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Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Latest Research on Hart Health and Omega-3 Fatty Acids │ Boycott Products Containing Food Additive BHT (Butylated Hydroxytoluene)

My wife Jack had spent yesterday working at the restaurant of one of her first employer's to hire her some months after Jack first arrived in Canada in May 2006 ─ the restaurant is over in the Guildford area.

I think she was home very soon after 9:30 p.m.

My younger brother Mark had come home from the bar earlier in the evening, stupidly forgetting that he only had one can of beer here in the house.

And so he requested a half-dozen loan from me. I didn't especially mind, for I had the surplus to make the loan. However, his regular brand is 5.5% alcohol, whereas mine are 8%. 

And since he is generally already well greased once he is home in the evening, he sure doesn't need this supercharging.

He only had two of the stronger beers over the evening, but that was because he wavered in and our of consciousness. To be able to 'sleep' through much of an episode of The Strain requires considerable detachment from awareness. 

And it was much the same with the succeeding episode of The Sinner. He rallied during the latter portion of that show, however.

He went on up to his bedroom reasonably around 10:30 p.m., since he would have to be getting up early this morning for work.

I found Jack to be in quite a good mood, overall. She just about always remains up longer than I care to do, so the point came when I had to affectionately bid her a good-night, to which she allowed that she would soon also be getting to bed. She had some cooking she was involved with and wanted to finish.

It was around 11:44 p.m. when I was in bed, earplugs and blindfold in place. But I was not at ease enough to fall asleep. I think I was bordering upon sleep once, but that may have been when Jack at last came to bed ─ about an hour after I had.

And then I had to go through the lengthy process all over again of working my way towards blessed slumber.

I remember checking the time this morning around 5:37 a.m., but that was too early to be getting up. I got back to sleep and never made another check until 7:02 a.m. ─ my morning was beckoning, even if I did feel underslept.

I was soon at work adding content to the post I am building at my hosted website Lawless Spirit. I put in about 60% of today's assignment, and then had to knock off and go and lie in my brother Mark's bed, covering myself with a comforter.

The day was rather rainy. It had probably rained all night, for Mark had drawn my attention to its presence last evening after he got home. 

It was to rain ─ on and off ─ all day today.

I must have dropped into a nap, for I drooled somewhat. I heard my youngest stepson Poté come upstairs to shower after he got up. And when I heard Jack emerge from our bedroom and take her turn, I got up and betook myself downstairs.

Jack was expected to put in another day at Jau's restaurant, so she was readying herself for that. The restaurant ─ Sabai Thai ─ was to open at 11:00 a.m., so it was shortly after 10:30 a.m. that I saw her off on her drive. We live in the Whalley area of Surrey.

Poté was to leave soon afterward to drive himself to work. He is employed by a sports shop in the Guildford Town Centre, so the two could actually have shared a ride. However, he would be finishing work a few hours ahead of his mother ─ the restaurant has 9:30 p.m. as its scheduled closure this evening.

With the house finally to myself, I got back to work on the Lawless Spirit post and finished today's assigned content supply.

And then around the onset of the noon-hour, I was out in the backyard shed seeking a full session of exercise. This I did have, but I was weaker on the pull-ups than I was happy about.

I had been uncomfortably chilly in the house over the late morning, but the exercise probably jacked up my metabolism, and I was not similarly affected thereafter.

I was so eager to enjoy Jack's cooking from last night that I neglected to weigh myself as I had intended to do. There is never any sense to do so after having eaten ─ it is a reading of consequence to me only when it is done on an empty stomach.

Once I had eaten, it was a serious nap-time; and so I returned to my own bed and was probably down for about 65 minutes. I slept, so clearly I did require it.

One reason for the nap was to bolster myself ─ my vision, especially ─ to change the washers within the bathtub taps.    

The cold water was draining steadily. The hot and cold water share the one faucet, but that didn't mean that the hot water washer was not also worn down.

I only attempted this task once before ─ maybe six or eight months ago, if not longer. It was my very first time, so I was 100% unfamiliar with the workings of the taps.

As I recall, the flustering job took me about three hours. I had taken apart just about everything that would come apart because I had no idea what the washers were or looked like; and then when at last I figured out what the darned things were and got the one replaced that required it, I forgot how the various parts of the taps were supposed to be reassembled. 

Consequently, I was possessed of some considerable trepidation over this task.

But I easily replaced both washers in maybe 15 minutes once I successfully got the water into the house turned off, and rounded up the proper tools for the job.

This gave my confidence a wonderful boost, I must say. Nevertheless, since I realize that I am not by any means a handyman, I wish to heck that I was a least a handsome man.

It's awful not being either....

I have just wasted a lot of time trying to get a photo straightened online, and had to lose some of the display because of drastic cropping of the left and bottom borders of the photo.

This is the image, and the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the image now filed:

The original photo was taken around 1975, and is glued into a photo album.

I do not have a functioning scanner, so I used my iPhone 5 to photograph that old image.

The girl at the right is my older maternal half-sister Phyllis's daughter Sherry.

The girl at the left is Michelle Lee Gunther, the eldest daughter of Catherine 'Jeanette' Gunther, who was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend for several years back then. 
Okay, a different topic now ─ fish oil supplementation.

I take two 200-milligram good-quality fish oil capsules daily ─ one with both meals that I usually have each day.

The current container of capsules I am using is supposed to be 100% wild Alaskan Salmon fish oil. Farmed salmon is garbage from any perspective at which it is examined, including its weak oil content.

As far as I know, I have no heart issues at the age of 67, and have never in my life taken a statin medication ─ hell, I would refuse if a doctor ever prescribed any!

If I did have heart trouble, then I would increase my fish oil supplementation to five capsules a day ─ that is, to a gram's worth.

And this is why ─ the latest research:


The article referenced the following source, but never linked to it, so I will:


Of course, that reference only speaks of the recently published study, and thus does not mention those other benefits the first article is lavish about reporting.

That same reporting source also had a piece on a manufactured food additive that I have seen listed on the labels of different products for a few decades now ─ in fact, the additive was one of the first that I was able to memorize: butylated hydroxytoluene (BHT).  

I don't buy packaged (or manufactured) foods anymore, but if I did, I would NEVER buy anything containing BHT after reading this latest research on it ─ you shouldn't buy anything containing it, either: 


Please check out that report ─ BHT has far worse effects than potentially causing a person to eat more.

If the bread you buy ─ or anything else you buy in a box, for instance, such as cereal ─ contains BHT, then just do not buy the damaging product.

It was never added by the food manufacturers for your benefit ─ only for their own commercial benefit. It is not in any fashion related to a food component, and has no damned business being in our diets.

Don't perpetuate and support its use by buying 'food' containing it. 

Food manufacturers have to stop pumping us full of chemical additives that should never, ever be entering our bodies; just because these substances allow them to make short-cuts in the production of their products, or extend their products' shelf lives, or whatever the other reasons may be for the use of all of these enormous numbers of chemicals, we oughtn't to be victims to the food manufacturers' greed for profits. 

By the way, this was the reference that was given for that report:


I am going to close today's post with this old 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 was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and probably two houses up from Third Avenue.

The day was a Sunday. My previous journal entry ended short on the previous Friday afternoon with no explanation, and this Sunday journal entry was the next to show in my journal ─ as yet, I have not read it, and will be doing so for the first time as I type it out.

I was newly in love with 20-year-old Melody St. Jean. A week before, she had introduced my old friend William Alan Gill ─ who had an apartment about four or so blocks from my room ─ to her friend Cindy.

I suspect that Bill may have suddenly showed up at my room on the Friday afternoon with news about plans the two gals had for us, and I was left with no opportunity to make a report at the time in my journal.

Bill had a working telephone and a car, whereas I did not. Also, he was working, whereas I was unemployed.

We shall now find out what had taken place over the weekend.
SUNDAY, September 19, 1976

It's nearing 11:45 p.m., and I got Melody home late.

My weekend was full.

I spent a great deal of money, and lent Bill so much I can only list $35 as absolute minimum.

Cindy is really taking him, but he claims to love her; he conducted himself like a child at Nell's while she played hot to trot. 

We four spent the entire week-end there.

I am no more a virgin; Melody persuaded me to fulfill our loveplay while in Nell's bed Saturday night; and I had my second taste here tonight (Duck drove us home; Bill & Cindy were supping with Cathy).

Mark & Cathy both met Melody, and others to show at Nell's included the Vargas, big Gary, and big Allan...and Spud. 

I can't continue like this; it's too expensive. Fortunately, Melody is quite content merely to stay here with me and not go out.

I gave her mom's phone number, so she may call  me there tomorrow about 1:30 p.m.

I hope to have a quiet week and not see her till Friday.

We are definitely serious about one another; but I don't think I'm any longer addicted to her, though this may change once I've recuperated.

I don't see how she can work early tomorrow, we're both so run down. 

I shall be midnight abed, and sleep well.  
I did not exactly expect all of that!

My maternal Aunt Nell Halverson was then living on 60th Avenue in Surrey, and just about always had a huge household. Generally, each weekend could be expected to be non-stop 'party time' for the whole period. People would drink and sleep in shifts, it seemed.

I had previous intimate relations with my very first girlfriend back in 1970, but I never allowed myself to 'release' ─ I was far too prudish, and afraid of impregnation. 

Melody was now my second girlfriend, and managed to overcome my inhibitions.

My Aunt Nell must have given up her bed to us at one point when she was still going strong in party mode.

The folks I mentioned as turning up at Nell's home to party were Al & Marie Varga, who had an apartment in New Westminster; Gary Iverson (I am uncertain of the spelling); Al Stewart; and Spud, a chap my brother Mark and I still sometimes bump into here in Whalley.

Duck (Don Fraser) obviously had to have been there at some point, too, if he drove Melody and I to my room in New Westminster. He had a room in New Westminster himself.

My friend Bill had taken Cindy to have supper with my brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together that was located on Bentley Road in Whalley. I expect that Mark had probably gone to work ─ he had a job in a plywood or lumber mill, and worked various shifts.

Poor Melody had a new job working in some manner of care facility that may have been in behind the Royal Columbian Hospital ─ she was part of its live-in staff, and was just about to start her third week there.

Reading about her in these journal entries is rekindling a wee element of the old affection that I once felt so powerfully for her. Whatever was to come, she must have initially honestly felt that she loved me.

Monday, September 18, 2017

Probably Coming Our Way ─ A Hyper-Virulent, Very Contagious and Deadly, Pneumonia Bacteria

My younger brother Mark was in one of his threatening aspects last evening after he had come home from the bar and he and I had gathered to watch an evening's worth of T.V.

He revealed that the cartage company he is self-employed with is giving up its warehouse lease on its property somewhere on (I think) Annacis Island, and have eyes on a warehouse over in Port Moody.  

We live in the Whalley area of Surrey. I have no idea where Mark keep his cargo truck parked.

The lease is due to expire next June, so the cartage company will have to have locked up something before that and moved in.

But Mark says that he will not continue working if the company relocates to Port Moody ─ he will not endure the New Westminster 'bottleneck' traffic conditions.

So he will retire once he is confronted with changing warehouse locations. He is already 65.

And then, he said ominously, we will be soon selling our home. He has no intention of putting up with the mortgage and other expenses that it costs to retain the house.

When he is plastered like this, there is no sense wasting one's breath trying to have a discussion with the alcohol-soaked mind that pronounces his verdicts and reasonings.

So I just sat silently.

He is the majority homeowner in our partnership, for he made a $40,000 down payment on the house back in 2002 when we first threw in together.

I was not to go to Thailand for the first time until the following year, so I had never met Jack yet ─ she who was to become my wife in 2005.

If we sell, then he is on his own. I will not have anything to do with him ─ I will not spend any more of my life with the complaining, aggressive drunk that so often shows up in the evening when he gets home from the bar.

But neither will I proceed to perpetuate living with my two stepsons in some apartment, and I know that their mother will not want to live apart from them.

So I will be on my own. My marriage will be practically over.

And so will my life. I don't drive, so I won't be able to take much with me wherever it is that I go. Existence will be pretty bleak. I certainly will not be carting along a big computer, so my online activities will come to a close.

I do not even want to be around here ─ I have wanted to live far from Surrey ever since I was maybe 14 years old back in 1964.

As far as I am concerned, my life will have been a failed experiment that is better ended, and not dragged on and on.

The first show I tuned in last evening was an episode of Midnight, Texas. Mark was passed out within five minutes.

He revived fairly early into the following show, an episode of Shooter. But he paid it scant heed, soon busying himself preparing a supper. This involvement of his attention also kept him from following the early part of the third and final show I tuned in, an episode of The Last Ship.

Whatever limited conversation we had only related to commentary he had concerning events in that last show.

After he headed on upstairs to his bedroom for the night, I delayed my own bedtime, sitting here at my computer doing a couple of things.

By the time I was in bed, it was 11:22 p.m.

I had my breaks in sleep overnight, but never felt bothered enough to check the time until 5:37 a.m. Mark would already have left for work, and my eldest stepson Tho would soon be rising to ready for work.

I rolled over onto my front and tried for some further sleep.

The next time I looked at the time, it was 7:01 a.m., so I rose for the day.

I worked on today's assigned content-building at the post I am constructing at my hosted website Lawless Spirit. However, I knocked off mid-morning to write out a cheque for a bill due on the 21st, and then I began getting ready for the hike to mail it at Surrey Place (Central City).

Meanwhile, I kept wondering when my youngest stepson Poté would be getting up for work ─ would I be out of here before he had?

My ultimate destination was to be the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard about two miles away, so Surrey Place (Central City) was only the halfway point, virtually.

Just as I was ready to leave, I discovered that my cellphone was dead, so I would not be taking it with me. I would miss it a little, but only as a timepiece and camera ─ I was taking a camera with me regardless, so it was not being able to keep tabs on the time that was somewhat sacrificial.

The day was a blend of heavy clouds and patches of blue with occasional sunny spells.

There was nothing of note to report about my trek ─ other than the fact that when I stepped outside of the house to embark on it, I discovered with surprise that Poté's car was not here. He was not at home and in bed after all.

He was not home last night when I went to bed, so maybe he never slept here at all. Or if he did, perhaps he had to leave before 7:00 a.m. for work, and so I had just missed knowing about it.

I left on my four-mile round-trip hike around 9:50 a.m., and was back home just over 1½ hours later. I took my time walking in order to benefit from as much sunshine on my skin as possible.

I only bought a dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer. I had considered something extra to drink while I was out there just to extend my time in the day; but then I recalled that I still had half the day's assigned work on the Lawless Spirit post ahead of me, and so I deferred to that nobler responsibility.

And once I was back home, I did apply myself until that assignment was discharged, even though it took me deep into the noon-hour.

At some point today, my wife Jack is supposed to pay a visit here to home and probably spend the night.

When she was last here ─ was it Tuesday last week that I saw her off on her return drive to Vancouver where she mostly works and stays? ─ she said that she had promised Thai restaurant-owner Jau that she would work for Jau today and tomorrow at Jau's restaurant over in the Guildford area.

So if that is indeed happening, then Jack may only work the first part of the day and show up here late in the afternoon or early in the evening; or else Jack will work late and thus get home late in the evening.

And son of a gun! Just as I finished typing the preceding, she phoned me to have me take out two packages of meat from the fridge icebox (or freezer).

She sounded like she had just gotten up, so I asked her if she was to be working with Jau today. Well, it turned out that she was already doing so, and had just finished lying down during a break. She must have slipped into a nap, poor thing.

I think the restaurant closes during the afternoon from 2:30 p.m. till 4:30 p.m.

My expectation is that she will now work the latter part of the day, for the place may close this evening at 9:30 p.m., and so she should not be arriving here at home until after that.

But back to my day.

Once I was finished working on the Lawless Spirit post, I decided to sit outside for awhile and see if I could resurrect sufficient vigour to do the pull-ups portion of the exercises I often undertake in the backyard tool shed.

It worked, and as a result I did get in some challenging exercise. That outing earlier was not worthy of being all that I would apply myself to this day.

But so much for my day at 4:46 p.m. as I type these words.

What do you know about pneumonia?

I think healthy people who have never suffered a bout of pneumonia tend to think that it's only a threat to the very young, the very old, or those already sick.

Well, whether or not that has ever been true, there is a new antibiotic-resistant pneumonia threat that can not only infect healthy people, but it is even so contagious that it can spread and infect entire communities.

I think it has only been identified in China thus far, but Western experts anticipate it is likely to spread worldwide.


The prevention suggestions given in the following report are hardly going to be followed ─ the general population never concerns itself until the threat is already affecting their lives:


Here are a couple of descriptions being used to describe this new type of bacteria:
Defining clinical features are the ability to cause serious, life-threatening community-acquired infection in younger healthy hosts....
Despite infecting a healthier population, significant morbidity and mortality occurs.
What the hell are we doing to ourselves, throwing antibiotics all over the damned place until hardly any are effective anymore!

This new bacteria not only causes deadly pneumonia, but liver abscesses, meningitis, and even something called endophthalmitis ─ can you imagine the interior of your eye becoming inflamed?

This can lead not only to blindness, but even the loss of the entire eye itself.

But these are not the only types of infections this bacteria makes us prey for: "Nearly every site in the body has been infected with hvKP."

That's "hypervirulent Klebsiella pneumoniae" (hvKP). It's a bit of a struggle to digest, but you can read more about that accursed bug here:


I usually close with an old journal entry of mine from exactly 41 years ago, but that date was on a Saturday, and it seems that I had an unexpected visitor the afternoon before and was taken away; not only did I not finish Friday's journal entry, but I wrote nothing at all on the Saturday ─ so I must not have been back to my room at all until Sunday.

I won't know until I read the journal entry for Sunday, but I refuse to do that until tomorrow ─ I do not read ahead in my journal, for I enjoy the daily surprises I sometimes find that I recorded so long ago.

So instead of an old journal entry, I will post the following photo from that era ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the image stored:

This old image from my younger brother Mark's collection would have been taken sometime around 1975.

I believe that the young lass was Cathy or Kathy, a friend of Mark's girlfriend of the time.

I recall the young man, but no longer remember his name.

Anyway, Mark's girlfriend ─ Catherine 'Jeanette' Gunther ─ and the Cathy in the photo may have become friends when they worked together at what was then the Scott Paper plant in New Westminster, B.C.

I have no idea where this photo was taken, but I suspect that it was Jeanette who was the photographer.

Note that I actually photographed the original photo from within the old photo album in which it is still glued. I took the iPhone photo on September 13 (2017) with my iPhone 5.
The old Scott Paper Limited plant was sold to Kruger Inc and became a Kruger Products plant. That was to happen possibly as far back as 1995.

Sunday, September 17, 2017

"Sad Movies Always Make Me Cry"

Last evening was worth two cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer, thanks to my involvement in a movie titled Me Before You.

Almost as soon as I saw the lead actress (Emilia Clarke), I knew that I was going to enjoy watching her and the movie.

I didn't think that I had ever seen her before, but I am quite sure that I did once watch Terminator Genisys, so I would have had to have seen her there. I just cannot now conceptualize her as having the role of Sarah Connor.

I love how she can make her eyebrows arch up together in the middle of her forehead.

I must say, I did not expect the lead male character was really going to make the ultimate choice that he did. And having struggled over most of my life with depression and thoughts of suicide as I still do, I found myself identifying so strongly with the guy that by the end of the movie I was shedding heavy tears at that sympathetic identification.

It actually made me certain that I, too, was likely ultimately going to choose to die and not be dissuaded; but of course I would not have the 'beautiful death' given this chap in the film.

But what a most lovely young woman is actress Emilia Clarke! If she is anything at all like the character she played, she would be irresistible.

I think that it was just after midnight when I was at last to bed. And although I had some periods of wakefulness overnight, I was never sufficiently awake so as to be tempted to check the time.

When I finally did take a look, it was somewhere around 7:30 a.m., so I rose for the day.

And very soon I was at work adding content to the post I am constructing at my hosted website Lawless Spirit.

My younger brother Mark was home from overnighting at his girlfriend Bev's before I felt like taking any exercise out in the backyard tool shed, so I never did get a full session out there. All I did were the pull-up exercises after I was finished today's assigned work on the Lawless Spirit post.

The morning was overcast; and before 2:00 p.m., I think it had lightly begun to rain ─ we need it.

Mark took off again for the afternoon quite early into the noon-hour, but not before he put in some front yard work late in the morning sweeping up tiny leaves fallen from the tree by the mouth of our driveway.

I noticed that my youngest stepson Poté was out there helping with the sweeping, so I decided to take a few snapshots through our living room window.

I happened to choose when a neighbour woman was coming over the engage Mark in conversation:

I even decided to record some video footage, since it is rare there is this sort of cooperative interaction between Mark and Poté ─ the clip is a mere 75 seconds:

With the weather what it has become today, I am unable to benefit from any sunshine, so I certainly will not be spending 40 minutes sitting out in the backyard trying to maintain my Summer colour.

...I typed that previous paragraph with the intention that it was to be a prelude to my notification that I was about to break off from this blog post to head out on the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley

But I had a cheque to write out for a payment due on the 21st that I wanted to mail. With that in mind, I went downstairs to the dining table; and then I was almost immediately addressed by my eldest stepson Tho who was curious to discuss matters relating to the value of the house, and some associated topics.

He must have engaged me for over an hour ─ maybe more like 1½ hours.

At least it was illuminating, for I got my chance to educate him somewhat about certain finance-related issues; and I also learned something of his thinking concerning his immediate goals for the next few years.

That brought me to nearly 4:30 p.m. ─ much too late to be hiking off anywhere like I had thought to do.

I also noticed that it had at times rained quite hard out there.

I am glad overall of the chat Tho and I had. I think he now has a broader appreciation of the financial realities associated with the house, with Mark and I, and with his own mother. 

Mark ─ who is a $40,000 down payment over being half-owner of our house ─ has always maintained that we would have to sell the place after he retired because he would not be able to be paying half of the major house-related expenses like he is doing.

The annual property taxes have become especially impossible.

Mark's thinking has always been that he would move away and live somewhere far from here where things like rents are very inexpensive ─ some small community that might even be in the States, perhaps, if not even Latin America.

But Mark is 65 now. I think that he realizes that if he were to be moving far off like that, he would find himself quite alone. He would have left behind all of the drinking friends he has spent years cultivating, and with whom he is so comfortable. 

Yes, he would be alone. He must surely be feeling that he has grown too old to be doing anything as pioneering as this.

My wife Jack thinks we all might be able to buy out Mark, but that is utterly unrealistic. As I think I successfully explained to Tho, our best option once Mark retires is to make retaining the house ─ and to make the prospect of Mark remaining a tenant ─ as attractive as possible by drastically reducing his financial involvement in expenses that he is now outlaying 50% of the coverage for.

For now, we can but wait until Mark announces just when he is finally going to retire. I think he is delaying retiring because he is afraid of trying to live on a pension. He does not have a company pension ─ as a self-employed owner-driver of a large cargo truck that he uses to make pickups and deliveries throughout each working day for a cargo company, he has been putting money into his own retirement savings plan over the years.

He had always thought that selling the house would heftily pad out that nest egg ─ and I guess it would. But if he hasn't the heart to venture off to start a new life somewhere else ─ in Canada, the U.S., or the vast World beyond ─ then why sell and just end up renting an apartment or room somewhere hereabouts?

Especially if his financial involvement in home costs here is reduced dramatically? 

All we can do for now is wait and see just what it is that he's really got in mind.

The afternoon is wearing away, so I am going to bring this post to a close 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 was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

My thoughts and emotions were being dominated by 20-year-old Melody St. Jean, a young woman I had known for nigh on three years, but who had only just recently succeeded in igniting my interest in her after having her several earlier overtures deftly deflected by me. 

I knew that I was in no position to be involved with anybody ─ I was unemployed with no job prospects or skills; I was a high school drop-out; I did not drive; and all I had was crammed into my room and only of interest to someone like myself.

I never even had a working telephone.

Yet I now found myself in love, and Melody was nurturing that love by proclaiming to feel the same about me.

Since I had only ever had a girlfriend once before ─ back in 1970 ─ Melody was far too heady for me to resist.  
FRIDAY, September 17, 1976

Up about 7:10 a.m.

I'll mail for a Western Canada Lottery ticket each for Cathy & me from Winnipeg and North Van's Canadian Big 4 Amateur Football League respectively.

It's just after 10:00 a.m. that I m leaving this foggy morn for Burnaby Lake for exercise and 3 hours of sunning.

I've revised that; it's cloudy, not sunny, so I'm going for a walk instead.

I walked out and around dad's place, then bought flour & bran (total of $1.28) at Woodward's

It is now 1:10 p.m. and the sky is still clouded. I'm going to nap.

I was abed a mere hour & 10 minutes, so I can't lay claim to much sleep.
And there the entry ends, with the next entry listed as belonging to Sunday. Something obviously came up unexpectedly that prevented me for writing anything further that Friday, or for all of Saturday.

My brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther was having a birthday in just a few days. Lottery tickets back then had to be mail-ordered. I had a few sources, so I would spread my orders around to try and get the widest variety possible in ticket numbers.  
I wrote about planning on going to Burnaby Lake to sun because I had no idea what the weather was like outside. I would have to open my door and step out to see. I did have one window, but it was blanketed over to keep daylight out, and to block my own room's light from betraying whether or not I was likely home ─ I was leery of visitors, and only cared to have a handful of souls ever visit me.

After making my way home from the alternate outing to the area where my father Hector was living, Woodward's was conveniently located on Sixth Avenue in the building complex where today the Royal City Centre Mall is.  

I am tempted to read ahead to see what befell to truncate that day's journal entry and suspend anything more until two days later. However, I enjoy reliving these old journal entries day by day, so I will hold off and wait.

By the way, when I checked my AdSense account just before commencing today's blog post, I was pleased to discover that yesterday I somehow accumulated 37¢ in my balance. When I had last checked it late last evening, I am sure there was only 1¢ there for the day.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Do or Did Humans Actually Have a Biological 'Mating Season'?

I had a second can of strong (8% alcohol) beer last evening because I was watching one extra episode of one of the T.V. shows I follow ─ in this instance, it was Salvation.

Since back this past February, I have begun trying to limit myself to just one can of beer in an evening because I cannot afford to drink as much as I would enjoy doing. 

However, I only stayed up for that episode because I thought my younger brother Mark would be watching it, too. He had just recovered after having passed out through the entirety of the preceding show, an episode of Killjoys.

Evidently he required the facilities, so he gained his feet and lumbered off upstairs to his bedroom ... and he never returned.

So I unnecessarily tuned in Salvation and opened that second can of beer.

It was 11:30 p.m. by the time I was in bed.

I think I was awake enough just after 3:00 a.m. to bother taking a bathroom break and having a drink of water. Initially I was concerned of disturbing Mark's sleep, temporarily forgetting that he would not be getting up around 4:20 a.m. to ready for work.

He does not work on the weekend.

I only slept in snatches thereafter. It was 7:07 a.m. when I checked for the last time and got up to lay the foundations of a new post at my hosted website Lawless Spirit.

Darned if that preliminary work on the post did not take me at least around three hours.

I heard Mark moving about in his bedroom around 9:30 a.m. ─ he had been in there perhaps a tad over 11 hours. Unfortunately for me, I had not felt up to heading on out to the backyard tool shed for some exercise, and so I never was to have any such activity today.

When at last I was finished setting up the foundations of that post, I was in no shape to be doing anything else. And so just after 11:00 a.m. I returned to bed for a nap.

I didn't pay much attention to the time, but I feel certain that I was abed for well under an hour. It was nigh noon when I got back up.

Mark was still up ─ I don't think he ever did take a nap.

The day was quite sunny, although there was some hazing up there ─ whether clouding or wild fire smoke, I do not know. I wanted to benefit from some of that sunshine, so I went directly outside into the backyard and sat in a chair and faced toward the Sun.

I only removed my shoes ─ I was otherwise dressed. And so beginning at 12:14 p.m., I commenced just over 40 minutes seated out there.

When that was done, it was finally time to prepare my first meal of the day. Mark was soon to begin readying to head away for the day, and he was probably gone by 1:30 p.m.

I do not expect to see him until tomorrow morning, for he usually spends Saturday nights at the home of his girlfriend Bev. He'll only come home if they each get too drunk to get along and tolerate each other.

Google sent me notification today that it had commemorated this day back in 2016 by creating a collage of three photos I had posted to one of my Google albums.

Somewhat regrettably, none of the photos have anything at all to do with this household. Instead, they are some photos from a batch E-mailed to me by my older half-sister Phyllis when she and her new American husband Bob had visited Butte, Montana's, Our Lady of the Rockies ─ but none of the three images depict Phyllis and Bob:

That is perhaps unfortunate in that Bob was to die earlier this year, so he is not being commemorated with a display in that collage.

These are the three original photos:

Phyllis and our maternal cousin Colleen took a trip just a few days ago to go "to Mesquite NV for a few days to settle things there."  

My presumption is that this involves affairs related to Bob's estate, for he was American, but had his home base in Montana.

I think they were only married about half a year.

Needless to say, his adult children are hostile toward Phyllis, for he had a large estate. Phyllis was not even mentioned as one of the survivors in the obituary they posted. All it spoke of was how beloved by him his former deceased wife was.

Phyllis has said to me that she has no intention of laying a claim to anything ─ if he has not specifically willed it to her. She isn't interested in fomenting more ill will than already exists.

The selfish ingrates can have everything, and live with themselves and their greed.  

Let's change topics.

A week ago, I read the following article about sex and the hormone melatonin:


I found the article somewhat confusing, but I guess the gist is that melatonin production peaks during dark Winter months, and this somewhat inhibits contraception. There are fewer Winter pregnancies, and thus fewer babies born the next Fall just ahead of the new Winter.

Of course, we are primarily looking at people living in more northerly regions ─ and before artificial lighting became commonplace like it is now. 

Melatonin production is suppressed in the brilliant Summer months, and contraception rates then spike, resulting in more births nine months later in the Spring.

I would kind of think that even if melatonin was surging in the Winter months and suppressing contraception before the Industrial Age and all of the artificial lighting that truly changed the world, all of that extra time spent in bed together in the chill dark would result in far more sex.

There would be so much more 'cuddling,' and that should lead to more sexual intimacy.

Whatever the case, all I know for certain is that I was born in October, so I was most definitely conceived in the Winter.    

Okay, I am going to close out today's post now with this old 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 was renting in a private house located on Ninth Street, and no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

For almost three weeks at this point, I was madly in love with Melody St. Jean, a 20-year-old lass who had tried to get me interested in her for possibly nearly three years.

But despite being in love, I was in such turmoil because I had nothing going for me ─ I was newly unemployed with no job prospects nor any skills; I was a high school drop-out; I did not drive; and my cluttered, ill-appointed room didn't even have a telephone.

I had not even had a girlfriend since the year 1970, and that one had been my first. I was awkward at having a relationship.

Anyway, the day before this journal entry, my old friend William Alan Gill and I had been out late into the a.m. driving around and drinking with Melody and Cindy, a friend of Melody's who had been set up with Bill just the Friday prior.

I was not to get to bed until 2:10 a.m. ─ but at least I did not have a job to worry about. Melody did ─ and it was only her second week at it.
THURSDAY, September 16, 1976

I got up soon after 8:00 a.m.; I felt so underslept, I could only feel concern for my wonderful girl, Melody, who I kept up last night; she was supposed to get up extra early at work today. 

I laundered, late, this foggy morning, and bought the "Fall Preview" TV Guide, and 5 Marvels

I'm leaving for mom's at 10:30 a.m.

The fog cleared soon after 11:00 a.m. into a cloudless day.

I ate quite heavily; Phyllis was there when I arrived, but anon left.

On my way there I bought 2 - $3 money orders (for Western Canada Lottery tickets for myself & Cathy) and some Clearasil and English Leather lime after shave.

My mail was 2 identical copies of MuscleMag vol. 2 issue 2, and another letter from Terri, quite touching and encouraging. 

In the afternoon mom went out with Sandy, and I left round 3:20 p.m. before their return; I felt half dead while resting up.

Just as I was about to cross the bridge, honking made me aware Bill had passed by; he pulled over, so I joined him. He was going to Nell's, so I went along.

Apparently Cindy & he won't be going out together tonite, but he professes to be in love.

Nell was home with Jock, Larry, & Timmy; later Earl showed up with Bruce, Donna, & Wendy.

We had a pleasant visit.

Bill got me home soon past 6:00 p.m., and after exercising, I'll try to be at his place by 7:00 p.m. and there bath.

He was to be expecting me, but I must have hung around there at least 25 minutes, buzzing and watching for him; his light was on, and his car there, so the knothead either died or took off in someone else's vehicle.

Just after 8:00 p.m. he came; Moose was in the car. He dropped me off at his place and took off.

I watched TV a while, though very tired. 

Shortly after 9:30 p.m. his phone rang, and I took a risk of answering. It was my beautiful Melody.

We didn't talk long, and she was very tired; but importantly, she anticipates getting together with me tomorrow night.

Bed by 11:00 p.m.
I had to use a laundromat to do my laundry ─ it was on Sixth Avenue, very near to the public library.

My mother Irene Dorosh lived with her husband Alex out in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ their home was my main mailing address.

The long hike to get there from my room was about 1½ hours of fast-paced trekking. And although their little home no longer exists, its address sued to be 12106 - 90th Avenue

I expect that I bought the money orders and did the bit of shopping at the pharmacy located at the Scott Town shopping centre (Scott Road & 96th Avenue). One of the lottery tickets I was mailing for was as part of a birthday gift package I was collecting for Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my younger brother Mark's girlfriend back then.

The letter that came for me at my mother's home was from an American pen-pal I had, Terri Martin.

My mother was to be involved in the afternoon with Sandy Halverson, the then-wife of my maternal cousin Randy Halverson.

The walk back to my room in New Westminster was sometimes regarded with foreboding, for I did not always feel up to the boring ordeal. 

Bill must have just crossed over the Pattullo Bridge into Surrey as I was making my approach onto the bridge, so he was able to pull over and pick me up. He was bound for my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's home.

At the time, she and her large household had newly moved into a rental on 60th Avenue from where they had rented on 64th Avenue.

When Bill and I arrived, two of her sons were there ─ Jock (John) and Timmy; Larry Ernest Blue (also present) was like another of her sons.

We were all soon joined by Nell's common-law husband Earl Primrose; Bruce, another of Nell's sons; Donna Montroy, a teen friend of the family; and teen Wendy, Nell's youngest daughter. 

After Bill got me back to my room, he must have been picked up at his bachelor suite ─ which was possibly little more than four blocks from my room ─ by his friend and co-worker Moose.

I had no choice but to return to my room after failing to connect with Bill after 25 minutes of trying. 

I always preferred bathing over showering ─ all I had use of was a shower back where I was living. Also, Bill had a good-sized colour T.V. that had cablevision ─ I had no cable, and only a smaller black & white T.V.

I was often left the run of Bill's suite ─ we had once lived together in an old house on Sixth Street very near to where his apartment was. Thus, he trusted me to lock up when I left.

It would have ended my day perfectly to have had that small fix of Melody when she gambled on placing a call to his number, knowing I was often there.

It very much touches me to keep reading in these journal entries just how deeply she mattered to me. It is in fact making me remember her with unexpected fondness.

I only recently learned that Melody died in March 1990 at the age of 33, but I do not know how it was that she died. It makes me wonder how her life ─ and of course mine ─ would have turned out had our relationship endured.  

It is possible that her mother still lives. I had worked with her mother on a part-time basis for about three years when she drove the pickup truck for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends), so she and I were quite close.

Perhaps I may one day soon undertake a visit to try and find her. She was already in her early 40s in 1976, so she would be into her 80s now.

Friday, September 15, 2017

Awake in the Night with Deep Despair

That much of the justifying, depraved self was present last night that I never made it to bed until at least midnight ─ I cannot recall the actual time.

I got to sleep well enough, I suppose; but I was awake sufficiently that at about 4:06 a.m. I checked the time and decided to use the bathroom, and also have a drink of some water.

I was a little surprised to see that Mark's bedroom light was already on ─ he must have been sleeping poorly and decided to get up ahead of his clock-radio summons, which is anywhere from 4:20 a.m. to 4:30 a.m.

Upon returning to bed, I tried my best to get back to sleep, but my mind started dwelling upon my debt situation. Soon, I was in the grip of despair, and even accepting that my only escape from debt is going to be through death...and perhaps the earlier, the better.

I quite resigned myself to it as my only solution, since prayer has never yielded a deliverance.

It was a tearful resignation.

By 4:46 a.m., the futility of finding sleep was starkly apparent. However, Mark had still not left for work, so I dressed and just lay upon my bed and waited until he finally left.

I went downstairs and fixed my morning's first hot beverage, and then got to work trying to finalize the post I have been constructing at my hosted website Siam-Longings since September 5. 

I knew that my eldest stepson Tho would be rising soon, but he only seemed to do so around 5:45 a.m., and in about 15 minutes had left for work.

The post was a very effective distraction from my woes, drawing away my thoughts from the dark abode in which they had taken residence.

I think that it was shortly after 8:00 a.m. that I halted my work on the post, and decided to seek a nap, donning earplugs and my blindfold.

It was about 40 minutes before I next checked the time. I didn't feel that I had achieved deep sleep, but I had a couple of dreams that could only have been spawned in an unconscious state.

And while I was abed, Poté had risen and taken off to work without me being aware. The idiot of course left the front door unlocked.

I think some of my trouble in finding that deepest sleep was that I never seemed able to warm up in bed ─ I was so chilly, that I was nearly trembling at times.

Why is that? During the night, I was approaching being over-warm; yet a nap attempt within the same bedding a few hours later proves to be a chilly undertaking. 

Completing the post was to be a far longer chore than I imagined, and so I worked on it in stages.

I broke off to have some exercise out in the backyard tool shed around mid-day; and I broke from it again to sit out in the sunshine at 1:03 p.m. for just over 40 minutes. The day was gloriously sunny, but with a very cool, strong breeze. I only wore a pair of athletic shorts.

Afterward, I weighed myself while stripped right down, and registered possibly as much as 188 pounds at my height of five feet and 10¾ inches.

Next up was my day's first meal.

And then I got back at the post and worked until it was finished and published: Thailand and Cambodia.

I have not felt at all positive thus far this day, but at least the foreboding and desolation engendered by the night have been kept mostly at bay.

There is just something about the night while a person is lying in bed, sleepless and fraught with deepest worry, that makes hope appear to be extinct.

Nevertheless, my debt is going to be my doom, for I have no control over these matters of errant finance. My wife Jack makes remediation impossible ─ but there is far too much involved for me to even begin to try and explain.

Yesterday I tried to read an article at Mercola.com titled Following the Advice of Ancient Philosophers Can Make You Happier, but I just could not.

How can a person turn around his or her perspective on life when hopeless, insurmountable debt is smothering everything?

I need financial restoration ─ and no mental mood tweak is going to change that reality. 

I wish to drop all discussion of this bleakly begun day and post this old photo. The description typed below the photo is from the Google album where I have the image filed:

The man is Alex Dorosh, my mother Irene's husband.

The two smallest girls are sisters Pamela Susan Gunther (centre) and Michelle Lee Gunther (right), the young daughters of my younger brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine 'Jeanette' Gunther.

The older girl at the left is Sherry, daughter of my older maternal half-sister Phyllis.

Jeanette would have written the inscription:

Sheri Pamela Alex & Michelle
Christmas 1975

I used my iPhone 5 on September 13, 2017, to take this photo of the original photo which is glued into an old album.
And now I am going to close out today's post with this old 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 was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

I could think of nothing but 20-year-old Melody St. Jean, the young lass who beguiled me into a helpless state of love less than four weeks earlier, after I had successfully fended her off for nigh on three years before.

On this day, I had an appointment at the Department of Manpower and Immigration Canada to write an aptitude test pegged to be of three hours' duration. 

I was desperate to get some kind of training, for I had no skills and no job prospects.
WEDNESDAY, September 15, 1976

I've slept terribly, and after a long period of wakefulness, I arose about 5:30 a.m.

On my way to my 9:00 a.m. Manpower aptitude test I shall mail back St. Joseph's School's $10 refund cheque with a request that they cover that value in lottery tickets, using variety.

It was pretty foggy all morn.

I likely didn't do too poor a job on my tests, but after finishing, I learned my counsellor (Ellen Olsen) couldn't see me about the interpretation of results till 8:30 a.m. Thursday the 23rd! 

8 days!

I felt despondent.

I bought a Party Pride potato cutter, a Feemster vegetable slicer, and a Gourmet grater, all for a total of $13.44 at Eaton's; birthday gifts for Cathy.

When I eventually got home, I left again in the sunshine for Simpsons-Sears (where I bought nothing), meeting Art walking back from there on 10th St across from Moody Park.

I explained I had to be at Bill's for a 7:00 p.m. phone call when he suggested I drop in later; the suggestion was extended for any future day.

I was glad to get home.

Man! I felt so full of despair of ever deserving my love, dear Melody, through not gaining the advantage I crave of Manpower. They're going to take so long I'll have the Unemployment Insurance folks down my neck for not looking for work.

Melody seems so desirable ─ yet unattainable ─ I felt like crying, if not dying.

I'm leaving for Bill's nigh 6:25 p.m.

He was home, and Melody wasn't long in phoning.

A drive-in was arranged, and the Hillcrest selected (Race with the Devil and Mother Jugs & Speed).

I really needed Melody, and she met it. She whispered she loved me, and I replied in turn ─ twice. 

I do love her.

She and Cindy paid for 2 cases of beer I bought in the Surrey Inn afore the show.

After it, Bill wanted to go to White Rock to kill time ('twasn't yet midnight), so there we headed, getting pulled over by 2 nice young RCMPs who had us empty our last 6 or so beer; Bill shook visibly, and was as polite as a child to these young fellows.

I think Mel & I might dare anything except outright natural sex, we're so involved.

Touring thru Queen's Park, the gals & Bill played with some elephants till we were chased off. Then home.

Poor Mel is missing so much sleep.

We'll contact again on Friday.

Bed at 2:10 a.m.  
St. Joseph's School was a source to me for lottery tickets. But they had refunded a purchase I had wanted to make for an Olympic Lottery ticket because the draw date had been too near.

I recall nothing of those kitchen gadgets I bought for Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my brother Mark's girlfriend. Her birthday was a week away.

I now have no memory of where Simpsons-Sears was, so the extent of my walk to get to it is now unknown.

Art Smith was an older former co-worker in his early 40s who was always wanting me to come over to his home so he had someone to drink with.

My old friend William Alan Gill only lived about four or so blocks from my room. I didn't have a telephone, so Melody was going to phone me there.

Bill had quite a new car. Melody had set him up with her friend Cindy the Friday evening before ─ I suspect she did so in order for us to have his willing compliance in getting around. I sure couldn't afford a cab all the time ─ even if I had a job!

Poor Bill. I vaguely remember how cowed he would get when it came to having to deal with police and border agents when he was driving and drinking. Fortunately, police were considerably more lenient back then if treated politely.

I don't know why Queen's Park had some elephants ─ perhaps there was a traveling circus or zoo set up there at the time.

I sure do feel for my younger self when I read about what I was going through ─ so overwhelmed with my feelings for Melody. I hadn't had a girlfriend since 1970 ─ and that earlier girlfriend was my first exposure to sex.

Thus, everything with Melody was absolutely heady.