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Friday, August 26, 2016

Remembering a Key 1975 Hike

Although I did make it to bed before midnight last night, my break in sleep ─ and a bathroom visit ─ took place around 3:00 a.m.

Sleep was hard-won thereafter.  

I was a belly-sleeper for most of my adult life, and only in the past five or six years have found myself able to sleep on my back.

But when I do have trouble sleeping on my back, pulling the pillow under me so that my stomach and chest are lying atop it can help me drift into a sleep.

That was so last night, and I remained like that until I checked the time at 7:39 a.m.

I thought to try for more sleep upon my back, but my mind was too engaged; and so I rose after a few minutes.

My eyes were in sorry shape.  I could barely read anything on my computer screen.

I worked for some time at the post I began on Monday at my Latin Impressions website, but it was going to be impossible to complete it.   

My physical state was such that I realized myself to be incapable of exercise, even though I had a reduced schedule of it yesterday.

To my mind, that left me but one option ─ a government liquor store hike for another two dozen cans of beer.

First, though, I needed to seek rejuvenation, and so I sought a deep rest in bed with my aggravated eyes covered.

I may even have slipped into a nap.

But it all ended after about an hour when I heard my cellphone make a sound such as when a text message arrives.

I checked; it was indeed a message.  My wife Jack had asked if the Pattullo Bridge was going to be open today.  

I replied back that it was open today, but it would close this evening for the entire weekend as the rehabilitation work proceeded with earnest.

She said that she would be home around 1:00 p.m.

Well, that meant that I had to get out of here and make that four-mile round-trip hike. 

And so I started readying myself, knowing that today was going to be exceptionally hot.

My youngest step-son Pote was home, so I readied surreptitiously.

And at 11:49 a.m., my journey had begun.

Surrey Place (Central City) is about midway.  I had an optometry claim to mail off to Sun Life ─ my wife Jack recently had her eyes tested and new lenses prescribed for her prescription glasses.

In total:  $258.93.

Sun Life is going to be wondering what's going on with my account.  I've had the coverage for maybe 20 years, but until earlier this month, no claim had ever been made.

Jack's youngest son Pote broke the drought by having a prescription submitted directly at a pharmacy.

And now Jack was taking advantage of the optometrist examination and prescription glasses that are also covered.

I was sendng this claim by mail because the optometrist office told Jack that they were unable to submit her claim directly, and she would have to file a paper claim.

I don't know if they were just shirking on their end of the transaction or not.

Anyway, I got the claim mailed at Pearl Cleaners ─ they serve as the postal substation at Surrey Place (Central City).

I walked as slowly as I could throughout the hike to the government liquor store (located at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley), and back home again. 

Obviously the trip back was the worst, since I was laden with two dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer.  I was tempted to stop and have at least one of them, but I forged on.

Attired in boots, blue jeans, a black sleeveless top, and a black sleeveless denim jacket, I began sweating quite heavily.

The entire trip usually takes about 1½ hours.  

When I arrived back home, I found that Jack had been here and left again.  However, some frozen meats were in the sink to thaw, so it was clear that she would be returning.

Pote was still here, but he left around 1:30 p.m. to catch his bus to work.

It is 2:33 p.m. as I type these words, and I am still alone in the house.


I wish to post a fairly old family photo ─ the description below it is from the Google album where I have the scanned image stored:

This is my mother Irene Dorosh, although she may not have yet adopted that surname ─ I am fuzzy now on just when she married her husband Alex Dorosh.

It was either in October 1972, 1973, or 1974.

My mother did not leave much detail concerning this photo ─ just that it was "Me," and the year "1972."

I have no idea where the location is.

Pappy's Juice Stand means nothing to me, nor does what looks to be La Brisc.
I wonder what the chances are that my mother and Alex married in October 1972, and this photo was taken on whatever they did as a honeymoon?


Here to finish today's post is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the room at was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I had gone to bed the previous evening at 7:00 p.m., trying to establish a pattern of early bedtimes and early-morning risings.
TUESDAY, August 26, 1975

I slept well till 10:00 p.m. last night; then I got up at 11:00 p.m., abandoning any further attempt for a spell, until midnight; from that hour, finishing my ecology reading, I had some difficulty still getting asleep, but did, and arose 4:15 a.m.

It was raining out then; probably this will keep up all or most of the day.

I had a delicious pancake breakfast.

My plan for today is to first mail a wrapper to the Bank Account Contest in Saint John; then I shall drop off the latest Good News and Plain Truth at Mark's (Cathy expressed she wished to read my Plain Truths, enjoying the last one); then on to Newton, believe it or not, if my boots allow, and from there along the tracks to mom's.

I shall leave here 7:15 a.m., discarding my pornography as I do.

Everything proceeded according to plan, except for my surprise encounter with Howie walking a dog at the foot of 1st St.

I reached Newton quite wet at 9:30 a.m.

By then I realized that my boots were a waste; they constricted my swollen feet and caused the burning sole syndrome.

I painfully progressed along the tracks, and reached mom's, who was out, no later than 10:25 a.m.

Before she got back, Cathy phoned to say everyone was going to come over shortly.

I ate heartily.

Mark & Cathy took me home with them about 1:45 p.m. or so, the latter hoping I would stay with her till Mark came home from work, having started work at the mill again this week on an afternoon shift.

Alas, my conscience would not allow me to bypass my home exercises, what with the caloric mass I ingested today (Cathy even gave me a piece of blueberry pie; I had apple at mom's); nor did I care to miss my early retirement as well.

By now, it was quite sunny; I got home slightly past 8:00 p.m.

My only mail was a notice re Coastal Ships postage stamps.

Bed at 10:00 p.m.
My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were renting a home together ─ it was located on Bentley Road in Whalley, and was very near to 108th Avenue & King George Highway.

I no longer remember who "Howie" was, but he and I worked part-time at the same charitable organization in New Westminster. 

I had long been a subscriber to both The Plain Truth and The Good News magazines.

So this is the very first time I tackled that route ─ it was to become my usual trek in reaching my mother Irene Dorosh's home at least twice a week.

She lived in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ the house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

From my room at Ninth Street & Third Avenue in New Westminster, I would hike over to the Pattullo Bridge and cross it, and then continue up the King George Highway all the way to Newton.

At that time, the BC Hydro Railway tracks cut right through town; today the railway is called the Southern Railway of British Columbia.

What I would do was either take to the railway tracks a little beyond 72nd Avenue, turning right onto them; or else I would just turn right on 72nd Avenue, and access the tracks from there.

Then I would hike them to where I would turn off from them and access 90th Avenue where my mother lived close by. 

That avenue does not quite reach to Scott Road.

Apparently the trip that day took me two hours and 45 minutes.  And I would have been walking fast.

My mother's home was my main mailing address, but all I had that day was a notice from the Post Office telling me of the latest issue of commemorative postage stamps.

I must have answered the phone in my mother's absence after I arrived, and spoke with Jeanette ("Cathy"), learning from her that she, Mark, and Jeanette's two little girls would be coming over for a visit.

Where they lived in Whalley, the drive to my mother's home would be roughly 4¼ miles.

They apparently did come over; and after their visit, I left with them to go to their home.  It would have been a little closer to New Westminster than the hike would have been for me from my mother's home.

I know that I would have loved to have kept Jeanette company while Mark put in his afternoon/evening shift at the mill he was employed with ─ I loved the young woman dearly.

But Mark wouldn't likely have gotten off work until possibly midnight ─ and then I would still have to get to my room in New Westminster after he got  home.

Evidently I still wanted to exercise at my room after all of that long, long walking, and then get to bed at a decent hour.

So I bade Jeanette a good-bye and hiked for New Westminster with probably a heavy heart.

As I became accustomed to traveling that route to my mother's home, I would soon find myself leaving before daybreak and ─ upon reaching the Pattullo Bridge ─ I would actually run from there all the way to 72nd Avenue in Newton.

And that was two or three times a week!

The walk along the tracks to my mother's home was my post-run cooling-down period.

And after all of that, at some point in the afternoon after I had spent time at my mother's home, I would leave and take the direct route from her home back to New Westminster.

It was possible to follow the railway tracks to where they crossed Scott Road (120th Street) at 99th Avenue, and then continue traveling them as they cut across country and again crossed Scott Road not far at all from the Patullo Bridge.   

Believe me, I was unusually fit back in those years!

But let's speak of today.

My wife Jack returned around 3:00 p.m., and remained home until near 5:45 p.m. before she left to return to Vancouver.  She had cooked up a couple of dishes to leave for us.

I have no idea why she is still staying downtown now that Mango Thai Restaurant ceased operations and she no longer has to work downtown.

She said that she will be helping her friend Fanta tomorrow and maybe Sunday at the latter's Thai restaurant in Langley ─ does it not make more sense to be here?  She's going to have to use the Port Mann Bridge and be charged the hefty toll with the Pattullo Bridge closed for the whole weekend.

On Monday, she has a noon dental appointment here in Surrey.

I wish I could win free of my financial bondage to this house and my essential imprisonment here, and move far away if she and I are truly through.

But prayers go unanswered ─ mine always have....

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Our Latest CRA Telephone Scam │ Power Morcellation and the PneumoLiner ─ All the Safeguard We Need? Hardly....

As I expected, my younger brother Mark nigh blew a gasket when I informed him last evening that my wife Jack had bought a new washer.

He had bought a second-hand one several months ago that just recently started acting up ─ the one we were using prior to that had become defective.  But after he bought the replacement, he managed to fix the original machine.

So it was still sitting nearby ─ Jack just assumed that it was still broken.

She paid $800 on her VISA card, but the salesgirl claimed that if she brought back the receipt on September 1st, a special sale they were having would entitle her to a 30% discount.

I sure hope that's true.

Anyway, my two step-sons got to work late last evening moving out the defective machine, and I helped them get it placed onto the backyard sundeck.  The ultimate plan is to get it into the small backyard shed before the coming of any rain.

The brand new Samsung was to be delivered this morning ─ I thought that my youngest step-son Pote said that the delivery was to be anytime between 9:00 a.m. - 11:00 a.m., but the two chaps who moved it in were here and gone again before 9:00 a.m.

They hooked it up for us, and Pote has already used it.

He and his brother launder several times a week ─ no doubt, they are the ones wearing out the machines.

It's rare that I need to launder even once a week ─ I can generally get by with doing it every couple of weeks.

Occasionally I might do a special wash of a couple bedding items.

Speaking of Pote, he has been home all day ─ he normally works on Thursdays.  I don't know what's going on with that.

I nearly completed the new post I've been working on since Monday at my Latin Impressions website ─ I should have no problem topping its content up in the morning and then getting it published.

But my vision has been very troublesome today; nor have I felt particularly well-rested or physically able.

I have had to curtail my exercise sessions somewhat, reducing what I would normally have done in a couple of them because I am just feeling too overtaxed.

And it has been another hot and sunny day.

I put in over 70 minutes of sunning on the backyard sundeck, beginning at 12:23 p.m.

Make hay while the sun shines!

Had it been an overcast day, I might well have napped to try and recover some of what seems to be missing from me.

I think that it was approaching 12:30 a.m. last night before I got to bed ─ I had become embroiled in E-mails.

Also, I was not all that sure that my wife Jack might not show up.  But she didn't.

My first serious break in sleep was around 4:00 a.m., so I availed myself of the bathroom.

It might have been around 7:45 a.m. when I decided to get up for the day, but I was not feeling at all rejuvenated from the bed-rest and sleep that I did manage.

By the way, the Canada Revenue Agency scammers have been at it again.

I recorded the telephone message and uploaded it to YouTube:

This is the first time that a computerized voice or text-to-speech technology has been used insofar as my experience with these scam calls goes.

A lawsuit registered under whose name?  And an arrest warrant for whom?

There are FIVE taxpayers in this household ─ is the call supposed to be for any one of us who happens to hear the message?

Or does it apply to all of us, and we are somehow a band of gangsters cheating CRA?

It amazes me that people fall for this:  panic, call back, and do absolutely everything that they are bidden by the scammers.


I have a fairly old family photo I want to post ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scanned photo saved:

This appears to be my mother Irene Dorosh, but I have no idea at all when the photo was taken, nor where.

She died mid-March 2006, less than two months before what would have been her 90th birthday.

This photo would have been taken a few decades before then.

Both Canada and the U.S.A. have issued warnings in the past about the use of power morcellators for the purpose of procedures such as hysterectomies and fibroid removal surgeries, but the use of these surgical devices continues.

The concern with these surgical tools is that if there is an unseen cancer present, the morcellator will chew up the tissue and fling cells of the cancer all about and thereby help in its spread.

But now there is a supposed safeguard called a PneumoLiner that is claimed to be able to contain the tissues that were heretofore tossed all about by the morcellator.

This "morcellation tissue containment system" is supposed to be able to retain the morcellated tissues and fluids within a 'bag,' but a study on such bags ─ without actually naming any specific products ─ found that one in 10 of them could actually still leak fluids and tissues.

The FDA estimates that one in 350 women "who have hysterectomy or myomectomy for fibroids will have an unsuspected uterine sarcoma."


The FDA has approved the PneumoLiner for use with power morcellators, but it incongruously states of the PneumoLiner that "it has not been proven to reduce the risk of cancer spread during surgery."

And note this quote about these morcellation tissue containment systems ─ the quote was issued by Daniel L. Clarke-Pearson, MD, professor and chair of the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology at University of North Carolina:
"There have been vascular and bowel injuries by power morcellators when using a containment bag because the bag itself can obstruct the surgeon's view of adjacent anatomy and thus, the morcellator has penetrated out the opposite side of the bag and injured organs that were not visualized," he said. "I presume this bag is not so strong as to withstand the blades of the power morcellator."
Feel secure yet?

Surgeons are supposed to warn patients of the dangers that can result from power morcellation, but they are not required to by law.

And note this concerning the PneumoLiner:
The new bag is not guaranteed to stop the spread of cancer. In fact, the packaging of the product must also list several warnings, including one that reads, “The use of this containment system has not been clinically demonstrated to reduce this risk.”
How would you feel if you  had access to that package and read that?

Well, don't worry ─ you as a patient would never get to see the package.

Here are a couple of sources for my information:

Earlier this month, a graver report was published concerning the FDA's approval of the PneumoLiner for use during power morcellation:


What frightening implications!


I must rush this closing portion of my post ─ the day has grown later than I am comfortable with.

Here is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the room at was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

Normally I worked just one day a week ─ Friday.  However, when I reported in on the previous Friday, there was naught for me to do.

And so I was coming in on a Monday.

My employer was a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) who were then situated in a building that was located approximately where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon Street.

Today, S.A.N.E. calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had retired at 6:00 p.m. the previous evening....
MONDAY, August 25, 1975

I slept quite well till about 10:30 p.m. last night, then I listened to the 1963 flashbacks till midnight.  After that, sleep was not easy.

I got up disappointedly this morning at about 4:50 a.m.  I felt I was uncommonly refreshed, but later learned I was wanting a great deal more sleep.

I had grand hopes for today, setting up tomorrow for my longest walk yet, a development that came upon me Saturday, I believe.

On my way to Army & Navy, I encountered Mike; we dragged out a conversation on the street corner.

At the store, I paid $9.40 for a fake-leather hiking boot.

Then I went to S.A.N.E., finding there Bill, Bill, Howie, Al, and a new guy, John, who looks something like a poor Clint Eastwood.

I popped over to Safeway and bought some soap, eggs, and a 3 lb bag of Granola (priced at about $2.23), this latter purchase pricking me to consider hence just buying cereals that must be cooked.

Back at S.A.N.E., most of us were discharged for the day; maybe we all were.

I may have to put in an extra day next week; Shirley is moving, and it is reckoned that about 3 days will here be required.

I next spent a couple hours from home, over at Queen's Park, doing some reading, the clouds notwithstanding.

I think my boots will do me well; tomorrow will tell.

After exercising, idleness resulted in a loathsome intense release with the assist of August's Marguerite Cordier; I have decided to discard my pornography tomorrow morn.

Tonight I shall retire at 7:00 p.m., hoping to remain asleep for enough hours to reckon it a full period.
I have no idea what walk I was contemplating! 

The chap I encountered on my way to Army & Navy on Columbia Street must have been Mike Schutz.  He was a truly nice guy ─ I rather miss him.

He was nigh 6½ feet tall, but probably weighed less than 150 pounds.

Of those fellows I mentioned finding at S.A.N.E., I remember none of them with any certainty.  However, I did recently write that one of the Bills' last name was Sevenko.

I normally worked as a truck swamper for S.A.N.E., but the usual driver was sick when I reported for work on the Friday.  It doesn't sound like anything had changed.    

The moving job scheduled for the following week must have been for Shirley Johnston, but I will not speak of her until that is confirmed in due course.

So after being discharged yet again, I went over to Queen's Park to read.

Then back at my room, following some exercise, I fell prey to an August model in what was likely Penthouse magazine. 

I rarely felt good about that supposedly normal conduct.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

A Solution to Problematic Kidney Stones?

It is getting complicated for me as I try to maintain my old schedule with my wife Jack home as much as she is now that Mango Thai Restaurant has been sold and will not exist as a Thai restaurant.

Last evening she went to bed early.  When I finally joined her either shortly before midnight or shortly after that hour, she had already gotten back up.

I learned from her today that she may not have returned to bed until as late as 2:30 a.m.

It might have been around 6:00 a.m. when I took a bathroom break, and then I tried for further sleep.

Some did come, but when I checked the time possibly as late as 8:40 a.m., I decided to get up.  I wanted to get some work done while I could on the new post I started this past Monday at my Latin Impressions website.

Jack accommodated me by not getting up until maybe noon.

Pote had been out earlier in her car, and had taken his girlfriend ─ who had spent the night here with him ─ someplace, for he returned without her.  Is Jack's presence the reason?

After all, the two have typically been spending all of their Tuesdays and Wednesdays together for quite a number of recent weeks.  Why else would the two-day sleep-in fest get curbed?

Anyway, it's been a beautiful sunny day, but I was not able to do any sunbathing.  Jack never went anywhere until the early afternoon, and was back home again in an hour or so.

I'm having difficulty squeezing in my various small exercise breaks that I try to put in over the course of any one day.

I do very much regret not having had the alone-time to do any sunbathing.  This kind of weather will all-too-soon be history for the year.

During the noon-hour Jack was outside cleaning and vacuuming the car she uses, and she mentioned that the big green compost container needs cleaning because it "has worms."

I suspect that she meant that it needed to get dumped, and it was in fact out at the curb and had already been emptied earlier by one of the trucks.

I went out to get it, and noted that a little of its rotting content had spilled during the dumping process, and the container itself smelt absolutely putrid.

I hauled it back into the open carport and lifted the lid to peek into it.  A maggot fell onto the cement floor.

I contemplated scooping it up with a leaf or something and dropping it back into the container; but before I ever made that move, I observed two more just drop out from under the closed lid entirely on their own.

The heck with that!

I left them for whatever might become their fate.

Late in the noon-hour I noticed a fly in the house.  The full details are below this photo ─ the description is from the Google album where I have the photo now housed: 

I noticed a fly had gotten into the house early this afternoon (Wednesday, August 24, 2016); and even though it was at a window in an out-of-the-way area, I decided that I would go and get a plastic container to entrap it and release it outdoors.

When I located what I wanted and had returned, the fly was ascending an edge of the window frame, and was thus somewhat inaccessible.

It moved itself higher and higher; and then I noticed one of those jumping spiders nestled almost out of sight as the fly approached.

The fly stupidly walked headlong into the spider, and was evidently grabbed at the head.

It's feeble wing-beatings did nothing, and they did not last for long.

And soon the fly had stopped moving at all.

I've not clearly seen the spider ─ it is somewhat into a recess of the window frame.  However, I think that it is actually smaller than the fly.
Around mid-afternoon I realized that Jack might be planning on going out again.  She had changed out of her casual wear.

And then at about 3:50 p.m., after I had escorted her out to the car while helping carry some food she was taking along with her, Pote joined her.

I suspect that he was just getting as lift to somewhere, and that they were not going to the same destination ─ wherever that would be for Jack.

So she left, and my impression is that she will not be back this evening.  But I just don't know.

And now this evening I have to deal with my younger brother Mark when he gets home ─ the new washing machine that Jack bought is to be delivered sometime tomorrow morning, and we have to clear away the defective machine.

As I reported yesterday, the defective machine may well be fixable ─ Mark just never had time to check it over on the weekend because he was away camping.

Besides, the machine it had replaced is sitting there in the laundry area, and it has been repaired by Mark ─ we didn't need another machine.

He's going to be right bummed when he learns of all of this ─ especially since he'll be drunk.

So where the heck to put the defective machine?  If it truly is fixable, hauling it out into the open carport may well result in its disappearance.

I can but wait and see what the evening brings....


Have you ever heard of a fruit called ─ among other names ─ garcinia cambogia?

Just a little research will reveal that it has been proposed by many as a weight-loss aid.

However, researchers have now found that it just may have the solution to the kidney stones that so many people suffer from.

The active ingredient in this case is hydroycitrate, or hydroycitric acid (HCA).

HCA can not only inhibit the development of these infernal calcium oxylate crystals, but it will even dissolve those that have already formed.

I am starved for time, so that's all I will speak of ─ if you are interested in learning more, here are two reports on a latest study about this:

I am just happy that I do not suffer from kidney stone development.


Since I am not expecting to have time to do a comprehensive post today, I am going to at least include this entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.
SUNDAY, August 24, 1975

I got up about 6:10 a.m., but was very tired.  About 3:15 a.m. I got up and changed due to a NE.

I left about 9:30 a.m. to do my laundry; the place was so crowded I did not bother drying there, and came home with a Columbian television guide.

It looks like I am to fall into Bill's hands today; the sun forecasted for today is not valid.

He came about 1:30 p.m.; he said Mark & Cathy were going to the States with mom, and he wished to know if I cared to babysit with him.

I declined.

He then asked what time I would care to be picked-up after his duty was discharged, since he had a bottle of vodka; but I said I would likely retire early, having to work tomorrow.

So it appears my dream of yesterday is concreting, and I may be able to start my days very early in the morning again.

I soon after performed 400 easy leg-raises, and only quit from my fear of maybe wearing the tissue off my lowermost spine; I could otherwise have comfortably doubled the attainment.

This morning I created my final soup, eating about half for lunch; the other half is scheduled for supper after my full exercising and shower.

I plan to retire at 6:00 p.m.
Reportedly during the night, I realized that I had experienced a nocturnal emission ("NE"), and so I opted to get up to change my undershorts.

I usually went to a laundromat on the weekend, but tried to do so as soon after it opened as possible in order to avoid a crush of other launderers.

I likely found that copy of The Columbian discarded at the laundromat.

My old friend William Alan Gill and I generally hooked up on the weekend.  When he came by that afternoon, he had the news that my younger brother Mark ─ and Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ were apparently going to take my mother Irene Dorosh on a drive into the States to probably do a little shopping.

Jeanette ("Cathy") had two little girls, and it would seem that Bill got enlisted to babysit them.  It was a chore I wasn't fussy about.

From what I understand of my younger self, I was intending to return to a fitness schedule that included getting to bed ─ and rising ─ very early.

I was only working one day a week ─ usually on Friday.  But when I reported in for work the past Friday, there was nothing for me to do.

And so I was coming in on Monday to make up for the lost day.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

A Botox Injection as an Incontinence Treatment? A Stupid and Dangerous Choice!

The anxiety and depression I felt over much of yesterday eased once the evening had arrived and I began watching T.V. and doing some drinking.

Unfortunately, that all somehow translated into a resurgence of my problematic turpitude and I sat up here at my computer until around 2:30 a.m., immersed into that which merits no mentioning.

I retired in moral and spiritual turmoil at what nigh culminated, imploring God to free me from my present deleterious habitation by making it financially possible for me to leave this baleful isolation that is corrupting and distorting whatever might once have been deemed wholesome within me.

And so I soon slept.

Towards 6:30 a.m. I was awake and uncomfortable enough to opt to take a bathroom break.  I was overtired ─ too much so to rise for the day ─ but I knew I would be unable to be productive if I did not sleep further.

I suppose some further sleep did come, and just after 8:00 a.m. I finally did rise to confront the day.

My youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend were in bed enjoying the first day of their 'weekend,' since they each have Tuesday and Wednesday off work.  He works in a sports shop at Guildford, and she works somewhere in a restaurant; and consequently, they have employment that does not recognize the true weekend.

Somehow, they managed to coordinate their two days off so that they could be together and bedevil me with their nigh unpalatable omnipresence. 

I spent most of the morning working on the new post I began yesterday at my Latin Impressions website, but it is far from complete ─ in fact, not quite 40%.  I may have it finished and published on Thursday, but that is not certain.

The day is gorgeously sunny, so sunbathing was on my agenda.  And at 12:14 p.m., I began well over an hour of lying out on the backyard sundeck, and wearing just a pair of brief shorts.

When finished, I collected a small batch of leftovers my wife Jack had brought home from her Sunday visit to the Thai Buddapnayanuntarama Buddhist Monastery (BBM) in Burnaby.

Very soon after finishing it, at around 2:00 p.m. my wife Jack showed up.  It appears that she will be home for some while, for she brought home material she clearly plans to cook up.

However, at present she is away with Pote and his girlfriend ─ all I know is that Jack said she was going off to price some sort of machine.

I bloody hope she isn't thinking of buying a washing machine or dishwasher or stove!  I am draining away my small RRSP account trying to pay the monthly $1,600 mortgage because I am getting no significant help meeting that payment.

We have functioning appliances ─ it is the mortgage that needs to be dealt with each and every month.  There is no money available to be squandered on some "machine."

No wonder I so often sink into such hopelessness and despair.


One of my favourite T.V. series back in the latter 1960s was The Wild, Wild West ─ I thought Robert Conrad as James West was magnificent.  

The actor's physique, athleticism, and good looks truly impressed me ─ in fact, I felt that if I ever got to be wealthy, I would acquire outfits like those he wore.  They were the best-looking suits I had ever seen because of how functional they were.

Soon after the T.V. series came out, Gold Key Comics started up a series by the same name.

Unfortunately, even though the series did start off with covers featuring images from the T.V. series, by about the eighth issue onwards, only artwork was exhibited.

I decided to buy those first seven issues back then just for the covers, and I kept the covers to this day.

I have previously posted scans of the first six issues' covers, so I want to post the final scan now ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scans filed:

The final issue of Gold Key's The Wild, Wild West to feature actual T.V. series scenes on the front cover.

I believe that it was the seventh issue in the Gold Key series, and was apparently published in October 1969.

From this point on, the comics featured mere artwork inside and outside.

I loved the T.V. series, and was not in the least interested in 'cartoons' portraying it.

And that being so, I only kept the covers that featured images from the series.

That's rather unfortunate, for there is no value in a cover ripped away from the comic book that it had once graced.

It is a rare night when I do not rise and make use of the bathroom.

Even though I may pass very little fluid, that little which accumulates is irritating.  I expect that it is concentrated with the superfluous portions of the nutritional supplements that accompanied my supper, as well as by-products from that supper, and the alcohol I will have consumed over the evening.

So I rise to gain that bit of relief, and to also drink a quantity of water ─ I tend to dehydrate a little.

However, some people as they get on in years (I am 66) somehow need to rise numerous times during the night to avail themselves of the toilet.

I can't imagine being so desperate as to actually seek injections with Botox ─ and yes, as that Wikipedia link shows, 'Botox' stand for botulinum toxin.  But people are making that choice ─ more out of ignorance than out of desperation, I would hope.

As Wikipedia says, "botulinum is the most acutely lethal toxin known...".

I posted about this very recently, but it looks as if I shall be doing so again.

A recent study has revealed that the injected toxin can travel via neuron pathways to remote locations in the body.  It was known before that the toxin could travel these neuron  pathways, but it was not  known that it could travel as far as it apparently seems able to do.

Here are a few articles reporting on that study:


Science Alert

Physicians actually prescribe this poison!

Note this from a website promoting Botoxin for treatment of incontinence:

BOTOX® may cause serious side effects that can be life threatening. Get medical help right away if you have any of these problems any time (hours to weeks) after injection of BOTOX®:
  • Problems swallowing, speaking, or breathing, due to weakening of associated muscles, can be severe and result in loss of life. You are at the highest risk if these problems are pre-existing before injection. Swallowing problems may last for several months. 
  • Spread of toxin effects. The effect of botulinum toxin may affect areas away from the injection site and cause serious symptoms including: loss of strength and all-over muscle weakness, double vision, blurred vision and drooping eyelids, hoarseness or change or loss of voice, trouble saying words clearly, loss of bladder control, trouble breathing, trouble swallowing.
Did you notice buried away in that second bulleted warning that Botox can actually cause "loss of bladder control?"  

Imagine that!  A patient submits to being treated with this toxic material to help aid in controlling incontinence; but instead, he or she probably permanently suffers what I expect is total loss of bladder control!

Steer clear of this material for whatever purpose it may be promoted.

It would seem logical that improvement of the muscle tone of the bladder would assist with incontinence troubles.

I read that an Indian plant with the botanical name Crataeva nurvala can help with this. 

The following quote is from page 20 of a 182-page document titled EFFECTIVE NATUROPATHIC TREATMENTS IN POST VIRAL CHRONIC FATIGUE SYNDROME:
Crataeva nurvala (Crataeva).  Increases smooth muscle tone in uterus and bladder and helps clear urinary tract infections.  
Crataeva nurvala stem bark decoction improves the tone of the smooth muscle and helps in the downward migration of stationary uretric calculi which encourage the spontaneous passage of calculi. Crataeva nurvala also improves the tone of the urinary bladder and increase the explusive force of urination so that the amount of residual urine is reduced in case of prostatic hypertrophy. Due to its anti inflammatory action the drug also reduces prostatic congestion.
Those are just examples ─ there are numerous similar statements out there.

Stay away from Botox!


I have no idea how long my wife Jack plans on being home.

She's back ─ and yes, she did buy a washing machine, even though we already have a spare to replace the one that's acting up.  And she charged the $800 on her VISA card.

The appliance is to be delivered this coming Tuesday.

Damn it, I wish she would discuss things first.

I am going to close now with an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement unit in New Westminster

My room was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
SATURDAY, August 23, 1975

I got up before 9:00 a.m. feeling short on sleep.

Bill came over while I was cooking hamburgers; he got off work slightly early.

He insisted I listen to a new Gene Pitney tape, so I rode down to and waited for him by Field's where he had to pick up a couple pairs of pants.

He was with me some while, so I refrained from eating longer than I cared.

We nearly talked ourselves into going to the Country Boy's.

I will be leaving for mom's about 1:45 p.m., hoping Art has the tomatoes and that mom will be interested enough in obtaining them to drive  me home.

There is a fair amount of sunshine.

I was most of the way over the bridge when a car behind me gave me a start with its horn; it was Mark, Cathy, & kids; they stopped before the Scott turn and took me to mom's; she was shopping but Alex was there.

Mark took off on an unsuccessful shoe hunt while Cathy & I picked blueberries.

Phyllis came over on her way to work while Mark was gone, hoping to get mom to babysit Sherry.  

But Cathy got the job.

When she & Mark were finally leaving, they asked if I cared to come along, but I said no, for I had to yet phone Art about the tomatoes.

When I eventually did this after a very heavy supper, I learned that all of the tomatoes had been given away.

I stayed at mom's till dark, then left with a quantity of apples.

Tomorrow Mark & Cathy plan to go canoeing with Cathy & Al; I wonder if Bill will discover this.

My right knee, and not the cap, is painfully seizing up on me as it used to do, so I am forced to lay off running for a spell.

I bought a Grey Cup Toto ticket from mom.

I hoped to leave Bill a note saying I might sunbathe tomorrow at Queen's Park, but as often is, his car was gone.

I'll be abed afore midnight.
I hadn't gotten to bed the night before until about 2:40 a.m.  I had been at the home of my older friend, Art Smith.  He had said that his younger brother Judd (Gerald) ─ who worked at the Salvation Army thrift store on Columbia Street in New Westminster ─ was going to come into a mess of tomatos, and I could have a crate of them (however many that was).

Evidently Art misspoke.

Anyway, it was my old friend William Alan Gill who came visiting while I was cooking my hamburgers.  I imagine that he had the Gene Pitney tape playing in his car, and that's why I rode with him to Fields department store on Columbia Street.

I now have no idea what "Country Boy's" might have been.  I'm  unsure if that apostrophe is supposed to be there, or if 'Boys' was supposed to be plural.

My mother Irene Dorosh lived out in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  And although the house is now demolished, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

It would take me about 1½ hours of fast walking to reach her home from my room in New Westminster.  

Alex was her husband.

I was nearly over the Pattullo Bridge when my younger bother Mark honked at me as he drove back into Surrey in his Vega.  With him were his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther and her two little girls.

Mark and Jeanette ("Cathy") were renting a home together located in Whalley.

They saved me the rest of my hike to my mother's home, and seemed keen on paying a visit themselves.

My mother and Alex had apples, blueberries, raspberries, and lots of other things growing in their backyard.

It was my older maternal half-sister Phyllis who next dropped in at my mother's home to find someone to babysit her daughter Sherry.  Sherry was somewhat older than Jeanette's older girl, so Jeanette was always happy to have Sherry as company for her girls and vice versa.   

I declined the offer to come back to their house with Mark and Jeanette because I still had to make arrangements about those tomatoes, but there were none on offer as it turned out.

And I got to walk back to New Westminster after dark.

I often left Bill a note on his car in New Westminster, but just as often it was not there for me to leave a note.

I must have been getting well-tanned ─ normally I would not have sunbathed in a public place like Queen's Park.  I was very timid about stripping down due to some complexion problems. 

Mark and Jeanette were friends with a couple I only now remember as "Cathy & Al" ─ memory blurs because there were two Cathys and two Als in their social circle, and now I cannot recollect which of them were the couple.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Alzheimer's Genetic Predispostion Seen in Very Young Children

Watching T.V. last evening without any 2016 Olympic Games competitions to tune in felt somewhat odd.

Sure, the lengthy Closing Ceremony telecast was available, but I only popped in a few times to see what was happening.  I'm really only interested in the actual competitions of the Games.

I suppose that I was comfortably to bed well enough ahead of midnight, but when that first block of sleep broke, I found myself in a bit of a fix.  It was roughly 4:30 a.m., and I wanted to seek some bathroom relief ─ but my eldest step-son Tho was in the bathroom readying for work, and my younger brother Mark was doing the same in his bedroom across from mine.

In other words, I did not have access to his ensuite.

All I could do was attempt to relax and wait.

I must have dipped into a bit of a nap, but I did hear Tho drive away, and Mark soon thereafter follow suit.

I used the bathroom, and did my best to accrue further sleep.

It was shortly after 8:00 a.m. when I finally called it a night.

My youngest step-son Pote was up ─ his girlfriend had left a little earlier after having spent the night here with him.

And he was to head off shortly after 10:00 a.m. to catch his bus to work.

I spent a considerable part of the morning setting up a new post at my Latin Impressions website ─ a post that I hope I can have finished and published before Friday.

It has not been a good day, however.  I have been overrun with insecurity, uncertainty, loneliness, and fear.

One of my depressions has hold.

And as usual, it is born primarily of financial worry.  I feel so desperately all alone in this.

The day has been a mix of Sun and cloud, but none of that would much matter if only I lived far from here and could be abroad throughout the day in peace and privacy. 

I ventured out into the backyard in the early afternoon, and beginning at 1:46 p.m. I spent   40 minutes seated in a chair out on the lawn while I was wearing just a pair of cut-offs.

Practically the entire session was spent beneath cloud, though.

My sole lift this day is such a small thing.  Upon checking my AdSense account just prior to beginning this post, I saw that my account had accrued 48¢ thus far today after having no increase whatsoever the previous two days.

Most interesting to me is that 1¢ of that figure was derived from activity at the Quatar domain of this blog ─ that is, siamlongings.blogspot.qa.


I have a photo I would like to post.  The description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the photo housed:

If I recall correctly, this photo was taken on Ko or Koh Samet, one of Thailand's popular tourist destinations.

I had been essentially escorted there by Tukta; and along with us were Tumma (pictured), Tukta's sister and the sister's child Earth, and Jack or Jak (now my wife).

We spent a few days there, and it was towards the end of my very first trip to Thailand in January 2003.
It was on Ko Samet one evening after dark that I had taken Jack aside and told her that I had come to love her.

And I had ─ a love that had grown out of a deep friendship and appreciation of the young woman for everything that she had done for me while I had been in her country and under her care.

I no sooner said those three words, when Jack immediately reciprocated with a husky, "I love you, too."


Researchers have been able to identify brain differences in young people ─ even children ─ that resemble those of adults who have developed Alzheimer's disease.

The study is called Gray matter maturation and cognition in children with different APOE ε genotypes (doi: 10.​1212/​WNL.​0000000000002939), but only the abstract is available to the general public without payment of a fee.

Even so, I found that I could access the full study as an 11-page .PDF document at Sci-Hub.ac.

This would seem to indicate that there are genetic as well as environmental factors at work in the development of the disease.

There were 1,187 healthy young people involved in the study ranging in ages from three years of age to 20.

There is a short interview with lead author Linda Chang at researchgate.netStudy finds Alzheimer’s disease gene already makes its mark in childhood.

And here are some articles reporting on the study:

And there is a very good report on the study at The Wall Street Journal (Alzheimer’s Effects on the Brain Found in Young People), but a subscription is required to access it.  Notwithstanding, I located the whole article in a cache at web.archive.org ─ try this July 13, 2016, cache.

Just don't forget that other factors in life can lead to the development of Alzheimer's disease, including various medications.

One huge culprit is the class of drugs commonly known as statins.

Here's what Dr. Marc S. Micozzi, M.D., Ph.D., had to say in that context:
...Here are two simple steps you can take for "anti-aging" -- including preventing memory loss and dementia.

First, stay intellectually and socially engaged. Especially as you get older.

Second, don't take statin drugs. Ever. Period. And if you currently take them, make a plan to discontinue them.
These cholesterol-lowering medications have been shown to cause brain damage ─ among other indictments:

Healthy Food USA

Their side effects include memory loss, myopathy, cataract formation, and increased risk of diabetes.
What more do people need to know?


I seemed to have selected the worst of the day to have been sitting outside ─ it has been remarkably sunny ever since.

I can't keep living as I am, shut away and isolated.  Friendless ─ or at least, not with any I can easily visit. 

And this crushing financial debt that keeps me a prisoner in my own home.

I cannot long sustain the turmoil that engulfed me earlier today.  I am ageing, and have less and less potential to live for.

Sometimes I cannot even imagine what potential doth remain to me.

I close now with an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

I was renting that room in a house on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I was only employed one day at week ─ Friday ─ at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that was then situated in a building right about where the New Westminster Skytrain Station now spills out onto Carnarvon Street.
FRIDAY, August 22 , 1975

I awoke about 6:00 a.m., and am extremely tired.

The weather today is to be mainly cloudy.

I plan this morning to take in my welfare paper and go to Safeway before heading into S.A.N.E.

I bought Harvest Crunch (raisins & dates).

Bill was at S.A.N.E. and said Esther has been off sick since Wednesday.  Anyway, there was nothing for us to do, so we left intending to show up on Monday to replace today.

I made a soup and ate the entire production.

About 12:30 p.m. I lied down, catching near a couple hours of sleep, I suppose, arising 2:45 p.m.

I soon learned it was raining.

After exercising and showering, shortly past 7:00 p.m. I left in the rain for Art's.

Keith was home, and Angie was preparing for work.

I learned that yesterday late evening dad was in town trying to get a couple bucks; I wasn't home, and he phoned Art to find him tied down with the kids and supposedly broke.  

I wonder his fate; he was apparently sober.

All night Art kept pushing drinks, but I only had about 3 vodkas; Keith went out for some while.

Art fed me some several day-old leftovers, and gave me 3 tomatoes to take home.  Tomorrow I am to get a case of them, thanks to Judd at the Salvation Army.

I will be abed 2:40 a.m.
I was eating quite a lot of Quaker Harvest Crunch, believing it to be healthy. 

An older chap named Bill Sevenko was my co-swamper on the blue pick-up truck generally driven by dear Esther St. Jean, a sweetheart in her early 40s. 

For whatever reason, I can no longer remember Bill.

Today, S.A.N.E. exists as Fraserside Community Services Society.

Art Smith was also in his early 40s, and had been another co-worker of mine at S.A.N.E.  A couple of evenings earlier, I had promised him that I would come by this day.

I no longer recall who "Keith" was, but Angie (Angelina) was Art's wife ─ she would have been preparing to go and put in her shift at what I believe was the Pacific Café on Columbia Street in New Westminster.

That hurts me to read about my financially desperate father Hector.

I was likely avoiding letting loose with the drinking because I would have become unabandoned, and I wanted to be in control so that I would get home sensibly, and have a healthy Saturday the following day.

Art loved to get me drunk with him on Alberta brand vodka and/or Villa brand sherry.

The tomatoes were provided by Art's brother Judd (Gerald) who was employed at the Salvation Army thrift store on Columbia Street in New Westminster.

It would appear that I managed to extricate myself from Art's home reasonably unscathed.