifully came into the house to see her off; and once she was gone (it was during the noon-hour), I came here to my computer to begin today's blog post.

A short time later I heard a message appearing on the answering machine for the landline downstairs. 

When I went down to investigate, I found that it had been an automated call, and thus the first half of the message was lost because my outgoing message is fairly long; and of course no incoming message can be left until the outgoing message stops, and the answering machine becomes set to record any incoming message. 

The message that was recorded started off in the midst of something that sounded like "lawsuit," and a call-back phone number was left: (613) 209-5269.

I had no idea what the message pertained to, nor who it was from. However, an online search revealed that the number is part of an attempted Canadian income tax scam, according to numerous reported incidents at FindWhoCallsYou.com: Number 6132095269 reports

So that's one message I'll be deleting!

Around 1:30 p.m., I thought that Jack had returned; but it was youngest stepson Poté who walked through the door. He got off work early because there wasn't anything to do (he's involved in a athletics goods store's stock management).

I could have been sitting outside for further sunshine, but getting as much work done on this post is more important ─ I have no idea how long Jack will be home today, preventing me from blogging.

And now she's back ─ not yet 2:20 p.m. I must now pause this post's construction.


Well, by 5:30 p.m., I had seen my wife off on her return drive to Vancouver. 

Her youngest son Poté had gone to see someone about back trouble he suffers, and he returned to announce that he's to be receiving treatment or therapy that may even involve orthotics. I had to provide him with the yearly maximum coverage limits for three categories of eligible expenses through the Public Service Health Care Plan I have, and under which he is still a dependant, since he's just 19.

Apparently areas of his spine seem to have little or no flexion.

Man! ─ at his tender age?

Since I've now broached the topic of health, I want to express that I will never willingly undergo a flu vaccination ─ not unless one day there truly is some sort of deadly influenza plague killing the majority of the people it infects.

This idea of getting annual flu shots just to try and avoid a common flu infection is utter idiocy ─ especially since it is demonstrably ineffective anyway, quite apart from dangerous.

Give this short article a perusal:


This was a reference they listed, but failed to link to:


I haven't the time today to wade into this ─ my afternoon has expired.

In fact, I am going to leave the topic of health by referring you to an article I enjoyed that told of just how nutritious a peach actually is. We eat them, but how many of us have an inkling of what benefits they are bringing to us ─ even a single peach?



I should add here something that the peach article failed to mention ─ peaches are the second most pesticide-tainted of the fruit and vegetables tested that the following article speaks about (note that the article was published on June 21, 2017):


Before I close now with a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster, I want to post this old photo that my mother Irene Dorosh probably took:

My mother and her husband Alex moved to a co-op apartment building in Newton ─ maybe in the latter 1980s. The apartment building was part of the Valley Village Housing Co-Operative whose address is given as 7122 138th Street.

The photo was taken from their balcony, looking out over some neighbouring townhomes.

They had moved there after selling their Kennedy Heights home to my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend of the time, Jean Cooper.

I have no intention of getting into any of that now, so I will instead offer the journal entry from 1976 when I was renting my basement housekeeping unit in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue, in New Westminster.

This Google map shows Ninth Street & Third Avenue.

I hadn't gotten to bed the night before until 1:10 a.m., although I was not partying or drinking.
SUNDAY, August 15, 1976

I got up about 8:15 a.m., 2 hours after my first serious awakening.

Bill came over this morning for a half hour after working the night; he might get in on the roast at Mark's.

I finished a letter begun yesterday to Ron.

I got a small nap during my unexpectedly extended wait for Mark; at the time of this writing it is well beyond 3:30 p.m. And to think yesterday he reckoned on eating around 2:00 p.m.! 

I entertained the likelihood that Mark went fishing, or else that after all his drinking last night he wasn't in the mood to run into town today for me or to bother with a fancy meal.

Thus it was that about 5:30 p.m., after my third hamburger, Bill came to say Mark phoned him to invite us both over for supper.

But I easily ate my share. 

Mark & Bill planned to go over to the States afterward; then Bruce phoned suggesting this very outing.

Bruce called back later ─ or rather, big red Al did, and tried to talk me into going, as did Bruce after him. I guess Larry was going too. But I remained behind to watch TV.

Wendy & Cathy dropped by for about 15 minutes.

I left for home at 10:00 p.m.; by the time I got to town, it was raining pretty good.

After crossing 6th St. all the lights everywhere around me went out for a couple minutes.

Bed at midnight. 
My younger brother Mark was living on Bentley Road in Whalley ─ he and his beautiful girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were renting a large house together. However, she and her two little girls had gone to Saskatchewan to visit the family home where Jeanette grew up.

I had gone over on foot to visit Mark late the afternoon before, but he was out. I let myself in, and he showed up around 6:00 p.m. drunk. And he soon enough passed out.

When he awoke, he wanted to go and visit the home of our maternal Aunt Nell Halverson, for there was almost always a weekend-long party happening in her large household.

I declined, remaining behind to watch some T.V. And then I walked and jogged back to my room in New Westminster.

Mark had suggested the roast feed for Sunday before he went to Nell's home, and he said that he'd come and pick me up.

While waiting for him on Sunday, I finished composing a letter to American pen-pal Ron Bain.

William Alan Gill was a very old friend of mine who was living in a bachelor suite he was renting, perhaps no more than four or so blocks from my room. Bill was employed with Royal City Foods, a cannery that no longer exists today, that was affiliated with Delnor Frozen Foods.

Apparently he stopped in to see me after working a graveyard shift, and was yet to get back to his room.

When he returned late that afternoon after probably getting some sleep that was interrupted by Mark's phone call, I had given up on the roast and was already eating.

I didn't have a phone, so Mark undoubtedly called Bill to invite him because Mark didn't feel like driving in to New Westminster to pick me up.

Well, I managed to eat more at Mark's home anyway.

However, afterwards, I was not interested in going to the States to hit any of the taverns just across the line (border) ─ the guys would probably have settled on Blaine, Washington. There were no liquor or beer sales anywhere in our part of B.C. back then, so drinkers who had nothing on hand either had to do without, or cross that line.

It was maternal cousin Bruce Halverson who phoned Mark with the same idea in mind. And later on, it was Al Stewart who did his best to convince me to go, too ─ I still remember that call.

'Big Al' was maybe six feet and four inches tall, and maybe anywhere from 240 pounds, I would expect. He was fair-skinned and freckling, with longish curly red hair ─ a true 'ginger.'

Larry Ernest Blue was also going. I think both Al and Larry boarded at Nell's home.

But I had my way and stayed home. The brief visit I had was from my young maternal niece Wendy Halverson and her gorgeous friend Cathy who was blonde, and often in very short cut-offs and halter tops ─ or shirts that were hitched up and tied to display her tight, trim belly.  

Cathy looked like a stereotypical precocious hillbilly girl.

I've no idea why the two would have dropped in ─ maybe Wendy didn't realize that Jeanette was away holidaying, and Mark had gone to her own mother's home.

And so for the second consecutive late evening I got to hoof it back to my room in New Westminster.

Monday, August 14, 2017

How Mindset Is Linked to Fitness

To my surprise, my younger brother Mark retained his full senses last evening after he was home from the bar just ahead of 7:00 p.m. He first fussed about with supper preparation and whatnot, and then essentially saw maybe the final quarter of The Originals that I had tuned in. 

Next up was Fear the Walking Dead ─ he watched it all. And then I brought in the season finale of Shades of Blue, and he watched that, too.

I tapered off our evening with an episode of Wrecked from the first season ─ we're working our way from the beginning for we had never heard of the series until I stumbled across it.

He went on up to his bedroom around 10:30 p.m., and I turned off the T.V. and repaired here to my computer to do a few things before also getting to my bedroom.

It may have been shortly after 11:00 p.m. once I was beneath the covers. I was irritated that I had to first go downstairs to micturate because one of my two stepsons ─ as so damned often happens ─ chose to usurp the upstairs bathroom just before I was ready to shut down my computer. 

My sleep overnight was fractured almost from the start. At 1:00 a.m. I was sufficiently awake that I decided to use the bathroom again...but guess what? Yet bloody again, one of my stepsons was housed in it!

This becomes infuriating; and I had to wrestle to subdue the emotion welling within me, else I would have scant hope of getting back to sleep.   

Sleep did come; and I awaited the morning when I rose for the day before making a visit to the toilet ─ that was well ahead of 7:00 a.m.

Initially I was practically convinced that my eldest stepson Tho had forsaken work, but I proved myself wrong. His younger brother Poté was still in bed, but he rose awhile after I was back upstairs with my day's first hot beverage and working on the foundation of a new post I am creating at my hosted website Lawless Spirit.

It was 7:39 a.m. when I heard him head out the front door to his car to drive himself to work.

I worked far longer constructing the basis for that post than I expected to. I took a pause around 10:30 a.m. to head on out to the backyard tool shed to have some exercise there ─ the whole session takes at least 20 minutes, and possibly nearer a half-hour. I have yet to think to time myself.

Once I was back in the house, I stripped down for a weigh-in: around 187 pounds (at a height of about five feet and 10¾ inches).

The morning had been quite cool due to a fair amount of cloud cover.

I am losing the Summer. Back in the Spring, I had voiced here that I would be undertaking long walks once school was over for the term and I would not have to contend with mobs of students everywhere during key parts of each weekday.  

But I've stuck with the work on my websites and this blog. That is how desperate I am to try and derive a second income online.

It's just not happening, though. It doesn't matter how many long hours a day I spend at my computer. Yet I know that if I just quit, then there is no chance I will find that missing success.

About the only thing that can save me from this thankless shackling to my computer is going to be an ample lottery win ─ that would finally free me if ever it does happen.

I am back to the fret about meeting the monthly mortgage payment, and I just hate having that concern added upon every other thing weighing upon me.

At least I did get out into the backyard to sit in a chair and face toward the Sun ─ I missed out yesterday. I only wore cut-offs despite some overcast sky, but only the first quarter or so of my 40 minutes had some almost uncomfortable chilly spells due to passing cloud. The Sun seemed to predominate after that, and it was most warm out there.

I started all of that off at 1:03 p.m.

After that I had my day's first meal; and then I got started on this post after going through the application process for another affiliate programme. 

I keep trying, but there is going to soon enough arrive the point where I just will be unable to bear this sorry retirement life any longer.

But time now for an old photo ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the scanned image saved.

This photo is probably from the decade of the 1970s, and was taken just outside the home that my mother and her husband Alex shared.

That little house no longer exists, but it figured large ─ for years it was my main mailing address.

The full address was 12106 - 90th Avenue in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey, B.C. (Canada).

I can only identify the man at the left holding the camera, and the woman in the centre standing behind the little girl. Respectively, they are Alex Dorosh and my mother Irene.

I have no idea who the couple and the children are.
I sure wish that I had a little place like that all to myself. It was sad to lose it.

For most of the 1970s ─ possibly up into 1977 sometime ─ I used to live in New Westminster and I would hike out to my mother's home about three times a week. It would take about 1½ hours, and after a visit, I would hike all the way back to town. 

Sure, I would be checking for my mail; but I also got to eat more liberally than I was usually able to do back at my room.

Now today, I hardly ever get out to walk anywhere ─ I only do it when I need to do some shopping. I don't drive, so I have always had to walk.

Well, somewhat strangely, a study claims to have results that indicate that people who believe they are more active than others around their age are longer-lived than are people who feel they are more inactive than their peers ─ even when the activity level of the two types of people is about the same.

This is quite interesting and has several nuances, so I am going to present several references to the study:






I don't quite square with the group I sort of feel like I belong to ─ that is, those who believe they are likely less active than their peers.

To truly belong to this group, my impression is that I would have to be disinclined towards strenuous activity, but that is not so.

What keeps me shut up in this house are two primary drivers: economic limitation, and social inhibition.

I am in thrall to my computer because I know of no other means of generating a second income at the age of 67. It is sheerest desperation.

Becoming re-employed is not feasible because, as I said, I do not drive. I would also need to live alone to be able to adjust my schedule to what is needed for a working life once again. 

Unfortunately, I retired from office work; and my vision ─ my eyes ─ have deteriorated so direly that I would practically require a new pair of eyes.

I have withdrawn since retiring. I do not enjoy being out in the public. And I was never one who was comfortable about engaging in any kind of exercise if other eyes were privy to what I was involved in.

That was when I was far fitter than average! Now, I would be like a novice was once. This is especially true of something like jogging ─ I used to be a hard runner, but now I cannot even jog. Not since having my left leg's quadriceps tendon rip entirely from my kneecap (patella) and requiring surgery to reattach it in November 2010.

My 'game' leg would need to relearn how to jog, let alone how to run. But this is not something I have the psychological makeup to do in the public eye.

Yet there is nowhere I can walk to and have the privacy I require.

I don't even care to be out just walking ─ miles of streets in every direction, people all over, and seemingly endless buildings. I could go outside right now and hike four square miles such that I ended up right back here at my home, and not once would I have been out of sight of building windows, let alone passengers in passing vehicles.

I hate this. Since I was in my early teens, I wanted to be far away from here in Surrey where I live, with just Nature stretching all about.

I worked towards finally retiring, barely surviving the stress, and then got married late in my working life to a Thai woman with two young sons. And even before I had retired, I was so deep in debt because of marrying that I couldn't see ever being free of it (and still be alive).

No, I don't feel physically active or fit, but I know that visually my physique looks muscular and belies my age. I also know that if I had all of the conditions ─ the privacy, some equipment, and the resources to afford a good diet ─ I would excel physically beyond my ability to describe.

Oh, heck ─ I am off on one of my infernal tangents. I am going to stop talking about this, and just close out this post with a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was renting a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The unit was in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I hadn't gotten to bed until 1:20 a.m. the night before ─ I had paid one of those visits to the home of my mother and Alex that evening to check for mail, so I had gotten back to my room rather late.
SATURDAY, August 14, 1976

Up a bit past 8:30 a.m.; I found a letter from dad in my box. In it, he explained that Orville tripped him Friday (Thurs?) with a cane out by Army & Navy, perhaps in fun. His left shoulder dislocated, and he spent till 1:30 a.m. in the Royal Columbian. Apparently from his elbow down he is nerveless, and is seeing a specialist.

Esther learned yesterday a part of her heart isn't functioning.

I'm leaving for Mark's about 3:00 p.m. (William Shatner is on Outer Limits at 4:00 p.m.).

To be brief, Mark had apparently last night after work gone with a fellow employee (Gary) fishing at our Fraser Canyon spots; he came in after 6:00 p.m., drunk. He said he'd caught and already eaten a trout. The lad fell asleep in a chair.

When he revived, we decided to have a roast tomorrow; he's to pick me up.

I didn't wish to go, so about 9:00 p.m. he left alone for Nell's.

I left for home at 11:00 p.m., jogging most of the way. 

Then I proceeded to overeat.

Bed at 1:10 a.m.
My father seemed to wear a sling after that incident for many months, and his arm never did become as functional as it had been. 

Not quite 6½ years later, he would be dead from a heart attack in Vancouver's Kingsgate Mall.

Esther St. Jean was the driver of the pick-up truck I was swamping on through a three-month employment contract with a New Westminster charitable organization. 

Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were renting a home together on Bentley Road in Whalley. Jeanette was away visiting her family in her Saskatchewan hometown.  

I must not have known that Mark was not home. I knew where a spare key was, so I would have just let myself into the house and watched T.V.

It would have been after Mark showed up early that evening that I learned where he had been since the night before.

After he passed out and then regained consciousness, he wanted to go and visit our maternal relatives the Halversons elsewhere in Surrey ─ Nell Halverson's home was 'party central' from Friday until as long into Sunday as the drink would last (there were no Sunday liquor sales around here back then). And that party scene was just about every weekend.  

I opted out, and he was evidently steadfast about paying the visit, so I was again alone to watch T,.V. by myself until I finally left to return to my room late that evening.

Well, it is 5:58 p.m., and my wife Jack had just shown up from Vancouver. so I shall officially stop blogging.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Health Worrying Seems Tied to Longevity: Study

Last evening's movie entertainment merited two cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer. I normally only have one per evening ─ not for health reasons, but simply because I no longer can afford more than that on a regular basis.

The movie was The Great Wall. I watched it without having any idea that the main male character was Matt Damon. I didn't realize that until I watched the closing credits so I could learn who the beautiful young female lead was ─ Jing Tian.

This is the sort of movie that rouses within me 'he who I once aspired to be' ─ a heroic figure who never got to be born, but has never been entirely forgotten.

I was actually in tears at times, so inspired, yet so filled with despair at the loss of what I might have been, nor ever likely will be with youth so distantly behind me.

Certainly the beer had something to do with the released emotion. but it really only helped to ease open those floodgates.

If you know nothing of this movie, these are two official trailers for it:

It beats me why it never got higher ratings than it did. I even read that it may have lost money.

It must not have been everyone's'cup of tea,' but it certainly was mine. In fact, I will watch it again in the near future when I introduce it to a soberer version of my brother Mark than I usually see in the evenings.

Anyway, I believe that I was in bed well before 11:00 p.m.

Initially sleep was cooperative, but I did rise around 1:45 a.m. and used the bathroom ─ one or both of my stepsons had lights on downstairs, so not all in the household had yet gone to bed for the night.

My day commenced  just before 6:20 a.m.

I was determined to finish and publish the post I have been working on for over a week at my hosted website Amatsu Okiya, but I certainly didn't expect it to take me into the noon-hour as it did.

I never took a break to try and get in some exercise in the backyard tool shed before my brother Mark got home from spending the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev; he showed up at 9:20 a.m. ─ perhaps a little earlier than is usual, so that bore some blame.

The post, incidentally, is Geisha Yelp Ⅱ.

Mark took a nap during the latter morning whilst I laboured, and he was back up again before I was done. In fact, he even headed away for the afternoon just ahead of noon ─ that ought to give him loads of time to swill away the beer so that he can be unconscious throughout most of the evening's television programming that I'll be tuning into in the living room later today.

We had some rain overnight, and the day has been a mix of heavy cloud and sunshine. After Mark left, I ventured out to the backyard tool shed and performed about half of my usual exercise session. I wasn't affected by heat or mugginess ─ I just felt like I didn't have the time any longer.

Next up was my day's first meal. And by the time I was done with that and a little time-wasting with some videos, I had left myself no time at all to spend sitting outside. I probably would have needed to not only wear a top, but maybe even a jacket; but since I did not essay that daytime exposure, I cannot say for sure.

I feel like I have lost the day, and there is a touch of anguish for that.

I want to post this old photo ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scan saved:

I would estimate that this photo was likely taken during the decade of the 1970s.

This would appear to be Alex Dorosh, my mother Irene's husband.

I have no idea where the photo was taken ─ it is unfortunate that the full name of that tour outfit was not displayed, for that would have been a perfect clue to figuring out where this was.

"...OR ᴀɴᴅ OCEAN ᴛᴏᴜʀs"

I cannot imagine ─ the only words I can think of to partner with 'ocean' would be 'land' or 'air,' but they do not end in the letters 'or.'
I may mention Alex in my closing old journal entry ─ I haven't looked ahead to see.

Now moving on to a different topic, I have been interested in things like health and nutrition since I was in my teens ─ I even started reading about and taking multivitamin/mineral tablets back then, although I knew nothing about differences between synthetic and natural supplements.

But it was better than not taking any at all ─ my diet was often very poor due to economic limitations. Heck, I remember once eating nothing but white bread with margarine and white sugar for a couple of days because I had nothing else ─ except those synthetic vitamin / mineral tablets.

I was maybe 19 or 20 years old at the time. Other meals consisted of ice cream in place of the white sugar ─ that was deemed to be a huge step up.

I'm 67 years old now, so I have spent many years being fairly concerned and interested in my health, fitness, and nutrition.

The study being reported upon by the following three articles most definitely makes sense to me:




Now, I may not achieve the age of 70, but it is unlikely to be due to succumbing from ill physical health.

My brother Mark sometimes gets home from the bar fairly early Sunday evenings, so I am going to close off here with that 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 in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had to have been over halfway through a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I was working as a swamper on their blue pick-up truck, a vehicle generally driven by Esther St. Jean, a sweetheart in her early 40s. 

I had some past experience with S.A.N.E. working part-time on occasion that might have stretched back as much as 1½ years.

S.A.N.E.'s original location (referred to by us familiarly as 'the store') on Carnarvon Street is long gone, but it was situated approximately where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station property now stretches out to Carnarvon.  
FRIDAY, August 13, 1976

I slept well, but didn't think I slept long, glancing at the clock before 5:30 a.m. and not being able to get asleep again (it was, strangely, almost 7:00 a.m. when I got up, so I must have slept).

I'd had an unsettling dream in which I went to Art's with a large group. Angie tried her old tricks, to my disgust. Anyway, the affair broke up, but somehow Mark & Cathy alienated each other, and he surreptitiously began exchanging kisses with Angie while in vengeance Cathy did the same with Art. Everyone was drunk. But neither could forgive the other, and the dream ended with me in the middle regarding Angie as a foul tramp (she looked awfully dissipated), unable to patch up the forever shattered relationship of Mark & Cathy.

It is raining this morning.

That's the only time of day I laboured. 

Well after 1:00 p.m. Took showed up for about 45 minutes.

I could have gone home at 4:45 p.m., but had to wait for my toque; Esther, Melody and nutty Peter went to UBC for a tent and stuff, with my toque also aboard. But they didn't return till late. I left Peter haranguing me for not helping unload the truck; he'd filled it with pure garbage! Sticks, various lengths of board, rags, filthy, tattered bundles of plastic, etc. Hell, we take better stuff to the dump. Let the screwball handle his own filth.

I got home in the rain nigh 6:30 p.m. as it was!

I received my diminished cheque today, $125, but didn't cash it.

I'm leaving for mom's at 7:00 p.m.

I didn't get too wet going there or returning.

I indulged on Japanese plums, then the 2 cups of tea with cookies and cake. 

But no mail.

I took the bones for Daboda Mark seldom gets (I plan to visit there tomorrow).

Coming home I reflected on my abandonment of the load of junk on the S.A.N.E. truck. Nor Esther nor Verna reacted adversely when I announced my departure, but before I got out of sight they & Melody joined Peter in his calumny; it tonight occurred they may have been calling for my assistance in carrying the huge tent.

At home I mixed up bread, finishing off last week's with much butter and peanut butter.

Bed about 1:20 a.m.

Rude people in cars on the bridge, with their honking, hollering, and cursing at me for shock effect, fill me so with hate, I could fire a gun at them as they whizz off. 
The dream involved Art Smith and his wife Angelina (Angie), and my younger brother Mark and his beautiful girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

I can't recall that the two couples actually ever met.

Art had been a co-worker of mine at S.A.N.E. when I was a part-timer. He was in his early 40s, and loved to drink. Angie was in her early 30s, and openly sweet on me ─ too much, though. She took risks, and made me quite uncomfortable sometimes.

I seem to have been hard on her in the dream where her appearance was concerned.

"Took" was probably supposed to have worked that day, but he often got carried away drinking. He was a middle-aged Aboriginal Canadian. I liked the guy, but he was a money-borrower who had considerable difficulty paying back his debt.

Melody was Esther's daughter, and was around 17 years old. Verna seemed to manage S.A.N.E.

Peter was an older Eastern European ─ maybe Yugoslavian ─ who hardly ever seemed to wear a buttoned shirt, and was usually in cut-offs. He was deeply tanned, and looked quite muscular because he was one of those rare individuals who seemed not to have any surface body fat.

He was also a hoarder, and roomed in what was essentially a dive of sorts. His room was chock-full of all manner of odds and ends he would find and bring home ─ if there were pieces of wood lying somewhere, he would pick them up and take them.

He did have some carpentry skills, but he was very peculiar.

When I got my toque and left him, Esther, Melody, and Verna to deal with the load, I mustn't have remembered that there were a few legitimate items aboard the truck ─ it wasn't all his junk which I am sure Esther did not dare to deny him to load and bring back to New Westminster.

So returning to my New Westminster room from my mother's home in the evening, it must have dawned upon me that I had indeed neglected to lend a truly helping hand to the ladies ─ I could still have walked off on nutty Peter after helping the ladies out.

And so I suspected that the ladies may have been 'mean-mouthing' me amongst themselves as I had walked away, but at the time I didn't notice it.

Anyway, I went to my mother's home that evening because hers was my main mailing address off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The hike to get there was 1½ hours at a goodly pace.

The lovely home she and her husband Alex shared no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

I generally visited there two or three times a week.

But this time I had no mail to pick up. I didn't have a phone at my room, so I wouldn't have called ahead to check.   

My mother and Alex used to save bones and related leftovers for Mark's German shepherd Daboda, but whenever Mark and / or Jeanette were over for a visit, it was only rarely that anyone thought about the accumulating 'dog food' sitting in the freezer. 

I hated the walk over the Pattullo Bridge due to how fast traffic flowed. There was no protection from it ─ the sidewalk was right alongside the bridge roadway.

One major curve was especially unnerving, for huge trucks and cars would be flying along and seemingly coming directly toward the pedestrian ─ and at night, headlights would be blinding.

And then there would be the jerks who always had to do their best to shout out at the isolated pedestrian on the bridge, doing their best to badly scare the walker.