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Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Herbal & Dietary Supplements │ Numbers of Serious Joint Pain Sufferers Keeps Rising │ Fructose Dangers

It was good to get to bed last evening ahead of midnight.

I don't recall when my initial block of sleep came to an end and I used the bathroom, but before it was even 7:30 a.m. this morning I found myself unable to get back to further sleep ─ despite it being dark, for it was raining, and this was to carry through for much of the day.

My youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend were still in bed, but I could hear them quietly talking when I was preparing my morning's hot beverage.

I wondered if they were both going to have the day off work and be here throughout?

Pote must have driven his older brother Tho to the SkyTrain this morning so that Tho could get to work in Burnaby, for the car was parked in my younger brother Mark's spot ─ which is nearest the front door.  We have a dual-car open carport.

The young couple were to arise within the hour as I worked upon a post at one of my hosted websites, and well before 10:00 a.m. they drove off.

Pote was to return by himself.

But apparently even he had to work today, so late in the noon-hour, I presume that he drove off to get himself to Guildford where he is employed.

About all else I have to report thus far at 1:31 p.m. is that if I still find myself home alone by mid-afternoon, I will commence slow-cooking myself a highly nutritious feed of medium ground beef with some vegetables and lots of spicing.

I like to put the ensemble into a covered frying pan and slow-cook it for an hour or so on top of one of the heating elements.  With my wife Jack away to Thailand until November 21st, I cannot look forward to her sporadic cooking to break my usual spartan fare that I normally make do with.

And I suppose I can take that as my cue to post this photo of her taken on a sunny mid-afternoon on September 8, 2016, as she posed beside our home, very near to the back yard where I was standing:


I wonder what most people call to mind when they read a headline like the following, as well as the article it heralds?


I take a number of different vitamin supplements, but the only complexes I take are a vitamin B complex and a vitamin E complex.  The others are a single vitamin type.

The only mineral supplements I take are magnesium, zinc, chromium, and selenium.

I do not take a multi-vitamin/mineral supplement because most are comprised of minerals like iron that I do not want to be taking, and they also tend to have synthetic vitamin E.

Also, they do not deliver the specific vitamin potencies I tend to pursue.

When researchers do studies involving vitamin E, they generally utilize synthetic vitamin E, and thus it is no surprise that the results are usually quite negative.

Weight control products, energy enhancements, erectile dysfunction products, herbal supplements ─ the quality of things like these can fast become murky.

I prefer to have some understanding of each of the ingredients, and generally treat such products with suspicion.

Of course, there are supplements that I do not take simply because I just cannot afford them on my pension income.


One supplement I would try if I could afford to add it to my regimen is undenatured collagen UC-II ─ in a study published earlier this year, it beat out chondroitin and glucosamine when it came to cutting pain, easing stiffness, and improving function in sufferers of knee osteoarthritis.

As the following report about a study on Americans indicates, the numbers of serious joint pain sufferers keeps growing ─ and I have no doubt that the situation is little different here in Canada:

The CDC reference given at the base of that report is here

As for UC-II undenatured collagen, a description of what it is can be found here

And a May 25, 2014, article going into greater detail is here.

That latter reference mentioned rheumatoid arthritis ─ curcumin has been demonstrated to  help with the pain of that, proving superior to medications it was tested against.  Turmeric contains curcumin, but I keep failing to include it daily in my diet.

I have bad cartilage in both knees.  Peculiarly enough, though, the left knee seemed to improve where the cartilage pain was concerned after I had knee surgery on November 5, 2010, to reattach my quadriceps tendon to my patella (knee cap).

Could the meddling with my knee cap ─ some holes were drilled through it from top to bottom (from the perspective of me standing) ─ have stimulated some cartilage regrowth?  I have wondered about that ever since.


Diabetics should seriously beware of fructose, if a recent study on mice translates accurately to humans.

The fructose was much more rapidly absorbed by diabetic mice than it was by healthy mice; and it went directly to the liver and was set up for storage as fat.

Here's a report on the study:


Fructose is already a factor in the causation of diabetes, liver disease (including fatty liver disease),  heart-attack, and cancer ─ among other pathologies. 

A video by researcher Dr. James DiNicolantonio puts to rest the claim that "a calorie is a calorie" ─ where fructose is concerned, that is sheer fiction:

Fructose in various forms is a favourite of the food manufacturing industry, so it can be exremely difficult to avoid if you consume processed foods.

The following is advice from NewMarketHealth.com:
...Here are the top names you need to watch out for where fructose is concerned.
  • HFCS, an ingredient you want to avoid at all costs.
  • HFCS-90, another kind of HFCS, only it's 90 percent fructose.
  • Fruit sugar, while it sounds natural, this ingredient is typically nothing more than a code name for high fructose corn syrup.
  • Agave syrup, even if it's organic and has beautiful pictures on the label! Agave can be up to almost 100 percent fructose.
  • Crystalline fructose, which you'll find added to numerous drinks including sports ones claiming to be good for you. This sweetener is 100 percent fructose. And it's derived from genetically-modified corn to boot.
And again, even though fruit also contains fructose, it's at low levels and digested differently due to its natural fiber content.
Read those labels!


It seems that my younger brother Mark put out our recycling bin for pick-up today, along with the compost bin ─ but it was the garbage bin and not the recycling bin that should have gone out.

I never realized it.

And now we have a full garbage bin that is going to have to do us for another two weeks.

As for that cooking I had hoped to do this afternoon, it is on hold.  Both Pote and his girlfriend were back here shortly after 3:00 p.m. 

So neither of them did have to work after all.

I am going to close off now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the small unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I see that I misidentified the process of setting back my clock by an hour ─ I should have stated that it was because of the Standard Time change.  

Anyway, I had not gotten to bed until 12:50 a.m. prior to this journal entry.
SUNDAY, October 26, 1975

I got up well before 7:30 a.m., but only after setting my clock back 1 hour for Daylight Savings Time; I tried rising at 5:00 a.m., but was far too sleepy. 

I only got to finish my morning exercises.  Bill came at 9:30 a.m. saying we and Cathy and mom & Alex were going to Bellingham.

Well, I spent nothing, but fed on corn chips, chocolates, beer, and some light dinner at mom's when we got back.

Perhaps my day wasn't really wasted tho, who can say; and it was raining.

After getting home Cathy (she always drove) we found Mark home; she hence tried to act peeved.

Bill & I stayed and stayed, doing some drinking; Mark had some grouse.

When we did leave, Cathy was trying to work herself into tears using Mark's TV viewing over her converse as prime excuse.

I bought 3 comics at Mac's.

Bed by 9:50 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill lived three or four blocks from me in New Westminster.  He drove over to tell me that we were going to the States with Catherine Jeanette Gunther (my younger brother Mark's girlfriend), and my mother Irene Dorosh and her husband Alex.

Mark was away hunting, and had been gone for about a week.

I suspect that we all went in Bill's car, with Jeanette doing the driving.  Bill had no sense of direction, and never knew where he was once he got too far from home.

Jeanette must have been upset that Mark had never called while he was away; and now that he was home, he was locked into watching television instead of immersing himself into her complaints.

It cannot have gone well once Bill and I finally headed on home.

I have no doubt that the three comics I bought on our way home were Marvel ─ I was a huge fan.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

๐Ÿ’€ ☠ Family Versus Other Social Relationships for Senior Longevity │ Yoga for Chronic Lower Back Pain │ Coffee-Drinking May Reduce Risk of Dementia

Well, my wife Jack did not phone me from the Vancouver International Airport last evening as she waited for the 10:00 p.m. or so flight to Thailand.  She had said that she would.

Perhaps she had too many calls she had to deal with; and it is always possible that she was unexpectedly coinciding her outbound flight with somebody she knew, and thus had someone to socialize with.

I think she said that her layover was only to be for an hour in Taipei ─ I expect that she would need to change jets.

I hope that if she did have to change aircraft, that she was not going to be responsible for her two enormous heavy pieces of luggage.

But it is just 1:45 p.m. as I type these words, and I do not believe that she would yet be that far into her flight.

Alas, instead of getting to bed sensibly last night, I immersed myself into corruption and never sought slumber until after 3:30 a.m.

I think I had a bathroom break at some point overnight, and then checked the time this morning at 7:28 a.m. and decided that I should start my day.  My conscience was not allowing me to slip back into sleep.

Nevertheless, it probably took me a half-dozen minutes to galvanize and actually get up.

My youngest step-son Pote was up.  His older brother Tho had gone to work earlier.  Tho is under a driving suspension, so Pote may well have driven Tho to the SkyTrain so he could get out to Burnaby where he works.

And since Pote had use of the car, when he headed out the door at 8:48 a.m. to betake himself to work over in Guildford, he drove Tho's car.

I put in some work on a post I began yesterday at my Thai-Iceland website, but I only did half the work I normally would have if I had behaved last night and gotten to bed in timely fashion.

In fact, at 10:18 a.m. I had resorted to bed again and spent just about an hour there.  I dreamed, so I must have napped.

The dream was uncomfortable.

I was in some bar with someone who may have been Art Smith ─ a chap in his early 40s whom I knew back in the mid-1970s when I was in my mid-20s.

At one point we were rousted by staff, and it seems to me that we were told to stand beside the table we were seated at and place our wallets on it ─ along with $100, which seemed to be the 'pass' patrons had to show in order to be allowed to be in the place.

But that requirement seemed somehow to dissipate, and we were soon seated again.  I sure never had $100 in my wallet.  I rarely do.

I next found myself just outside the bar on its far side, and I came back in and began addressing who I thought was Art standing nearby, but it was my father Hector.  I was a little unpleasantly surprised that it was him, for I didn't wish to become entangled with him.

He, too, appeared to be roughly as I remember him from the 1970s.

I also may have been my younger self.

I managed to disengage myself from my father, who was keen on retaining my company, and I headed on back over towards my table where Art was probably still seated.

It was surreal that I brushed off my father like that, for I miss the man dearly.  But my mindset in the dream was just as it was back in the 1970s, and there was nothing present within my subconscious sensing the loss that I would have expected to have felt ─ I lost him to a heart-attack in February 1983.

My regard for him in the dream was as if he still lived and had never died; and my dream self was not keen on becoming involved with him because he had been drinking, and was evincing some of his emotionally desperate clinginess towards me.

It was an unsettling dream to come out of, knowing these things.  I miss my father badly, and would love to have him alive to drink with.

But back to the reality of this day.

We have had a little rain, and the sky is grey.  However, I thought there were blue streaks this morning.  For over a week, I would say, there has not been a 24-hour period in which there has not at least been some rain, either in the night or else the day ─ if not both.

Saturday, October 16, was another grey day, and I had to hustle late in the afternoon to take a document to Surrey Place (Central City) that my wife Jack had wanted me to mail ─ I wanted to drop it off at Pearl Photo / Canada Post.

I took this photo that I now wish to present here ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the photo filed:

This lovely young lady was rapidly walking just ahead of me, and I could not resist snapping this reminder.

We both had just cut through Holland Park and crossed Old Yale Road onto University Drive.

That traffic entrance just in front of the lass takes one to some parking, and passes by The Brick and also Tim Horton's.

I am extremely marginalized socially, with no friends near.  And my relationship with my wife is no longer intimate.

My younger brother Mark also lives in our home, but he is generally unable to control his drinking in the latter part of the day, and is often-as-not almost intolerable company.

I had a tough time making sense of the following report on a study involving longevity and relationships:


The report is very badly written.

I actually found that the study was far clearer in my understanding when I read about it here:


 I find myself feeling rather precariously-situated at the age of 67.


If I had the money and time, I would look deeply into stretching and flexibility.  I am most impressed with the work both Paul Zaichik and the folks behind Gold Medal Bodies have achieved.

But I haven't the time ─ I am locked into spending numerous hours a day seated here at my computer fruitlessly trying to derive a second income while it is still possible to make changes in my life.

Achieving a second income seems about as likely to me as winning a major lottery jackpot.

Yoga has only ever peripherally interested me.

Still, a study has found that yoga is at least as beneficial for the treatment of chronic low back pain as is physical therapy:

One thing I really did find interesting in that report was this:
...According to M. Catherine Bushnell, PhD, National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health, National Institutes of Health, long-time yoga practitioners have more gray matter than matched physically active controls.

"Gray matter goes down with age, but yoga practitioners have a flat line; you don't see this age-related decrease in gray matter that you see in other healthy people..."
And there seems to be "quite a robust" relationship between how long a person has done yoga and positive brain changes, she said. "The number of years a person has practiced yoga, the more gray matter at multiple sites in the brain."

Yoga influences areas of the brain that are important for pain modulation, said Dr Bushnell.

It is a "complex activity" that involves not only exercise but also breath control and meditation. And although analyses show that exercise is the biggest contributor to gray matter, all the other elements of yoga also play a role, she said.
In addition to that, "yoga practitioners have a higher pain tolerance than other people."

So maybe yoga may be the solution for folks with chronic lower back pain.


Speaking of healthy grey matter, a study seems to have found evidence that coffee-drinkers are benefiting their brains, and warding off cognitive decline and dementia:


Still, there are always those who enjoy 'raining on parades' such as the coffee study:

My inclination is towards coffee being of benefit.  But not if it's chock full of things like artificial flavours and other garbage that has no business being in something we are consuming.


Here is where I close off with a 41-year-old entry from my journal back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the tiny unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

My plan for the morning was a hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's Surrey home ─ it was my main mailing address.

The house is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

To hike directly there would take about 1½ hours of fast-paced walking.  However, I had lately vastly increased the distance by plotting a course that required me to follow the King George Highway all the way out to Newton.  

Railway tracks crossed both 72nd Avenue and the King George Highway ─ I would turn right onto those tracks and follow them until I was able to access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road, very near to Scott Road (120th Street).

My mother's home was maybe a half-dozen or so houses down 90th Avenue, on the right-hand side.

I had gotten to bed the evening before at 7:10 p.m.
SATURDAY, October 25, 1975

It has been pouring since sometime before midnight.

I did not sleep particularly deep, but did get enough, arising slightly prior to 4:00 a.m. 

I leave for mom's via Newton before 7:15 a.m.

In no time I was wet and cold to the point of despair, mentally embroiled in an easy out, yet stubbornly refusing to yield.

Across from Ruby's Drive-In, a young guy in a van stopped for me.  Asked of my destination, I said Newton; he was only going to Whalley, but took me the distance.

Warmed, from there I spurned the tracks and made Sandell my route, eventually being compelled to jog for warmth.

At mom's, Alex was temporarily out; they've still no car.

I didn't plan to eat or stay longer than it took to warm up and have my clothes dry.  But neither occurred with any celerity.  

Thus, I partook of lunch with them; Bill phoned during it, saying he'd be over at 2:00 p.m. (last night he was at Nell's).

He came.

We got some Contac-C for mom, and he collected himself a quantity of pears.

I was home about 4:00 p.m.

After taking home his mother, he is to pick me up for some TV viewing later.

He came;  he brought some A & W goodies which we ate at his place, along with a jar of roasted almonds.

Very soon after came his buzzer: Garry Porteous.

Between TV and comics time passed, till Bill drove off for a case of beer the pair of them split the price of.

I had 4½ bottles.

Too, Bill bought a tri-pak of chips.

Garry stayed quite late, as I was obliged to do, dear guy.

He phoned Cathy; still no Mark.

Anyway, I shall be abed by 12:50 a.m.
"Ruby's Drive-In" was one of those fast-food joints where I think carhops actually would come out and take patrons' orders.  I no longer remember just where it was, but it would have been on the left side of the King George Highway as I was hiking towards Whalley, and probably near the summit of the hill.

That was darned nice of the young fellow in the van to offer me a ride, and take me all the way to Newton ─ it had to have been over four miles out of his way just to get me there.

I undoubtedly did not let on that I was intentionally out there for the hike and exercise.

Once I was on my own in Newton, I chose to skip use of the tracks because they would have been a short-cut to my mother's home.  By taking to Sandell Road (128th Street), I was increasing the distance I would need to travel, and partially undoing the ride that I had been given.

I usually accepted rides like that, even though I was out for exercise, because I wanted the driver to feel good about himself for making the kind gesture.

Alex was my mother's husband.  He had a week or so before been in a car accident in New Westminster.

My old friend William Alan Gill had a bachelor suite in New Westminster, maybe three or four blocks from my room.  The previous day, I had declined to go with him to visit my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther, in Whalley ─ I wanted to get to bed early.

Mark had been away for the week hunting, and was still not back.  

Whether Bill visited Jeanette or not, he definitely did visit my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson and her large household of partiers ─ I think they were still living on 64th Avenue in Surrey, quite near to Newton Junior High School.

The good fellow tracked me down at my mother's home, and I was spared the 1½-hour walk to get back to my room.

My mother and Alex had some fruit trees on their property, and Bill welcomely availed himself of some of the pears abundantly there,

He used to regularly have his mother Anne Gregory over to clean up his suite and do some cooking ─ she was renting a home over in Maillardville, if I remember correctly.

After he took her home and came to my room to drive me to his suite to enjoy some colour T.V. and eats with him, my brother Mark's best friend in those years came by ─ Garry Porteous was no doubt bored with Mark gone, and Garry had newly suffered a break-up with his girlfriend Angela.

Garry lived out in Surrey, so he had to go out of his way a little to visit us.  Most likely he tried my room first, and then tried Bill on the hope that I would be there.

I always liked Garry.  For some reason, he just quit associating with Mark in the mid- or late-1980s, despite the two of them having known one another since at least as early as Grade IV over at Johnston Road Elementary (now Sullivan Elementary) School.

For them, Grade IV would have been the 1961-1962 school term; but it may even have been Grade III ─ I just don't remember.

Monday, October 24, 2016

To Thailand Goeth My Wife │ Hot Beverages and Esophageal Cancer │ Blood Pressure Medication and Depression │ Urinary Incontinence Treatments

My wife Jack showed up yesterday, possibly just ahead of 5:00 p.m.

She has been packing in preparation for a trip back home to Thailand to visit her family ─ and especially her mother ─ in Nong Soong village, very near Udon Thani (city).

She last saw her mother in early March 2013.

I didn't know just when she was making this trip, so last evening I asked her ─ she will be leaving this evening, possibly around 10:00 p.m.

The imminence rather caught me unexpectedly.

She's going to have to pay extra for the amount of baggage she will be taking ─ her two large luggage pieces are just crammed full, and are very heavy.  And she'll have a carry-on, as well as her purse.

I don't remember when it was that we got to bed last night ─ it was after 1:00 a.m., I am sure.

Over the course of the evening, I had imbibed about three or four ounces of spiced rum, three cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer, and two cans of average strength (5.5% alcohol) beer.

I know that she is probably beginning to feel some anxiety about the journey that she is undertaking alone.

As I lay beside her last night upon taking to bed, I wanted badly to put an arm about her to give her some comfort.  However, I was unsure if the action would be received or rejected; and after all, I did have a fair amount of alcohol in my system ─ my emotions were being coloured by this.

She had not consumed any alcohol.

So I withheld.  But it caused me tearful anguish there in the dark, and I lashed out at God in my mind.

How can He be content to watch my marriage die off as it is doing?

My wife and I have not been physically intimate in over 3½ years.  And lately, she does not even offer a token good-by kiss when we part ─ and I certainly do not move in to force one.

Yet otherwise, we're entirely amicable.

I just have lost her respect since retiring in early April 2011, and only being able to offer my weak pension income to help with all of our various expenses.

Of course, there are other things, including my flagging ability to 'perform.'  I am 67, after all; and she is 43.

I often present here in this blog that I cannot see myself achieving the age of 70 if my life's conditions do not vastly improve.

I have tried to derive a second income via the Web, but that has been a bust.  And I have certainly never won a lottery jackpot, despite trying for over four decades.

Coincidentally on this topic, Google just deposited today a payment into my chequing account of $101.23 for AdSense earnings ─ a threshold of $100 has to be arrived at in one's balance before a payment is made.

But this is only the second payment I have ever received since joining AdSense back in (I think) December 2008.  The first time I got a payment was around November 25, 2013.

So the first one took nearly five years, while this second one took almost three years.

If this is to be all I have going for me, then maybe I won't be alive to get that third payment if it's not going to show up for another three years ─ I would be 70 by then, after all.

Oddly, I am stating all of this while not feeling particularly depressed.  Usually I would find myself in one of my deep depressions before I would speak in this fashion, but today I am mostly being analytical.

My wife Jack left to take care of some errands earlier this afternoon ─ it is 2:43 p.m. at this moment; so I decided to take advantage of her absence and make a start on this post.

Her youngest son Pote went to work at Guildford, leaving with his older brother Tho's car late in the noon-hour.  Tho surprised his mother by presenting himself after getting up around noon ─ Jack had not realized that he had skipped work today.

So it is just he and I home for the nonce.

Once she is home again, she will probably remain until she is to go to the airport, so I will not have opportunity to do any further blogging.


My wife Jack arrived back home just a few minutes past 3:00 p.m.  But I was to learn that she was not be be home for too much longer.

She did some cooking; and then soon she had her eldest son Tho carry down her heavy luggage from our bedroom.

As I have explained in earlier posts, Jack uses a Vancouver friend's car.  Jack pays the insurance for the friend at a lesser rate than Jack is qualified for, and gets what seems to be nearly exclusive use of the car.

So she was going to return to Vancouver with everything that she is taking on her flight, and the friend will then drive her to the Vancouver airport, keeping possession of the car until Jack's return ─ which is not to be until November 21.

And thus it was that around 4:30 p.m., Jack was off to Vancouver.

Of course I saw her off, and she was even affectionate.  I got two good hugs from her, and she even said "Love you" during the second big hug. 

I got her to pose for this sequence of shots as she stood by the car:


When she had gone, it was a lonely feeling coming back into the seemingly barren house with only Tho home ─ he never even left his computer to see her off.

I came up here to work on this post, and then my cellphone rang ─ it was Jack.  She was at a nearby 7-Eleven store that can be quickly accessed on foot via a blocked-off alley that runs past our home here in the cul-de-sac we live in.

She wanted me to bring her a pair of shoes that she had forgotten ─ comfortable shoes for walking in.  She had forgotten them in our bedroom.

So I hustled over to her with them, and we shared a third good-bye hug.

She said that she will phone me this evening while she's keeping her lonely wait at the airport.


I have in the past consistently drank so much hot coffee that I have actually developed a bit of a sore throat.

You have probably noticed that it's easier to swallow some very hot liquid than it is to have it within your mouth ─ the tongue and mouth membranes are sensitive to heat, but for some reason we don't feel the heat as keenly when the swallow of liquid is going down our throat.

A review was done that was published back in June which implicated hot beverags as being a factor in the development of esophageal cancer.

This article reports briefly on the study:

A far more interesting report about the potential hazard is this one:


I just hope to get through life without ever developing any kind of cancer ─ one, that is, that has any impact whatsoever upon me.


I have no idea if I have some degree of elevated blood-pressure ─ it isn't something I fret over.  In fact, the only time I have ever tried one of those free 'cuffs' some pharmacies have for taking a measurement, was maybe back in the 1980s at my younger brother Mark's challenge.

I do know that a doctor did once say that mine was a little high when I was having a check-up ─ again, that was back in the 1980s.

So clearly I am not taking any medication to try and lower my blood-pressure.

But just how realistic is a reading of 120/80?  Back in December 2013, a report in the Journal of the American Medical Association declared that folks aged 60 and above were fine if their blood-pressure was no higher than 150/90.

For folks younger than 60, 140/90 was the ceiling at which the blood-pressure was still okay.

However, if practiced, that would reduce the profit the pharmaceutical industry makes from these blood-pressure products designed to reduce it.

This statement says it all:  "...Researchers with long-standing ties to pharmaceutical companies are doing their best to deep-six those recommendations."

Then there is this report published earlier this month telling of a new study:

I do NOT need to be taking anything I don't really require that's going to potentially increase my risk of depression ─ I struggle enough with it as matters are.


The only serious incontinence I have ever suffered has been when I have been drinking and found myself without facilities nearby for seeking relief.

I remember one such episode back in the latter 1970s, I think it was.  I had a 'snoot-load' of beer in me, and decided to hike out to Surrey from New Westminster.

That of course required hiking across the Pattullo Bridge.

Well, by the time I was over the summit of the bridge, I was already in trouble ─ I was starting to 'need to go' most badly.

I remember reciting as emphatically as I could ─ over and over ─ the poetic lines, "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."

It helped a little.

But the nearer I got to the other side of the bridge, the worse the situation became ─ it was as if the very nearness of the approach of relief was enough, and my body was now willing to let loose the floodgates.

I never actually made a full release, but I did inadvertently 'squirt' a few times, somewhat wetting my jeans.

I got to the other side of the bridge and immediately turned off to the side and ducked into adjacent shrubbery that was present back then.

I would hate to be someone with limited bladder control on an ongoing, daily basis.

There are two utterly dreadful treatments out there being tested for women with incontinence ─ check out this pair of reports:


I would first research natural-source bladder-control supplementation ─ for instance, I have seen crataeva nurvala and horsetail mentioned as being of benefit.

There is also such a thing as bladder training.

And then there are some women like Kim Anami who have taken some of that training to a remarkably whole new level, as this DailyMail.co.uk article tells: 'Intimacy coach' Kim Anami lifts weights with her vagina


I am closing now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the tiny unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I was only working one day a week back then ─ usually a Friday ─ at 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 their blue pick-up truck.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was located on Carnarvon Street, in a building that used to exist roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now empties out onto Carnarvon.
FRIDAY, October 24, 1975

I finally caught up on some sleep, not getting out of bed till 5:25 a.m.

I typed and shall mail a letter to Ron while on my way to S.A.N.E.

Bill & I were faced in the morning with a trip to Ladner to handle a load from a rummage sale; we had some aid unloading.  From it I took a pair of old boots and a book Fons Perennis: An Anthology of Medieval Latin.

On my way home I bought eggs at Safeway as well as 16 ozs of boysenberry yogurt to be used when I begin my first try at bread making.

Note: yesterday on my way to Bill's I am positive I saw Frank Adams on 6th as I approached it.  And on our trip to Ladner, we passed mom going home probably from Scottsdale.

Work after lunch consisted of another trip to Ladner for the smaller stock of a sale held at the Legion; Bob assisted.

On my way home, at Safeway I bought a box each of Red River Cereal and Roman Meal.

And as I finished writing this, about 5:12 p.m., Art knocked, even saying he knew I was in here; I risked my doubt on this.

Bill came over, interrupting some exercising; Cathy had phoned him and said my old man had phoned and was really mad, and going to drop in on me.  

Bill didn't stay long, wondering if I cared to visit her with him; but I said no, preferring to retire early...at 7:10 p.m.
The letter I typed was to Ron Bain, and American pen-pal I had.

My co-swamper at S.A.N.E. was an older fellow named Bill Sevenko, but I no longer remember him.  I just happened to have written down his last name once, and it stuck with me.

I have no idea whatever became of the Latin book.

The first stop at Safeway would have been when I went home for lunch.  Often going home for lunch is something else I no longer remember.

Neither do I remember "Frank Adams," but I was certain that I had seen him the previous day when I was going over to visit my old friend William Alan Gill.  Bill had a bachelor suite roughly three or four blocks from where I lived.

"Bob" ─ who assisted on that afternoon return trip to Ladner ─ is also lost to memory.

Once I was done with S.A.N.E. for the day, it was Art Smith whose knocking I ignored.  He was an older chap in his early 40s with whom I had worked at S.A.N.E. and formed a friendship, but he would have only come by to drag me off to his home to sit and drink with him late into the night.

I was trying to get away from late nights.

Bill was more welcome company.  "Cathy" was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.  Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together located in Whalley.

Mark was away hunting that week.  My father Hector was an alcoholic who too often got into rages when he was drunk, yet he was such a dear and lovely man when he was sober.

I miss my father.  I am just over 4¾ years older than he ever got to be.

And now here it is just after 7:00 p.m.  I am looking forward to my evening drinks to assuage the sense of loneliness I am feeling.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Antioxidant Helps Curb Seniors' Muscle Loss │ 25 Largest U.S. Fast Food Restaurants Rated for Antibiotics │ Ben Stiller and His PSA Test

That Android TV Box!  I blame it for keeping me up last night ─ I may not have gotten to bed until around 1:20 a.m.

I think I started my day this morning around 8:22 a.m.  My youngest step-son Pote was up.

His older brother Tho hasn't been home since Tho showed up after finishing work Friday afernoon.  He must be staying at his girlfriend's residence.

Pote used his brother's car yesterday, but he must have decided to catch a bus to work this morning ─ he left here within a half-hour of my rising.

My younger brother Mark made it home before 10:00 a.m. from the home of his girlfriend Bev where he had spent last night.  But he never took a nap, and was gone for the afternoon before the expiration of the noon-hour.

For me, that betokens ill company this evening if he's getting a head-start like that on his drinking.

Over the morning, I managed to finish and publish the post I have been working on since this past Wednesday at my Latin Impressions website:  Jaheira Romance Walkthrough.

It's one for the 'gamers.'

I wanted to get out and accomplish a few things, but the state of my eyes required that I return to bed to rest them.  I never managed to nap, though.

It may have been as late as 1:47 p.m. when I was finally on my way ─ the sky had lots of dark cloud, but there were also breaks of some sunshine.

First off I hiked the mile or so over to Surrey Place (Central City).  I had a lottery ticket to cash in that Mark had given me for my birthday earlier this month.  The ticket paid out $10.

Of note while cutting through Holland Park just before reaching Surrey Place (Central City) was an encounter I had with three people ─ a young Asian lad, and two White gals in their 30s or 40s.

I expected them to be religious proselytizers, but it turned out that they were taking as bit of a survey about vegetable gardening, and they gave me my choice of a packet of vegetable seeds ─ I ended up with some Swiss chard from West Coast Seeds, and priced at $2.99.

Anyway, after cashing in my lottery ticket, I then went over to Staples nearby there, just on the other side of King George Boulevard.  I wanted to print out two Public Service Health Care Plan claim forms.

The printer here at home cannot print black ink ─ the nozzle is too clogged.   To run a head-cleaning would require many ink-wasting purges, and I know damned well that at least two of the ink cartridges would be expended.

So better to pay less than $3 (I think) than to be buying replacement ink cartridges.  (The free Swiss chard seeds actually may have put me ahead in any 'profit & loss' calculation!)

By the way, as I was walking alongside Staples and heading to its entrance, a young woman coming from the other direction was in a pair of black tights, and she had the most incredibly muscular legs I have seen in real life in a long, long time.

I wish that I could have photographed her to prove it.

Anyway, once the printing errand was done, my final destination was the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard there in Whalley.  I bought a dozen cans of beer.

I was home again no later than 3:30 p.m.

The two outings I have had ─ one yesterday, and this one today ─ are the sole exercising I have gotten this weekend.

No one was home when I got back, so I am going to see just what I can post here today ─ my wife Jack said on Friday that she would next be home today, but I have no idea when.


A supplement I would buy if I was not as financially limited as I am is Pycnogenol, which Wikipedia says "is a dietary supplement derived from extracts from maritime pine bark, [and] is standardised to contain 70% procyanidin."

Apparently no matter how much an elderly person may exercise, muscle loss is unavoidable due to ageing.  All the exercising will do is help maintain more of the muscle mass than would otherwise be possible, but it is still going to start to happen.

That's ugly, if true.

A study using seniors aged 70 - 78 "exhibiting symptoms of muscle loss, sarcopenia and fatigue but otherwise healthy" had the following results after taking 150 milligrams of Pycnogenol for eight weeks:
  • Participants who took Pycnogenol® daily demonstrated greater muscular function and endurance in daily tasks such as carrying items (4-5 lbs.) (71 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/23 percent control), climbing stairs (52 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/20 percent control) and distance walked (38 percent improvement with Pycnogenol®/17 percent control)
  • Pycnogenol® measurably reduced oxidative stress, a common measurement of sarcopenia which prevents the body from normal detoxifying and repair, by 14 percent
  • Supplementation with Pycnogenol® reduced proteinuria – presence of protein in urine which, with normal kidney function, can indicate waste from muscle erosion, by 40 percent
  • Individuals who took Pycnogenol® demonstrated improved general fitness scores by more than 46 percent in comparison with a control group who did not take the natural antioxidant
I am 67, so not too far off from 70.  But I would hope that if I stick it out and achieve the age of 70, I would not yet be evidencing any sarcopenia.

But even without any onset of sarcopenia, those figures the study bore out suggest to me that anyone should be able to experience considerable benefit from the supplement.

I just can't afford it.

Here's a report on the study:


What I am wondering is if it is the pine bark procyanidin that is the key ingredient that helped the seniors so much ─ Pycnogenol is supposed to be composed of 70% of this flavonoid.  If it is the procyanidin, then why not just supplement with procyanidin alone?

I'm wondering out loud, for I do not know.


You no doubt are aware that the meat and poultry industry uses antibiotics far too liberally, and the environment and the consumers are paying a price in health risk.

Six nonprofit activist organizations in the States reviewed 'the 25 largest US fast food and "fast casual" restaurant chains on their antibiotics policies and practices.'

Are you curious how the restaurants fared?

Check the report out for yourself:

I would like to see a similar report on Canadian restaurants.


Did you hear or read anything about actor Ben Stiller proclaiming that a PSA test saved his life from a symptomless prostate cancer?

I had not.  I had to research and find a report bearing his claim:


Well, there is a mass of alternate opinion out there ─ here are a sampling:



I am quite firmly with the active surveillance crowd.

Too many men's quality of life have been ruined by unnecessary prostate cancer treatments and surgeries because they had a low risk tumour, but were terrified into going ahead with the medical meddling because their specialist played their fears perfectly.


It is now 5:49 p.m., and I am still home alone. 

I am going to try and close today's post off now with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

The house I was renting the tiny unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

My plan for the day was a long, long hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  Although the house is now gone, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue ─ it was my main mailing address.

To have hiked directly to her home would have taken about 1½ hours of fast walking.  But of late, I was extending that journey by hiking the King George Highway all the way out to Newton.  

From there, I would access the railway tracks that cut across the highway, turning right onto them, and then following them until I could access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue on Holt Road, very near to Scott Road (120th Street).

My mother's home was a half-dozen or so houses down 90th Avenue, on the right-hand side.

I had gotten to bed the evening before this journal entry at 7:55 p.m.
THURSDAY, October 23, 1975

Very sleepily I got myself up at 1:45 a.m.

Before leaving for my Newton walk to mom's at 5:15 a.m., all morn I felt so tired I nearly convinced myself to sleep instead and leave later in the morning.

I walked, but hard.

I found at mom's a Plain Truth which came yesterday.

We both wished to do some shopping, so I awaited as she received one phone call after another, delaying us until 11:00 a.m.

At Safeway I bought a jar of Sunny Jim peanut butter, then at the health food store I bought 8 ozs of baking powder (49¢), and 2 lbs of wheat to sprout, some of which will be going toward bread I eventually plan to make.

Mom said one of the callers was Cathy; mom assumed I didn't feel like conversation, so said nothing when Cathy expressed her wish that I phone.

Still Mark hunts.

My walk to mom's was a torment of indigestion, and I experienced some heading home too; fortunately it was nippy out, for I was extremely tired before leaving mom's.

I finally bought a can of McColl's, this at Econo-Mart for $2.17, a good price these days.

Bill expects me for some TV tonight.

I saw my first seasonal frost this morn in Surrey; leaving Bill's, I was amazed at the cold outside.

Bed:  8:10 p.m.
I often ran some of the hike, but I only walked fast this time.

It was my brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ("Cathy") who had phoned my mother and expressed her wish that I call her.  She was likely feeling lonely with Mark away hunting.

I am truly surprised that I never called her, for I adored the young woman.  Perhaps I was concerned that she would invite me over, and I would have a really tough go of it declining the offer.  I was just too tired ─ it was going to take everything I had to walk directly back to New Westminster.  

Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together in Whalley.  If I went there ─ about a 4¼-mile hike from my mother's home ─ I would be expected to visit for quite some while.  And then I would still have to walk to New Westminster.  I just wanted to get to my room.  

"McColl's" was a brand of peanut butter ─ it would have been the 48-ounce tin that I bought at Econo-Mart (part of a now-defunct chain), a store in the Townline shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & Scott Road.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived three or so blocks from my room.  He had a bachelor suite and a colour T.V.  But I could not have watched too much T.V. with him if I was to bed by 8:10 p.m. 

Okay, I have to proofread this and get it published ─ my wife Jack showed up just after I began this section.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Pain Relief Alternatives to Harmful Medication │ The Epidemic of Fatty Liver Disease (and Its Avoidance)

I logged into my AdSense account and was a little surprised to see that it had accumulated 4¢ today thus far.  I wasn't so much surprised by the figure, though.  Rather, it was the source that generated that figure:
  • siamlongings.blogspot.com.eg
That is the Egyptian domain for this blog.  I never even realized that it existed.

I ought to be getting out soon (it is 2:31 p.m. as I type these words) and mail an envelope for my wife Jack ─ she left it with me yesterday.  It contains her Employment Insurance Job Search Form.  I think that it's already a bit overdue.

I want to mail it at Pearl Photo / Canada Post over at Surrey Place (Central City), roughly a mile from here where I live.  My feeling is that by mailing it there, it will likely be collected today for sorting, and thereby has the potential to get delivered on Monday ─ its destination address is in Abbotsford.

But I'm a bit tired.

Thanks to having my younger brother Mark opting to sit up later than usual last night as we watched T.V. and drank, it was 1:11 a.m. before I was in bed.

I think I had a break in sleep just after 5:00 a.m. and used the bathroom, and then returned to bed until I next checked the time at 8:28 a.m.  I rose a few minutes thereafter.

I didn't feel as well-slept as one might have expected.  Maybe I had a beer too many last evening.

The day has been predominantly overcast, but dry.

I think that my eldest step-son Tho may have spent the night at his girlfriend's residence.  Or else he was up early and took his younger brother Pote to work shortly before I got up ─ I heard someone leave the house, and then the car drive off.

But Pote may just be using the car if his brother slept at his girlfriend's residence, for Tho is under a driving licence suspension.

Whatever the case, I have not had either of the boys here since I got up.  And Mark left ─ probably for the day, since he usually stays at his girlfriend Bev's residence on Saturday nights ─ whilst I have been working upon this post.

By the way, earlier this month I mentioned here in my blog that back in 1975, I finally received a book titled The Fantastic Art of Frank Frazetta that I had mail-ordered.  It had arrived on that same October day 41years earlier.

I had said that I would scan the front and back covers, but I kept forgetting.  So here they are now:

I have often thought that a few of his images would be absolutely fabulous imprinted on the back of traditional-styled denim jackets.  By 'traditional-styled,' I mean the denim jackets that only reach to the waist and are torso-enhancing ─ not the sloppy loose affairs, nor the ones that extend well below the waist.

Back in the mid-1980s, a young chap where I was then working had just such a jacket that he said he applied the image to by himself ─ it was an action scene featuring Conan, and it covered most of the back of the jacket.

I guess they call the process screen-printing.  I do have a jacket I bought soon after that which featured an extremely eye-catchingly colorful steer skull with possibly a pair of crossed feathered lances.

I had mail-ordered it from a Western clothing company called Cheyenne Outfitters that apparently went bankrupt in November 1998, if this reference is correct.

I received so much praise over that jacket that I rue I never bought others at the time.  I still have it, but the denim has separated in spots; and once I even had to have the collar replaced.  Unfortunately, the tailor only had brown corduroy to do it with.


Yesterday I mentioned a study that implicated NSAIDs in ─ among other ills ─ heart failure.

I included suggested alternatives to the medications, but I want to add this little extra as encouragement ─ these are a couple of reports on a study that has identified options for pain-relief of various conditions:

One other pain-relief alternative was reported on back in 2009 at ScientificAmerican.com Why the #$%! Do We Swear? For Pain Relief.

Unfortunately, if you are a frequent swearer as a matter of course, then this pain-relief method will likely fail you:
There is a catch, though: The more we swear, the less emotionally potent the words become, [psychologist Richard] Stephens cautions. And without emotion, all that is left of a swearword is the word itself, unlikely to soothe anyone's pain.

Have you ever heard of non-alcoholic steatohepatitis (NASH)?  It is possible that you or a loved one may have it.  After all, anywhere from 2% to 5% of Americans have it, most have no idea that they do, and there is no treatment as yet.

None, that is, except a liver transplant.

NASH is the escalated end result of non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD) ─ and anywhere from 10% to 20% of Americans have that!

As the following article about it reports, pharmaceutical corporations are trying to cash in on this by devising a medication for it, but none have struck gold as yet:


The best course of action is to try and prevent it in the first place.  We can undoubtedly thank the food manufacturing industry for this epidemic.

Guess how researchers develop NASH in mice so that the researchers can run these treatment studies?

Mice were kept "...on a diet high in trans-fat (40%), fructose (22%) and cholesterol (2%)..."

That's from the abstract of a study titled Obese diet-induced mouse models of nonalcoholic steatohepatitis-tracking disease by liver biopsy (doi: 10.4254/wjh.v8.i16.673).

A report on another study ─ the one the STAT news.com article concerned itself with ─ is available here:

If you are eating lost of processed foods, then you are getting lots of trans-fats and fructose.  And your odds are excellent of developing NAFLD, and then NASH.

This is the advice from NewMarketHealth.com concerning avoidance of that specific liver-damaging diet:
It's the perfect recipe for fatty liver disease -- high fructose corn syrup, fructose and partially hydrogenated oils. Things you'll find in drinks like soda, tea and even fruit beverages -- as well as in everyday foods like bread, ketchup, cereals and salad dressings.

And trans fats are found in numerous bakery items and processed foods.

So here's what you need to do to keep yourself and your loved ones safe:
  • HFCS isn't just in soda! All sorts of foods and drinks contain this laboratory sweetener. Read labels and put back anything that contains it.
  • Also ditch anything containing fructose, fruit sugar and crystalline fructose. These are typically just disguised names for very potent versions of HFCS.
  • Check labels for partially hydrogenated oils. The FDA has recently banned its use in food, but it will take years for that to fully go into effect.
The only kind of fructose you want is the natural kind found in apples, peaches and pears -- in other words, real fruit. The fiber slows its absorption and allows it to be digested in a different and healthy way.

I managed to get out and mail that letter for my wife Jack.  There was a fair amount of weak sunshine.

I left here at 4:37 p.m., and was back at the front door by 5:16 p.m.  I do not believe that I have walked that vigorously before in the entirety of this year ─ and it felt good!

I am going to close now with this 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the little unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, October 22, 1975

I arose about 5:45 a.m., hoping I am able to adhere to my dietetic resolutions; however, it is evident to me I dare not yield up flour products, nor go hungry; I may consume a lot, but must never overeat again with currently one-meal regularity.  I shall fortify myself with supplements.

I typed up Jean a letter to be mailed on my way to dad's this largely clouded day; I heared upon me radio in the morn that there may have been some frost during the night.

Anyway, the posties are still striking, day two.

I leave for dad's ─ all exercises done ─ before 11:10 a.m.

I misjudged the cloud; my walking was mostly in sun, both ways.

I stopped at Woodward's, but they still haven't decent canned peanut butter.

Dad wasn't home; a note on his door explained this.

After draining in some brush, I came home.

I later went to Bill's for his idea of a chili supper; since my lunch, I have had indigestion, which possibly may be due to my vitamin pills and such.

Anyway, bed at 7:55 p.m.; cold out!
The letter I typed was for Jean M. Martin, an American pen-pal I had.

My father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden lived in an apartment at (I believe) 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.

They had only been there around three months; I always walked both there, and back to my room again, whenever I visited.  

If a note had been left on their door, it must have been intended for me.  Perhaps they had some important appointment ─ my father hated missing my visits.

It seems that I required a little bathroom relief in the outdoors before undertaking the long walk back.

Woodward's used to be located where the Royal City Centre Mall is now on Sixth Avenue.  They had their own brand of peanut butter ─ a natural peanut butter that tasted unique to me.  So I always tried to acquire a 48-ounce tin of it.  If the link remains valid, you can see a tin of it here.     

My old friend William Alan Gill probably didn't live any more than about three blocks from me ─ he was renting a bachelor suite.

But so much for this day in 1975!

I shall proofread and then publish this post, have a bath, prepare a very quick light supper, and settle in for some Android TV Box T.V. programming while enjoying some drinks.  As said earlier, I do not expect my younger brother home this evening, so I will be alone in the living room.