.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

The Inflammation-Fighting and Eye-Protecting Properties of Colourful Vegetables

As reported late in yesterday's post, my wife Jack had shown up from Vancouver before I had yet finished and published that day's entry.

My younger brother Mark was not home until around mid-evening. But at least he held onto consciousness throughout and retired to his bedroom sensibly around 10:30 p.m.

Awhile later, I was amused by Jack's antics. In the afternoon, I had set up a large batch of vegetables that I intended to ferment naturally ─ specifically, a cabbage, two large leeks, and a large fennel bulb.

Jack decided that she would set up some bok choy or some similar vegetable to ferment independently of mine, but she couldn't resist helping herself to some of the cabbage in my batch.    

I thought that was pretty cute. She has nothing but criticism because I do not follow her 'recipe' as she learned it in her home village of Nong Soong back in Thailand, but my vegetables are still good enough to appropriate for her purpose.

I just slice up my vegetables. However, she works hers over with a combination of manual kneading and crushing ─ she calls it "massage."

And then she rinses everything thoroughly, washing away the plant juices.

I consider those vital!  

Anyway, she's still getting plenty of benefit once the remainder ferments; and as long as I suffer no ill effects from my method, I will stick with what I'm doing.

I may have parted company with her around 11:30 p.m. or soon thereafter, betaking myself to bed. I warned her that she needed to be mindful that she would be getting up early this morning ─ her lazy eldest son Tho generally uses her presence to his selfish advantage, forcing her to get up in the morning and drive him to the SkyTrain so that he won't have to take a bus to reach it.

We live about a mile from two of the Whalley stations, and he has to take the train to get out to Burnaby where he works.

I'm foggy about it now, but I think that I may have still been awake when Jack finally came to bed last night.

It was around 6:10 a.m. this morning that Tho rapped loudly on our bedroom door to summon his mother from bed. And so ended my night, for I usually take that interruption as my cue to get up.

Of course, I wait until I hear Jack go out to her car, and for Tho to follow suit.

I was seated here at my computer with my day's first hot beverage when Jack made her return; she promptly wended her way directly to bed.

Much of my morning was spent setting the foundation of an edit to an old post at my hosted website Siam-Longings.

I should here mention that my eyes were burning with exceptional intensity when I had risen ─ I definitely needed much more sleep than I had obtained overnight.

Once I had finished setting up most of the edit's foundation, it was my intention to repair to my working brother Mark's bed and seek further rest.

But then I realized that since I would be housebound today, time would be better served sitting out in the backyard in the sunshine.

And so at 10:22 a.m., I commenced 40 minutes of doing just that. During the latter half of my time outside, I could hear some racket going on in the kitchen, and I correctly reckoned that Jack was now up.

Her youngest son Poté was home and in bed, too, because he had today off work. Nevertheless, I would not expect him to be up at that time of the morning unless he had a later shift ─ Jack was the most likely candidate as authour of the kitchen sounds.

I was to learn from her that she had some photographs that she took on either July 22 or 23 during the occasion of the fourth Vancouver Thai Festival which was held at the Vancouver Art Gallery.

The photographs were all on her iPhone 6.

Unfortunately, she texted them to me in one message. When I saved them and then downloaded or transferred them to my computer, the images were uselessly small. I'm not going to post them here or anywhere else ─ they're worthless, by my estimation.

If she wants me to have them, then we are going to have to upload them from her phone to my computer.

When this revelation made itself known, she was busy readying herself to run off to have lunch with her friend Fanta in Langley ─ Fanta has her own Thai restaurant.

So it remains to be seen whether or not I will actually have access to the quality version of her images. I hope so.

It's now 3:39 p.m., and I am still awaiting her return this sunny day.

In lieu of her photos, I shall instead post this image ─ a scan of a photo of my mother Irene Dorosh:

You can see the date July 1973 imprinted on the left border ─ that is of course when the roll of film (that this image was part of) was developed.

I recalled seeing a similar scene that I had scanned months ago, so I searched it out:

And in finding that image, I also came across this one of her husband Alex that I am convinced was taken at the same time:

Can all three of those photos not be related as to date and location?

Changing topics now, I appreciate having it reinforced just how vital various plants that we may harvest and eat truly are. The following report does just that, helping to keep it freshly in mind precisely how important vegetables can be:


A reference that was given for that article was not linked to, so I shall offer the link:


On a very related note, I recently came upon this article:


I cannot honestly say that I was even aware that carrots came in anything but an orange colour.

In watching the early video in that article ─ the video is under four minutes in duration ─ I saw that seeds of the different colours can be found just by doing a Web search for rainbow blend or rainbow mix carrots. 

I would love to grow some of those, but I don't trust the soil here on the limited property we have. I have no doubt that the lawn has been drenched over the years with all manner of chemicals. 

And anyplace where we have a flower bed such as immediately beside the house, then the soil will also be contaminated with numerous chemicals that have come from the house's exterior walls over the decades.

I think that I would need access to an actual field that has never experienced the contamination byproducts of construction, nor any sort of lawn-style chemical treatments.

But I am living in a debtors' prison, and only a financial miracle will ever set me free of my hampered and limited lifestyle. 

All afternoon I have been bombarded by the barking of dogs ─ the brown hound just beyond our backyard fence, and some unseen beast of recent vintage resident somewhere beyond the far side of the cul-de-sac I live in.

I am going to call it quits for today with this journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

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

For two consecutive nights I had been prey to despondence. Let us see how this new day dawned for me.
SUNDAY, July 26, 1976

Up at 6:45 a.m.

I guess today I'll mail Ron's letter as well as an order ($12) for 2 stamps commemorating Calgary and the International Women's Year. (That was penned with the thought in mind I would be collecting some sun; but I went nowhere.)

In recent days I've come to believe I may have a touch of hypoglycemia; I eat some much, but have poor energy. 

I ate so much this evening I considered being sick; fortunately it was mostly fruit, and my body eventually removed some of the filling moisture.

But I can't diet if it necessitates having an empty stomach, or I feel weak.

Bed at 10:00 p.m.

I watched many, many hours of the Games.
I had composed a letter the previous day to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal.

I sent out a great amount of mail, and had gotten into the habit of buying commemorative postage stamps ─ by the pane ─ for use on my envelopes. I felt that the common definitves were just too boring. 

Apparently I remained home that entire day, and never even set foot beyond my room's door. I had no telephone, so I wouldn't have spoken a word to a soul.

The previous day, I had gotten out and at least had a darned long walk. But the only time I may have had any conversation was when I went to pick up a registered letter that was being held for me at a post office.  

It is clear to me now that I was likely more lonely than I recognized at the time.

Monday, July 24, 2017

Online Privacy Guide │ Medical Cannabis for Autism

I am not going to detail it ─ I will just say that my younger brother Mark spent most of last evening unconscious. He had gotten home just ahead of 6:30 p.m., but I guess he'd had an extra early afternoon start on the beer.

So what shows did he miss that I had tuned in?

Well, the last half of the season finale of Arrow; all of the season finale of The 100; and all of an episode of The Originals. He revived in time to watch Fear the Walking Dead with me, albeit he was unnaturally silent throughout.

I believe that he went on up to his bedroom ahead of 10:30 p.m. to ready himself for his early morning. When his clock-radio comes on at 4:30 a.m. to rouse him for work, he only wants to shower ─ not be messing around with things like shaving.

It was 10:54 p.m. by the time I was in bed. I had been expecting my wife Jack to make an overnighter from Vancouver, but she never showed up at our home here in Surrey. Of course, she hadn't intimated that she would come ─ I hadn't heard from her since last week. I just presumed that she would show.

It's going to surprise me if she does not make her appearance sometime today ─ or late this evening.

I had the usual night of rather fractured sleep. I was ready to rise at 5:20 a.m. because of how difficult sleep was by then, but I decided to roll over onto my front and give it a shot.

After some time in that posture, I rolled back over and decided that it was futile. However, when I looked at the clock, it was something like 6:41 a.m.

So did I misread the clock the first time? Or did I succumb to some sleep?

Beats me!

My eldest stepson Tho had gone to work without me hearing him ─ but the earplugs help with that. His younger brother Poté was still in bed when I fixed up my day's first hot beverage, but he rose immediately after I had come upstairs here to my computer.

And I think that it was 6:58 a.m. when he headed out the front door to his car to drive to work. It seems to me to be risky driving that soon after climbing out of bed ─ my cobwebs take a long, long time to clear.

I don't think he was home when I went to bed last night, so it's not like he got loads of sleep.

I busied myself completing the edit I have worked on for over a week of a January 12, 2012, post at my hosted website My Retirement Dream, and now that edit is published: 1st Sibu BB Company.

Sibu is a 'town' (according to Wikipedia) in Sarawak, Malaysia.

Nothing in the post that is there now existed in it prior to my edit, but I confess that most of the information I put into that edit has nothing to do with Sibu ─ let alone the Boys' Brigade.

Once the edit was published, it was time to work myself into the mindset to tackle some exercise out in the backyard tool shed. I was out there by approximately 10:45 a.m., and I put in what comprises my current workout without taking any extra long breaks, although I was initially tempted.

Not too much after the workout, I commenced a session of sunning on the backyard sundeck ─ I commenced that at 11:56 a.m. and knocked off at 1:01 p.m. I was a bit miffed that at least 20% of the session was beneath the obscurity of some light cloud cover.

After that, it was finally time for my first meal of the day. And then I had a bit of a chore ahead of me.

Since late last week, I have had a cabbage, three very large leeks, and a large fennel bulb taking up space in the fridge. I had bought them to set up for natural fermentation.

With my meal out of the way, I got busy with that chore ─ these are what I planned to be working on:

I wish I had a huge metal container ─ maybe even an enamel one ─ to use for the end product, but all I have that is large enough is a large rectangular plastic container with a cracked lid.

First I sliced up the cabbage into it:

I was disappointed to discover that I would only have room for two of the leeks if I wanted to also use the fennel, so this was the result after I had hacked up two of those:

Finally, the fennel went in:

The container was now full, so I had some difficulty doing a little redistribution of those vegetables ─ I had to satisfy myself with this:

Next I added enough cold water to almost cover the top of the vegetables, and then I took some Mediterranean sea salt and quite liberally covered the topmost layer of vegetables as you may be able to discern in this photo:

I placed the lid onto the container, and now I will just let it sit on the dining table ─ no bacterial culture is required. In two days, I will try and mix under the topmost vegetables in an effort to keep them from moulding or developing any other problems. The whole solution should be very briny by then, and fermentation already started.

On days three and four, I will again mix under the topmost layer of vegetables. And by day five, I should be able to start helping myself to the souring batch ─ homemade probiotics and prebiotics!

From that point, each day I will just submerge the topmost vegetables.

I am nearly finished eating my last batch, and have had no need to refrigerate it after starting it all at least 10 days ago. I just moved it out of the rectangular tub today and into a plastic pail to make room for this new batch.

No one else in the household touches the stuff ─ they don't trust that it's safe. But I've been doing this for maybe a couple of months and have noticed nothing at all ill ─ I haven't even had a touch of diarrhea.

Just a wonderfully and very potently sour batch of vegetables that I am convinced are doing this organism nothing but good.

I love the juice ─ it must be teeming with fermentation microbes!

This morning, from out of the blue I received an E-mail from someone identifying herself as Jane Hernandez, who requested as follows:
Hello there !

I saw that you mentioned OpenMedia on your page here: siamlongings.blogspot.com/2011/02/busy-day-on-computer.html so I figured that free press is a subject you care for.

This is not an easy time for journalists all over the world, with the discoveries of surveillance on citizens, which includes journalists and their sources.

I’d like to ask you to share a guide, written by one journalist to his colleagues all over the world. The guide can help them protect their work and fulfill their mission.

If you can add it to your page, as well as share it over social networks, it would be a tremendous help to the free press.

Thanks in advance,
What an enormous amount of material is there and on offer to anyone concerned about their online privacy and security! Despite Jane's introduction to that webpage, it isn't something of interest to just journalists ─ it is full of valuable tips for all of us.

I was quite caught up by the short section on passwords ─ you might find it worth your while to at least take a look.

Here is something else that some of you might find of interest ─ it concerns an infographic titled Medical Cannabis for Autism:

The image will be too narrow to read after you open it up, but just click on it again and it should expand sufficiently wide across your screen that you'll have no problem reading it.

That infographic came from ─ of all places ─ a website called GuardianHelmets.com, and I reproduced it from an article bearing the same name as the infographic: Medical Cannabis For Autism.

I doubt that I will ever indulge in marijuana recreationally for the remainder of my life, but it does appear to have a place in medical therapy for numerous conditions ─ even if only to manage pain.

Finally, you must have heard something recently about how it had come to light that someone of some rank in the U.S.'s Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) had apparently been not just holding hands with Monsanto, but even protecting their interests at the expense of the public well-being?

If you're not sure what I am speaking of, this commentary from a week ago should be sufficient:


A reference was mentioned, but not linked to ─ this is it:


Now, that last article was published on June 6, yet there doesn't seem to be anything more recent about this ─ everything seems to be from June.

Do you really think that the U.S. government is going to chase after one of its own for helping out Monsanto? I'm not expecting anything more than a show or posturing of justice being brought to bear ─ the 'investigation' will all be dropped.

Or that is my expectation. The government is too full of self-serving hogs who are only interested in getting their own swill of the slop that Monsanto and others like it keep throwing to those political bureaucrats.

...I just took a break to have a bit of a shave and bath, and have emerged from the bathroom to find my wife Jack is home a few minutes after 6:00 p.m.

Consequently I find that I must wind things up (or down?) now with a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

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

My bedtime the evening before had been 1:45 a.m. ─ I had been feeling distinctly despondent, although I had not been drinking.
SATURDAY, July 24, 1976

I lay abed long this morn considering arisal, finally doing so nigh 8:30 a.m.

At 3:30 p.m. I feel I have a small enough waistline from breakfast to face going to mom's for a mail check this sunny day; I hope Alex isn't back yet from Reno.

It was all I could do to endure that purgatory trek.

My registered letter turned out to be a Western and Olympic Lottery ticket each from St. Joseph's School.

When I got to mom's, evidence was there that Alex must have gotten back. So I just immediately locked up and footed it all the way back.

But before heading for Surrey earlier, I typed a short note to Ron.

I wonder how it is I stay alive? I spend all my leisure doing so little; how a proper TV would occupy me! Tonight there is nothing to see not already viewed.

And Bill, with his self-contained suite, can't bear to be away from Cathy's abuse, or the decadence of Nell's.

Fine company all, if drink is what one pursues...and if one has the cash. I do not.

So I languish here, unoccupied.

But it would be more tolerable if I was secure on welfare with nothing but free time; I only have week-ends as it is, and TV is no good at entertaining me.

Bed at 10:00 p.m.
Even today, anytime I have any sized meal, I cannot engage physical activity for some time. Food weighs so heavily upon me, distending my stomach.

My main mailing address was the home of my mother Irene Dorosh off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. She had gone on holiday to her hometown back in Ontario; and her husband Alex had gone with a friend to Reno.

The little house the couple then shared no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. To hike there from my room took 1½ hours at a very good pace.

I had mentioned typing up a letter to Ron Bain ─ a U.S. pen-pal. Perhaps I mailed it during my hike.

I also had a registered letter to pick up on my way to my mother's home.

I had never lived with my mother's husband Alex ─ I was already a young adult when they had become involved. As a result, I was always a little uncomfortable around him if it was just he and I in a social situation ─ I avoided those.

So when I let myself into their home that late afternoon and found indications that he was back from his short holiday, I didn't wish to be caught up in the uncomfortable position of having to make small time with him.  

There was nothing for it but to turn about and hike all the way back to my room in New Westminster.

My sad mood was still in play.

I think I had a smallish black & white T.V. whose reception came via a built-in telescoping antenna. Thus, I only received maybe three or four T.V. stations.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived maybe four blocks from my room, and was renting a bachelor suite. He not only had a nice car, but of course a telephone and a colour T.V. with cablevision.

Yet for all these delights, he seemed to want nothing more than to be spending his free time at the home of my younger brother Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther; or else at the huge household of my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson, where every weekend was one long party.

All of them lived off in Surrey.

I enjoyed the company of one and all, too, but I just couldn't afford it all the time. I was only working on a three-month contract at what was likely minimum wage, and I had no prospects after that.

It was all so worrisome, especially since I had to walk everywhere I went because I never drove. It deeply limited my employment opportunities.

It was an entirely solitary Saturday for me; and the only time I likely spoke with anyone the entire day was when I collected my registered letter.

I was lonelier than I think I knew.

Sunday, July 23, 2017

The Seriousness of Falls for Seniors │ More Ventures into My Memory Lane

For once I had an almost inspirational movie to watch on a Saturday evening ─ I have been making dispiriting picks in recent weeks that have left me feeling hopeless and defeated.

Why do idiots make films like that? I want movies where the good and innocent triumph in the end ─ not movies where one's hopes are raised, only to be crushed when evil proves insurmountable despite the desperate build-up that leads to the tragic climax. A climax which only adds to the discouragement that seems to fill my life.

The movie I watched was The Host ─ and the heroine was portrayed by an actress whose first name I do my best to rehearse and try to remember, but I am doubtful I will.

Can you even pronounce Saoirse, her first name?

Apparently 'Saoir' would be pronounced like the word 'Sir.' And the trailing syllable 'se' is pronounced like 'shu' in the word 'shut.'

So...Sir-shu, with the Sir having the stress or dominance when saying it aloud.  

It's so easy when you know how, ain't it?

The movie had its weaknesses, sure. But I was sufficiently captured by the premise and the heroine that at times my eyes would burn with emotion, and I think I was snuffling at the final scene.

And all that was despite my eldest stepson Tho choosing that part of the entire day to be messing about in the kitchen right behind where I was sitting. He was cleaning up the various pots, pans, and other dirty dishes that he and his younger brother Poté had amassed over the past couple days.

He had all day to do it, for he never left the damned house as far as I know; but no, he waited until I was trying to watch a movie in the evening.

I had the volume cranked up to the maximum for part of the show, because dialogue was often very indistinct. Sometimes even when I was standing right before the T.V. with my ears cupped, I still could not quite make out what the characters were softly saying.

I hate that.

There was never a problem hearing the blasting sound effects, though. Make that all good and loud, but skimp on the vital and essential dialogue.

Nevertheless, as I said, I enjoyed the movie ─ two hours well spent. And I was able to go to bed feeling rather positive for a change on a Saturday night.

I was in bed at 11:54 p.m.

My younger brother Mark had stayed overnight at the home of his girlfriend Bev.

I remained in bed until the morning, not bothering with any bathroom breaks during any relatively brief wakeful points in my night.

I now forget what time it was when I checked and decided to start my day, but it was long before 7:00 a.m.

Poté ─ who had not been home last night when I went to bed ─ was to rise after 7:00 a.m. and soon head away to work while I was up here at my computer toiling on the edit of an old post at my hosted website My Retirement Dream. It's been a labour of about a week's duration, but I should be done with it tomorrow.

I never had any exercise yesterday, so I wanted to ensure it occurred this morning. And so around 8:45 a.m. I was out in the backyard tool shed and ready to get at it.

I felt well enough that I didn't need any extended breaks; but despite an overcast sky and a bit of a breeze, the atmosphere was muggy, making breathing somewhat difficult.

Afterward back in the house, I stripped down for a weigh-in: maybe 187 pounds, or possibly 188. I've been hanging rather tightly at that level for possibly a couple of weeks now.

I'm about five feet 10¾ inches in height.

My 'fighting weight' for most of my adult life has been around 183 or 184 pounds.  

I think it was just after 9:30 a.m. when Mark arrived home.

Incidentally, Tho seemed to be getting up when I was on my way out to the shed to exercise.

When I came back into the house, I asked him if he had wetted his bed; however, he claimed that he just couldn't sleep any further.

Mark retired to his bedroom towards 11:00 a.m. for a nap. And I returned to my bed shortly after 11:00 a.m. to also seek a nap.

I may have succeeded, but I was only down for about 44 minutes. Yet when I rose and exited my bedroom, I found that Mark had not only already risen, but he had gone for the afternoon.

The day had become quite sunny by the noon-hour. I haven't enjoyed any sunshine for a few days, so at 2:02 p.m. I commenced over 40 minutes seated in a chair on the backyard lawn, facing into the Sun. I wore just cut-offs.

And that essentially brings me to the present.

Although I have not heard from my wife Jack this weekend, I rather suspect that she will be showing up here in Surrey from Vancouver at some point today. However, it may well not be until late into the evening, in which case she would most very likely be staying the night.

I have an old photo to post that I just recently scanned ─ albeit I failed to align it perfectly. The details beneath it were printed on the reverse by Alex Dorosh before he and my mother Irene had yet married in 1973 (or whenever it was):

Xmas in L.A. 1965 
Cousin Mike & me by Olga's lemon tree
Al;ex is at the left in the dark jacket. I don't think that Alex and my mother had yet met in 1965. As for who Olga was, I have no idea.

I know that I have got to start getting out and doing regular walking, but I keep putting it off.

The next thing I know, I am going to have such unstable legs that I'll be taking a tumble while coming down the stairs.

I am 67, so reports like the following that all tell of the same study ought to be concerning to any of us getting on in years:




I don't touch the handrail when I come down the stairs ─ I stubbornly refuse to surrender my mental hold on my youth. But that is a very dangerous mindset at my age.

That last report has a rather nasty, attention-getting illustration:

I think the first and third reports may be guilty of a misstatement.

I scanned the full study, and I was unable to notice it make a claim that more than half of all visits to an emergency room by seniors aged 65 and older were the result of falling.

They seem to be confusing or misreading this statement:
More than half of fall patients had an adverse event within 6 months of presenting to the ED after a fall.
Of course, 'ED' stands for an emergency department in a hospital.

So although more than half of the fall patients who had gone to an emergency room had some kind of adverse event within six months after that initial fall, this does not mean that more than half of the visits to the emergency room were because of falling.

But moving on to something else of interest to me today, I received a rather intriguing E-mail forward from a retired woman who is prolific with these things.

She can actually be quite annoying, for I think that she downloads videos and forwards them rather than just sending the weblinks. I have received as many as four attached videos that were sent within the space of several minutes, and on one occasion the MBs (megabytes) total exceeded 80 ─ that's a lot of material to be dumping into peoples' Inboxes!

She also will forward long duplications that were obviously copies from someone's blog post or related webpage ─ numerous illustrations that can also jack up the size of the message. She does this instead of just sending the link to the webpage or post.

And it's usually of such marginal interest that I have now come to the point where I just delete these things when I realize what they are.

However, the item she forwarded to her mailing list today did have some interest. I located an exact online copy of what she sent ─ you can see it at MastersConnection2020.com: FLYING THE ATLANTIC DURING THE LATE 1930s │ What It Was Like Aboard A Pan-Am Clipper….

It ends with this claim:
On a flight from San Francisco to China, a Clipper landed on Truk Lagoon to be refueled by Japanese authorities. Later, the Clipper was assumed lost over the Pacific. Years later, it was revealed that the crew and passengers were arrested and executed, the engines were retrieved and sent to Japan and the Clipper was sunk in deep water off Truk Lagoon.
This kind of thing always makes me suspicious.

If this is something that is now known, then why isn't the identity of the Clipper included? That is seriously important information and would serve as verification of the claim.

I spent some time doing a little research, and I think I located some details related to the claim ─ this is from HistoryNet.com, an article titled Vanished!: What Happened to the Hawaii Clipper?
In his 2000 book Fix on the Rising Sun: The Clipper Hi-jacking of 1938, Charles N. Hill wrote that he believed the Hawaii Clipper had been commandeered by two Japanese naval officers who had stowed away in the baggage compartment while the aircraft was at Guam. Then, armed with a revolver, they committed the world’s first skyjacking. Hill speculated that the officers had diverted the flying boat to a Japanese-occupied island and eventually to Truk, where the passengers and crew were executed. 
Motivation for such a hijacking has varied depending on the source. Some believe the Japanese wanted to copy the M-130’s design for their own flying boat, while others think they actually wanted to get their hands on its engines. Hill’s theory is that the Japanese were determined to prevent Watson Choy from delivering $3 million in gold certificates to Chiang Kai-shek.
Watson Choy was 38-year-old Wah-Sun Choy, an American of Chinese descent, who happened to be the wealthy owner of a small New Jersey–based restaurant company ─ he was a passenger.

Anyway, to my mind these two incidents are too close not to be referring to the same event.

But it has not been proven. No bodies or definite and incontrovertible trace of the plane have ever been found, from what I can uncover in the small research I have done while working on today's post.

By the way, provided that the link remains accurate, the photos from that post telling of what it was like to fly aboard a Clipper in the 1930s are on display at iCloud.com: Pam-Am Clipper by Barry Sharp

Okay, I am done for today!

Here to close is a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

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

I had been working full-time for over a month now on a three-month contract with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I was swamping on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck, which was generally driven by Esther St. Jean, a lovable lady in her early 40s. 

I had previous associations with S.A.N.E. as a swamper that may have stretched back into 1974, but I had only ever been part-time at best ─ i.e., a day per week.
FRIDAY, July 23, 1976

I had a deal of trouble finding sleep last night, and did not get up till c. 7:20 a.m.

I am going to mail a request to F. and S.F. Book Co. asking them to substitute Far Lands by E. Hoffman Price in the stead of Howard's Rogues in the House if, as I fear, I already ordered that title early this month. 

Once more, I'm being deprived from my toilet by the laundering knot-head upstairs; this from 9:00 a.m. on, with no BM. (But it turned I got relief by 10:00 a.m.)

I did no work till the reasonably sunny afternoon, so finished William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist.

At Safeway I bought $1.87 worth of grapes (29¢ lb) and tomatoes (19¢ lb).

After work a trip to Woodward's yielded 2 - 99¢ liter containers of yogurt, and at National Meats all I could get to complement my final $2 was $1.55 worth of minced chicken & beef, up 10¢ to 69¢ lb.

On CKNW, Arnold Schwartzenegger was Art Finlay's talk-show guest for a while between 6:30 p.m. - 7:30 p.m.

I am leaving for Mark's about 8:00 p.m.

I'd hoped to tie in with Bill tonight, but shortly after midnight found my self walking home, meeting at the Cameo 2 drinking girls wondering on the way to Richmond; I said it was too difficult to explain.

Cathy was home alone, Mark working.

Seems he never received the Olympic ticket I ordered him from Montreal (but strangely, a check revealed I haven't the money order copy). She also said she may vacation to see her folks around Aug. 10 for a few weeks.

I am lately unhappy with myself, and was a poor companion tonight. I'm so unsocial. My rotten life caused me dejection as I walked home.

Bed at 1:45 a.m.
The morning issue concerning the toilet was that it was located in a cubicle along with my shower unit ─ but well outside of my room there in the house basement. So when a female tenant from upstairs was down in the basement laundering, I was too shy to make use of the toilet. 

I didn't need her privy to what I was doing ─ or about to do!

I hated that absence of full privacy.

Recent journal entries have illuminated me as to how much free time I seemed to have at S.A.N.E. ─ I was doing an enormous amount of reading there from the stock of books people had donated.

After work, I did some shopping first at Woodward's, which used to be located on Sixth Avenue where today the Royal City Centre Mall is; and then I took what scant remaining cash I had and stopped in at National Meats. 

I now have no idea if National Meats is still at the same location ─ 619 Belmont Street. Nothing about that spot rings any bells now.

My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were renting a home on Bentley Road in Whalley. I would have walked there ─ and home again late that night.

Mark had recently had his 24th birthday, and I had believed that I had mail-ordered an Olympic Lottery ticket for him ─ the darned things cost $10. But it had never shown up, and I never had my copy of the money order proving that I did indeed order it.

It's unfortunate that I was in such a down state of mind ─ Jeanette meant a lot to me. But perhaps part of my dejection was being broke and thus unable to buy any beers to enjoy while I was visiting ─ that would have given me the needed boost.

I was evidently hoping that my old friend William Alan Gill would come visiting, too ─ he lived maybe four blocks from my room, and I could have ridden back to town instead of walked.

The Cameo Theatre was pretty much immediately where Bentley Road came out and met with the King George Boulevard ─ research shows that the Cameo's address was 13551 King George Boulevard.  

It may well still be there; but if it is, I doubt that it has been a theatre in many, many years. 

I should go over there to that area some day soon and take some photos.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

On Detoxing from Sugar │ Folic Acid Is Inferior to Folate

It is becoming the norm now to report that my younger brother Mark spent some of the evening unconscious ─ such as was the case last evening.

After he had come home around 8:30 p.m., he sat at the dining table dealing with what mail had come for him, and he also perused the free Surrey Now-Leader that had been dropped off earlier in the day.

I soon tuned in an episode of iZombie; and about midway through it he came into the living room to join me, and sat into his favourite chair with a glass of beer.

It was not at all long thereafter when I glanced over and saw that he was unconscious. He remained in that state throughout the ensuing season finale episode of Supernatural, and only revived after I had given up on him and tuned in news telecasts on regular T.V.  

During the last half of iZombie, a couple of times I speculated that I might be hearing something like eggs boiling on the stove in the kitchen. My eldest stepson Tho was home, but he was up in the bathroom, and had been for some while.

So I finally checked, and sure enough ─ a couple of eggs and an equal number of thick chunks of some manner of large sausage were merrily boiling away.

I turned them off, of course, for I had been hearing them roiling away for a time.

They were indeed Mark's. When he regained consciousness over an hour later, he was to make a meal of them.

But had he been living alone ─ or just been home alone ─ the pot would have boiled dry during that hour; and who knows what would have then occurred to it and its contents in an hour at maximum heat on that stove's electric element that was of course red hot?

I said nothing to him after he was conscious ─ I expect that it would have been wasted breath. He would be more likely than not to have no memory after that evening of anything that I said ─ his brain has deteriorated too far after many decades of excessive drinking. 

I didn't sit up too late. I announced my intention of retirement to him, and was in bed by 11:12 p.m., leaving him alone with the T.V. news programme that I had last tuned in.

During my night of fractured sleep, I rose once to use the bathroom and drink some water; and it was 6:31 a.m. this morning when I checked the time and rose for the day.

It was unexpectedly pleasant to see that the cul-de-sac pavement out in front of the house was wet with recent rain, and the sky heavily overcast.

I am still involved in the edit of an old post at my hosted website My Retirement Dream, so I busied myself with that after I had fixed my day's first hot beverage.

I felt too physically lacking to care to tackle an exercise session out in the backyard tool shed while Mark was still abed in the early morning.

I think that he got up before 9:00 a.m.

I entered into a bit of a decline as the morning progressed; and at 10:16 a.m. I was back in bed to seek a nap, remaining there for just over 70 minutes, I believe.

Upon going downstairs to the kitchen to prepare a reasonably small meal ─ my first of the day ─ Mark appeared; and in one of his infuriating ludicrous dithers, he ranted on about a problem he had with the washing machine during his laundering.

I know he isn't accusing me of anything, but it immediately rouses my ire when he does this, glowering at me with his face twisted up into its ugliest snarl as if he is treating of some naughty child ─ and not his older brother.

He also complained about not knowing where a large coffee can containing sundry nails was ─ it used to be in plain view when one entered the backyard tool shed.

Well, two or three weeks ago, my wife Jack had spent just about a couple of hours cleaning and tidying in that shed, and the place has looked phenomenally ordered compared to how it had been. And that says nothing of the spider nests she had swept away.

I had since noticed that some old coffee cans were piled together in a far corner under a shelving unit alongside the left wall of the shed as one walks into the small building, but Mark seems to have some sort of mental deficiency that prevents him from noticing things like this. 

I have often had to weather his rages when he can't find something like a can opener in the kitchen ─ he accosts me about it as if I know exactly where the item is. And so darned often I will simply lift a pot or something in the dish rack and lo! ─ there is the missing item. 

He seems incapable of using calm and reason ─ he prefers flying into a snarling, scowling rage that feels directed at me, and it makes me in turn feel like putting a fist into the centre of his contorted face.

And I see that I have managed to work myself up and need to switch topics.

Suffice to say that he never napped today, and left here during the noon-hour, saying he had to go and do some work on his three-ton cube van in whatever distant parking compound he keeps it.

I don't know if my youngest stepson Poté was home and in bed during the early morning, and then got up and left while I was napping; but only his older brother Tho seems to be here now as I type these words at 1:41 p.m. 

I've not noticed any further rain since I first rose this morning, but the sky is still heavily overcast. Not a great start for the two-day Fusion Festival in Surrey's Holland Park a mile or so from here where I live.

Nelly Furtado is supposed to entertain late tomorrow, but I have no plans of hiking over even though the Festival is free. I do not enjoy these events all on my own ─ I need a companion to share in them with.

I want now to post a scan of an old photo ─ the description just beneath is what was printed on the reverse of the photo by my mother Irene Dorosh's husband Alex:

Brother Bill & Irene in Edison Park, Fort Myers, Fl. 1972
I suppose that Alex's brother Bill was likely living in Florida when Alex and my mother went down there for a visit.

And I have just done a search of previous photos I scanned and posted here over the past many, many months ─ this next photo can only have been taken that very same day. The description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scan filed:

As you can see at the right border of this photo, it was part of a roll of film that was developed in December 1972. 
That is my mother Irene Dorosh, although I do not believe that she had yet married her future husband Alex and taken on that surname. 
I believe that she is posed with one of Alex's brothers, but I cannot guess where the photo was taken.
And now I know where!

Well, it seems that I was wrong about Poté not being here ─ he is. And Mark has just walked back into the house at 2:21 p.m. He must have finished whatever he wanted to do with his truck. 

Heck, I think he even intends to try for a nap ─ he'll need it if he plans drinking most of the rest of the day with his girlfriend and drinking buddies.

I have no trouble at all avoiding candy and chocolate bars. I rarely eat baked goods, either. If my wife Jack buys something like that, I wait and let Mark and my stepsons get at it; and if anything remains a day or two later, then maybe I will partake of a piece of whatever it is.

But many people are unquestionable sugar junkies. This commentary is for them:


I went in search of the CNN article that was referred to ─ if you would like to take a look at it, here it is:


The month-long 'sugar detox' diet leads off with the initial three-day utterly carbohydrate-free diet. But I'm a cynic. I bet most people who make it past the three days soon enough become carbohydrate rescidivists

In seeking out that CNN article, I read an even more recent one about a young couple who went on their version of a sugar-free diet for two weeks ─ note that the language in the article is occasionally somewhat vulgar:


I did rush through the article, but I never noticed any mention of this diet having anything specific to do with the official sugar-free diet. That would explain why the couple were soon heavily focused upon sweet potatoes ─ those ought to be 'no-nos' where carbohydrate avoidance is concerned. 

They also started eating a heck of a lot of oil-baked items ─ I wouldn't deem that to be any foundation of a wholesome diet.

But people do what they want, don't they?

I came across something else today that I hope I can remember ─ folic acid supplementation is far less effective where assimilation of that vitamin is concerned than is folate supplementation.

I do take a folic acid supplement (one milligramme) daily, but I guess I should try to see if my shopping sources carry any folate supplements instead.

Apparently as many as one out of every two of us have a genetic mutation ─ the MTHFR gene variant ─ that results in trouble converting folic acid into the more biologically active folate form.

If there is any chance at all that you are interested in this, you can refer to this article:


Mark was too antsy to get out and do his socializing, I guess. He soon exited his bedroom and made his farewell at 2:51 p.m. 

Should he and his girlfriend Bed get along this evening, he typically spends his Saturday nights at her home, so I will have the living room and T.V. to myself after dark.

My vision and overall physical conditioning are so critically impaired that I took a break from this post in the early mid-afternoon and just lied face-down upon my bed, slipping into a bit of a nap.

In the past few weeks, I have even begun to question whether it is within me to ever get back into regular distance walking.

These are all indicators that maybe I am on track in believing that there is no sense in me continuing with this pointless life I lead by having a 70th birthday.

I am going to finish today's post now with this journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

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

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

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

I had worked for S.A.N.E. prior to this ─ perhaps beginning back in 1974; but only on the most part-time basis.
THURSDAY, July 22, 1976

Up around 6:40 a.m.

This grey morning shall find me at Woodward's buying 2 money orders: $17.45 for some yogurt equipment from Quebec's (Chambly) Rosell Institute, and $26.80 for books from the F.&S.F. Book Co. (Rogues in the House by Howard, Boats of the Glen Carrig by Hodgson, Swordships of Scorpio by Akers, Castle of Llyr by Alexander, Bloody Sun by Bradley, When the Green Star Calls, by Carter, and Time Slave by Norman). 

I passed a fair amount of the day on truck duty, though nothing gruelling; I worked with Steve Thackray. 

Esther gave me 2 rolls.

It began raining in the afternoon a bit.

At Safeway I spent $1.99 on pears and liver (19¢ lb & 59¢ lb resp.).

Esther gave me a ride home, getting me here about 4:26 p.m.

At the Games, I saw Nadia Comanici collect her 6th perfect 10 score!

I'll mail my money orders while on my way to mom's; again, I expect to have the place to myself as I leave at 6:15 p.m.

No more sprinkling.

The only mail I had was a second Lucky Leo Lottery ticket, this one from St. Joseph's School; also, a delivery notice apprising me of "registered mail" awaiting me at the Scott-Town sub #7.

I had a pretty heavy carbohydrate / fat snack.

Coming home, I again jogged the distance in about 45 minutes, arriving about 10:15 p.m.

Bed at 11:00 p.m.

(Note: Russia's Nellie Kim scored 10 in floor exercises; her second such.)
I had time that morning to walk on up to Woodward's department store on Sixth Avenue ─ that venerable store's location is now occupied by the Royal City Centre Mall.

I don't remember ever owning any yogurt-making equipment. From some research I have just done, the Institut Rosell Inc. was bought up and merged with Lallemand Health Solutions

The books I was mail-ordering were so expensive because the first two (by Robert E. Howard and William Hope Hodgson) were hardcovers ─ I still own the latter book. Both were published by the F.&S.F. Book Co., and were part of the company's Classics of Science Fiction series.

Apparently I co-swamped that day with someone named "Steve Thackray" ─ or however else his last name may have been spelled. He is lost to memory now.

I am impressed with my younger self that I was finding the Olympic Games so interesting.

The home of my mother Irene Dorosh was my main mailing address, so I generally visited two or three times a week. This particular week, she had gone on a holiday back to her roots in Ontario where she grew up; and her husband Alex had (I believe) gone with a friend to Reno.

Their little home no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. To illustrate how active I tended to be back then, that early evening hike to get to their home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey would have taken me 1½ hours at a fast pace.   

Obviously making the return journey in half-time was something of a feat.

I don't know what the item of registered mail was, but the "sub #7" was actually a postal substation within a pharmacy at 96th Avenue & Scott Road (120th Street). I would have passed by that intersection on my return journey to my room, but the pharmacy would have been closed.

Going through these old journal entries as I do for the relevant day on each day that I make a blog post, I often find myself feeling very reflective about my life. So much so right now that I feel like doing some drinking.

We shall see....