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Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Learning of a Former Co-Worker's Stroke │ More 2016 Vancouver Pride Parade Photos

It was good to make it to bed last night well ahead of midnight, although I did not sleep at all well towards morning.

We had some rain overnight, and the day has been overcast, but it is improving ─ tomorrow is supposed to be sunny, I believe I heard.

I spent much of the morning editing an old post at my website Siam-Longings.  I started the job yesterday, and still have at least two more days ahead of me before I figure I can call the edit complete.

This has been my youngest step-son Pote's second consecutive day off work ─ with his omnipresent girlfriend here, of course.

I should have begun this post much earlier than I did, but I allowed myself to deviate from that nobler path.  And now I am battling time.

I'm not going to be getting to bed very early tonight ─ my wife Jack phoned me just after mid-afternoon to have me take a whole frozen chicken from the freezer and set it out to thaw.

She'll be coming home tonight from Vancouver after Mango Thai Restaurant closes, and once the staff cleans up the restaurant for tomorrow.

Since I already know that she is to be here tomorrow so Pote will have a ride to some medical appointment he's got, she's clearly going to be spending the night here.

As I have mentioned in each post I have made since Sunday, I went downtown that day to watch the 2016 Vancouver Pride Parade, and I of course took photos.

Had I been able to know for certain that I would be going, I would have let on to a couple of guys I know from my days at Transport Canada who still work at 800 Burrard Street.  I would have loved to get together with one or both of them again for beer and catching up.

But I never know I'm actually going to be traveling anywhere like that until the very morning of the day under consideration.  All it takes is one absolutely abominable night's sleep, and I won't even be leaving the house environs ─ let alone brave hordes of people on the SkyTrain and downtown.

Consequently, they never knew that I had planned on going and that I indeed had gone.

But I guess I could at least have let them know that I might have been going to the parade ─ they could each have given me their cellphone numbers to call if I managed to get downtown.

Believe it or not, that only just now occurred to me.  I'll have to hold it firmly in mind for any future major jaunt like that.

Anyway, I E-mailed George ─ one of the fellas ─ and asked him about someone else I have kept on my mailing list from Transport Canada.

For weeks now, anything I E-mail to Debbie at her work address results in an automated response from Transport Canada containing the claim that my E-mail "exceeds the maximum message size allowed."

This has been going on for weeks ─ even if I've only sent a couple of lines of text, and thus the message is only a few bytes in size.

So I asked George about her, as I have said ─ and here was his response:
Ok Garnet I guess you haven't heard. December 28, 2015 she had a stroke. And she's in the hospital.  She just got into a rehab facility finally and she's undergoing rehab not sure how it's going we haven't heard any updates from the family recently. Last we heard her speech was getting better she couldn't speak there for couple of months The last thing we heard  was about a month or so ago that she was doing rehab and doing OK not yet still 100%.....a long  ways to go.  Still in the hospital as far as we know.
I responded back:
Oh, no!

I hadn't heard, George!!!

And that's over seven months ago ─ the poor thing!

I don't think there's ever going to be a return to 100% after something that severe.  Maybe she'll have to take a medical retirement.

Depending on how much pensionable service she's got, that might be the best thing for her.

I'm glad I thought to ask you about her, even if the news is pretty darned bad.
And he has since replied to that:
Yeah...We don't think she will be back. They have disabled her email and all that stuff.  She will never be 100%. I hope she gets to go home in the near future.
She is missed for sure.
She was planing on retiring in 2018. Her progress is slow.

I will keep you posted handsome. Ok
George is quite the teaser at times.

Now speaking of that parade and the photos that I took, here are a few more ─ as I said yesterday, I am too ignorant of the participants to be able to identify anything of what you will be seeing, so I have no descriptions to offer:










The centrally-located dude in the Mohawk haircut that you can see in that second-to-last shot was rather muscular.

I also took this video clip:

video

And that's all I'll post of the parade for today ─ I don't want to bore anyone.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Due to having wasted time earlier when I should have begun work upon this post, I think I must resign myself to closing off; so 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.

My room was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I had partied all the prior night and in fact never got back to my room and bed until 1:30 p.m. this very afternoon that my journal entry concerns itself with:
SUNDAY, August 3, 1975

I got up about 5:00 p.m., and by 7:20 p.m. or so intensely released with Marguerite Cordier, August.

This morning at Mark's I found the article listing the Western lottery winners in Friday's Province; I lost out.  But there are still the $100 cheques, as well as the secondary draw on the 9th.

If I could win a large sum, and achieve my goals with it, Cathy would need never fear for herself or kids so long as I held full manhood.  

How I cherish that sweet girl!  I regret having so wasted my life that now, at 25, I am too old to direct my life usefully without acquiring some degree of sudden wealth.

The age of 30 is so near, to try and salvage my worth now on hard effort and goal seeking would be more loss than gain!  

I must win a lottery!  Here lies my sole hope; may the odds just once favour me, proving the uniqueness I feel sometimes is contained in my being.

I shall retire before 9:30 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill and I ended up in the wee hours of the a.m. at the Whalley home shared by my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther after partying with them and others over at my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's home elsewhere in Surrey.

Then Bill drove us back to New Westminster where we did our laundry together at a laundromat, and then visited a smorgasbord that was located at a shopping plaza at Eighth Avenue & McBride Boulevard.

Only after that did he get me to my room, and he sought his own elsewhere in New Westminster, for whatever sleep we would be getting that afternoon.

That opening line mentioning Marguerite Cordier was referring to an August edition of Penthouse magazine my irritated nervous system was compelling me to seek some tension relief, and it apparently paid off unusually well.  

I started my journal back on August 30, 1971, but this is the first time that I can recall in which I mentioned that key issue concerning the age of 30.

I now don't remember exactly when I did so, but at some point in my late teens I resolved that I would end my life during the year following my 30th birthday.

As you might imagine, with that self-determined death sentence ahead of me, I was not big on planning for my future and old age.

And so here I was at the age of 25, working just one day a week, and with no skills and certainly no talents that I was aware of.

I saw my life as a waste, and felt that I had nothing to offer any woman with whom I might fall in love.

And as it had happened, I was now in love with Mark's girlfriend, Jeanette ("Cathy").  

With  just five years of life ahead of me, it was pointless (I thought) to try and do anything with myself now ─ what could anyone build of a life in a mere five years?

And so I was desperately involving myself with lotteries like the new Western Lottery ─ possibly it was the Western Express Lottery.

Yet for all of the resignation and despair I may have felt, there were also those times when I sensed myself to be somehow very special in the eyes of God ─ that there was even some great purpose He had in store for me.

Well, I was wrong.

As for the age of 30, it had been arbitrarily picked when I was a teen because of course teenagers look at 30 as being pretty much the start of old age.

Certainly it was not yet old, but it was the beginning of middle-age.

And I felt that the longer I allowed myself to live thereafter, the less will I would have to put an end to myself.  It had to be done, and the year following my 30th birthday was that line I had drawn in the sand.

I would not cross it into the age of 31. 

Or so I was still believing.

That conviction had been with me for a half-dozen or more years at that point.  And it seemed sure.

I am 66 years old now, so how was it I got past my line arbitrarily drawn in time's sand?

Well, if I am still doing this blog once I am 71 years of age, I will be posting entries from back when I was 30 years old.  

You'll just have to contain your suspense and wait and see.
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