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Wednesday, August 9, 2017

More on Walnuts and Gut Flora │ Proton-Pump Inhibitors (PPIs) Being Pushed by Pharmaceutical Industry

My wife Jack had shown up from Vancouver yesterday before I had yet finished the day's post here in my blog. It was probably around 6:00 p.m.

Her eldest son Tho was home ─ he had not gone to work, despite just enjoying a three-day long-weekend. But his weekends seldom seem long enough ─ even when they are legitimately long.

Anyway, he was home when his mother arrived, yes ─ but he was back shut up in his bedroom, probably napping.

So Jack was downstairs alone, making supper preparations.

I felt obliged to go downstairs to be present in case she had anything she wanted to say, but she seemed to be withdrawn. She was definitely silent.

Thus, with the evening starting to wear on, I decided it best to just come back up here and get my post finished.

When I was done, I again went downstairs; and this time I soon had the T.V. on. As yet, Jack had said nothing to me, apart from letting me know that her youngest son Poté was not around because he had gone to Whistler with his girlfriend.

He hadn't been here Monday night, but I did not know why. Nor care, of course. With him here, there's always the risk he'll be fetching home his girlfriend to sleep with, and I do not like that.

But I am digressing.

I decided to watch an episode of Claws. I've been following the series from the start, but I only watch it when Jack is home. She doesn't sit and watch it with me, but she seems to be paying it some heed, so I know it is interesting her.

And so it proved last evening. She got quite vocal concerning a nasty young character presumed to have been killed by a couple of the main female leads, and probably devoured by alligators; but we learned maybe three episodes ago that he had actually been found badly wounded by a middle-aged woman with a reality problem who nursed him back to health, but kept him virtually shackled as her love slave.

She is involved in the arts scene and has some bizarre creation based on pubic hair that she has wanted to put on show at an arts gala, and our nasty young hunk got her convinced to attend this event ─ with him, of course.

I won't keep on about the episode. It suffices to say that Jack had quite a lot of vocal involvements with me about the latest developments in that episode, so she must only have been tired earlier when she had nothing much to say.

My younger brother Mark got home not too very long after 8:00 p.m. I had put on an episode of American Ninja Warrior, and he soon enough was into his chair in the living room watching it with me.

I next tuned in an episode of Killjoys. He watched that for a time, and then I realized that he had passed out. He remained so until after I had essentially finished with shows and had tuned in a news station.

It seems to me that he didn't head on upstairs to his bedroom until maybe 10:45 p.m. He's still working for a living, so he keeps his clock-radio set for 4:30 a.m.

I was a little surprised when around 11:15 p.m. Jack gave me leave to turn off the T.V. and go on to bed if I felt like it. She was going to sit up for awhile with a stiff drink that she hoped would assist her in getting to sleep.

She actually poured herself some of Mark's Scotch, and used a small can of her sons' Coke ─ this stuff is in a mainly black-labeled can. And as I said, the cans are considerably smaller than any cans of pop I ever recall seeing before.

When her back was turned, I took a taste of her drink ─ she definitely had a lot of Scotch!

I did go on up to our bedroom, so I don't know if she ended up wasting any of the liquor. The Coke deserves to go down the drain, but not the Scotch!

I felt so uncomfortably warm and muggy in bed that sleep was clearly going to be a problem.

Eventually I became aware that Jack was at last joining me; and when she did, I peeked at the time. It was either around 12:42 a.m., or else 1:42 a.m. ─ I now forget; but I didn't think that I had as yet managed to sink into any sleep.

It was definitely a harsh night.

There came a point when she was stirring and then getting up. I could perceive beneath my blindfold that it was starting to get light outside, so I wondered if maybe her lazy 22-year-old son Tho had summoned her to drive his pampered behind to the SkyTrain to save him having to bother with a bus.

We live in the Whalley area of Surrey, and he works in Burnaby.

I hadn't heard him knock or speak out to her, but I might have been in the vestiges of sleep ─ and I do wear earplugs.

When she exited the bedroom, I looked at the clock-radio and saw that it was maybe 5:55 a.m. And then I could hear the two of them in some pointed exchange from Tho's bedroom area downstairs.

What had developed, I was to learn, is that he had not summoned her ─ she had noticed the time and wondered if maybe he had slept in, for it is not in his nature to let his poor mother sleep if he has to go to work and doesn't care to bother with a bus.

And the upshot?

Why, the lazy tit decided to take yet another day off work!

But one good thing came of Jack being downstairs so early ─ she saw the three skunks in our backyard that I had noticed last evening around 8:30 p.m.

She took these photos:










And she even got a very short video clip before the varmints went beneath that fence and into a neighbour's yard:



I had recorded some video footage the previous morning of two of those skunks romping with one another in our backyard, but this short clip of Jack's does trump what I captured.

Note that she recorded her video in portrait mode, so I had to first get the video uprighted by 90º; and then in order to be rid of those annoying great black borders on each side of the narrow video, I used Video Cutter (http://online-video-cutter.com/) to crop it after isolating the central portion of the video where the skunks were.

To explain, just imagine that any of the previous photos was the video. I simply selected a section of her video where the skunks were primarily located, and everything else around that area was removed.

The effect is just about like zooming in.

Jack went back to bed after showing me what she had filmed, but I remained up. I wasn't sure that I would manage it, though.

I got busy adding further content into the post I am working on at my hosted website Amatsu Okiya; and then I took a break and ─ even though it seemed an impossibility due to how weary I was ─ I went out to the backyard tool shed to see if I could manage to exercise.

I stood about assessing myself for some while; and in fact, I even concluded that I just didn't have it within me to bear the punishment.

However, then I reflected that I hadn't exercised at all yesterday, apart from making a four-mile round-trip beer hike. So I compromised, and put myself through ⅗ of what presently constitutes a workout in that shed.

It is so difficult to exercise when the heart for it is not there.

I returned to working on the Amatsu Okiya post until I had achieved the minimum amount of input I had planned to add to it for today, and then Jack was up.

I had heard her talking in Thai with someone just prior.

She did some cooking, and then had a quick shower.

And then she said that she was going to meet her friend Fanta in Langley for lunch.

After seeing her off, I was just about to begin work on this post, when it occurred to me that I still had not done any sunning today.

The sky is only vaguely bluish due to the smoke from B.C. forest fires elsewhere in the province, but I haven't let up as yet. So beginning at 12:17 p.m., I sat on a chair out in the backyard for just over 40 minutes.

Then I had a meal.

And finally, I got to work on today's post.

Poté and his girlfriend arrived back around 2:30 p.m., and basically went straight to bed. Jack got back around 3:40 p.m., but it is now 4:17 p.m., and the young couple still persist in acting as if it's perfectly normal for a pair of 19-year-olds to be sacked out ─ basically in plain view of anyone here who wants to look, since Poté beds down in the boys' den area.

Enough of them.

In yesterday's post, I included a link to what was purported to be an article lauding walnuts, but only the title and reference had anything to do with walnuts ─ the article itself was entirely devoted to artificial sweeteners, spelling out that they not only have no effect upon weight loss, but they are damaging.

This is the actual walnut article:

HSIonline.com

Learning that walnuts have such a profound beneficial effect upon our gut flora has made me even more determined to try and keep myself supplied with enough to have at least ¼ to ½ a cup daily.

This isn't a brand new discovery, though ─ it's merely the latest research about this remarkable benefit. Note this June 2 report from last year at ScienceDaily.com: Walnuts may improve your colon health.

Now on to something else ─ proton-pump inhibitors. Folks with severe indigestion (heartburn) take these things ─ and usually by prescription ─ but they shouldn't.

This is an example of a medically-degreed Pharmaceutical Industry shill who is being given a platform as their mouthpiece:

ScienceDaily.com

Well, not everyone is so easily lulled with such disingenuity:

HSIonline.com

When I was a young man and subject to terrific episodes of heartburn, I might have taken a PPI if one was available ─ I certainly took lots of Pepto-Bismol, Tums, Rolaids, Alka-Seltzer, etc.

But something happened over the years when I ceased gluttonous eating ─ indigestion became a thing of the distant past.

The only time I experience a bad threat of stomach distress is if I am on an extended bout of heavy drinking of hard liquor ─ it eventually does a number on my stomach lining, I expect.

People just want magic bullets ─ they have no inclination to change their bad habits.

Well, PPIs are no magic bullet. They're probably closer to something like a suicide vest.

It is now 5:45 p.m., and I have just seen my wife Jack off on her return drive to Vancouver.

The two sleepers roused shortly before. Jack seemed more than amiable with them.

And now it seems that the couple are also heading off ─ well and good, if so.

I am going to sign off now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

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

It was the start of a new workweek for me at S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends), a New Westminster charitable organization with which I had a three-month contract of full-time employment.

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

I must have been over halfway through that contract by this time.

I had worked at S.A.N.E. before this on a part-time basis, but infrequently. Still, my history with them might have stretched back 1½ or more years.

The old building that housed S.A.N.E. was located on Carnarvon Street, but today I believe that section of Carnarvon is now occupied by the property of the New Westminster SkyTrain Station.
MONDAY, August 9, 1976

I slept intermittently during the night, and on a couple occasions suffered itching from my mosquito bites which I had to scratch.

I guess I had too much flour and peanut butter and butter to sleep soundly.

About 2:00 a.m. someone came persistently a-knocking, but didn't hang about too long, or call my name; if it was dad, he seemed to have had transportation. I wonder if he moved out on Marie, and I should hold back on mailing his letter?

When I got up just after 6:30 a.m., I discovered my yogurt to appear perfect.

My back mid-spine is suffering muscle stiffness and soreness.

I'll mail dad's letter ─ and Jean's ─ on my way to Woodward's to buy the $1 money order needed before Adam Ⅷ in New York will continue processing my "Rock Around the Clock" order.

Leaving for S.A.N.E., as I approached Queens Ave I saw Art drive by in the truck, with Angie & at least 1 kid passenger.

At work, Took said dad broke or dislocated his arm at the shoulder in the bar Thursday night.

The day was mostly cloudy, but grew muggy.

I had an easy day, though affected with gas, but was and am very tired.

$1.92 at Safeway bought me wheat flakes & eggs.

Just after getting home I tried for a vital rest, and awoke 6:30 p.m. It's 7:00 p.m. that I'm leaving for mom's, mailing along the way the $1 to Adam Ⅷ for my tapes.

Mom & Alex both were home.

My  mail was the monthly Church letter, and F. and S.F. Book Co. books: The excellent Far Lands Other Days by E. Hoffman Price, and the paperbacks Swordships of Scorpio by Akers, The Bloody Sun by Bradbury, When the Green Star Calls by Carter, and Time Slave by Norman.

I snacked on 2 cups of tea and numerous sugar cookies.

My walk home was peaceful; I met a garrulous old drunk yclept Ted on the bridge.

Bed at 11:55 p.m.  
After all of these years, I am now curious if possibly I was suffering from bedbug bites. I never knew then what a bedbug looked like, but I cannot recollect ever seeing one years ago as I know them to appear today.

My father Hector had suggested to me the previous week that perhaps we could get an apartment together and I could help him with a caretaking assignment ─ if he managed to get one somewhere. He was sharing an apartment with his girlfriend Maria Fadden, but she and I were at strong odds.

My father was a huge risk, though ─ he would regularly go on extended drunken binges or carouses that could last many days.

I think that it may have been the previous Thursday when he and I last spoke ─ he had appeared at S.A.N.E., quite drunk. I gave him a dollar, and he headed over in the direction of the Dunsmuir Hotel beer parlour (or pub).   

"Took" was an Indigenous Canadian who worked at S.A.N.E., and who knew my father because they both loved their beer.

Art Smith, who was in his early 40s, married to Angelina (Angie), and with three kids, had also worked for S.A.N.E. 

Now, the yogurt ─ I had just recently acquired a yogurt-maker and some culture, so this was my first attempt at actually making some yogurt.

One of the letters I mailed was to my American pen-pal Jean M. Martin (née Black).

Anyway, despite being tired that day, after I was home from work and had a nap, I readied and was soon hiking the 1½ hours to get to the home of my mother Irene Dorosh and her husband Alex ─ their address was my main mailing address.

That lovely little home no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. 

After visiting awhile, I then hiked all the way back to my room in New Westminster. It wasn't often that I would just describe that hike as "peaceful" ─ I had grown to almost hate it because I had been doing it for so darned long, and nothing about the route and scenery was ever different.

Even then, traffic was oppressive.

Before closing, I just want to report that Tho now has his girlfriend in his bedroom ─ they showed up together around 6:00 p.m. He had disappeared shortly before Jack got back from her luncheon date with Fanta.

Poté returned from his Whistler adventure around 6:25 p.m. I am unsure if he still has his girlfriend with him, or if he came back alone.

I bet I'm going to sleep especially well tonight, despite the heat and humidity ─ I am very tired.
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