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Friday, September 9, 2016

Two Chance Encounters with Former Neighbours │ Diabetic Retinopathy Avoided with Fatty Fish Diet: Study

My wife Jack left to probably return to Vancouver yesterday early in the evening ─ it must have been approaching 7:00 p.m.  I say "probably," because I have no idea anymore what she's up to.

She had shown up very early in the afternoon, and later kept a 4:00 p.m. dental appointment.  Reportedly she's going to require follow-up work.

Anyway, my day ended last night at 11:57 p.m. ─ that's the time I finally got to bed.

Unfortunately, I think I had my first break in sleep just ahead of 3:00 a.m., so I had the usual bathroom visit.

Sleep was very intermittent thereafter, and it was well after 7:00 a.m. when I started my day.

My youngest step-son Pote was already up ─ his girlfriend had spent the night and then left earlier this morning.

Pote was out of here by about 10:20 a.m. to catch his bus to work.

I spent some of the morning putting more content into the new post I am working on at my Thai-Iceland website ─ I am confident that I will have the post finished and published tomorrow.

I wanted to get away reasonably early and make another of my regular hikes to the government liquor store about two miles away at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley.

It was 10:37 a.m. when I was on my way after locking the front door, and the sky was mainly sunny.

I arrived at the liquor store uneventfully enough, although within I think I was directly behind a former neighbour ─ the 'neighbour' attribute predates the move my younger brother Mark and I made to our present home back in June 2002.

I even spoke briefly with him as he was paying for his bottle of white rum, for he told the cashier that he was buying his liquor ahead of time to stock up for what I thought he said was to be a camping trip in two months.

When I questioned on the pleasure of camping at that time of year, he said that it was a hunting trip.

The former neighbour also used to hunt, so it seems too improbable that this chap would both resemble the neighbour and also hunt.

My brother Mark still occasionally associates with former neighbour Barry and his wife Terry (or Terri), so I will have to remember to mention the encounter to Mark this evening when he gets home from the bar.

Normally these beer hikes take just about 1½ hours, for my pace slows considerably on the trek home as I lug a dozen cans of beer in each hand.

Today, that would have meant getting back nigh on 12:07 p.m.  However, I got engaged in conversation with a chap I know of as Hugh, and who used to live right around where I presently live.

We encountered one another just as I was beginning to cut through Holland Park just this side of Surrey Place (Central City).

I had not noticed him hereabouts in what seems a year or more, and he revealed that he had moved, and was now living in the low-income apartment tower right there by the park.

He certainly has his health issues, but he has had a rather wild past, including being a member of a biker gang.  He claimed that he 'retired' from it in 1999, but only officially 'retired' from it in 2003.

I don't know Hugh's age, but he most likely is into his 60s.

But we talked for quite some time.  And instead of me arriving back home around 12:07 p.m. early in the noon-hour, it was 12:44 p.m.

I had been gone about seven minutes over two hours.

Oh well, my face and shaven head needed what sunshine was in effect, for there seemed to be some considerable clouding when I was with Hugh.  But the sunshine was to become dominant after I was home.

Perhaps I should have gone and sat out in the backyard after I was home, but I elected to spend my time sordidly here at my computer.

Besides, the damned brown hound beyond the backyard fence has been barking up a storm ever since I have been back ─ actually, it had begun before I even left home.

The brainless waste of life needs to be shot.

No price can be placed upon the duress and distress that thing has caused me in the four years since it appeared beyond that fence, and I curse its useless owners for doing nothing to curb its booming intrusion into my peace of mind.

Yesterday I had mentioned how I had taken quite a number of photos of my wife Jack last afternoon our in the backyard ─ I was using her cellphone; and I later tried to surreptitiously upload some of the photos to my computer, but her phone suddenly began ringing just as I had accessed the image folders.

I had to rush downstairs with the phone and act as if I was bringing it to Jack ─ who was busy cooking in the kitchen ─ from the living room where she had left it.

The caller was her dentist's office soliciting her presence, for it was around 3:30 p.m. at that point, and her appointment was for 4:00 p.m. ─ she had missed a previous appointment.

After she returned from the dentist around 5:45 p.m. (she must have been doing other things), she continued cooking, so I did at last manage to upload some of the photos.

This is a sample taken on the backyard sundeck:


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Within the past week in this blog, I mentioned a study that found how people with type 2 diabetes can stave off the development of diabetic retinopathy and eventual blindness.

This is the kind of study that laymen will have considerable trouble fathoming:  Dietary Marine ω-3 Fatty Acids and Incident Sight-Threatening Retinopathy in Middle-Aged and Older Individuals With Type 2 Diabetes │ Prospective Investigation From the PREDIMED Trial (doi: 10.1001/jamaophthalmol.2016.2906).

That link only brings up the abstract ─ the general public have to pay a fee to access the full study.  However,  if you are willing to seek it out, the full study is available for free as an eight-page .pdf file at Sci-Hub.ac.

Regardless, here are two reports on the study:



That first reference quotes a couple of the researchers as cautioning that it was the fish diet that worked this safeguard, and that omega-3 supplements were not tested.  

They further cautioned that supplements might be unreliable because of how easily the oils become rancid.

Nevertheless, there are reputable supplements out there.  I presently am using a Jamieson product purportedly comprised of a blend of wild salmon, sardine, and anchovy oils.  

I would love to be able to eat delicious wild salmon twice a week ─ heck, every day! ─ but I cannot afford to.

And my efforts with deriving an AdSense income are pathetic ─ not 1¢ came into my account yesterday; and when I checked the balance before starting this post, the situation for today was the same.

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The time has come for me to wind things down, so here is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago with which to close.

At the time, I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.  

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

My bedtime the previous evening was around 8:30 p.m. 

My big plan of the day was a hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ a fast-paced walk of about 1½ hours from where I was living.

Her home is now gone, but it was my main mailing address for years:  12106 - 90th Avenue.  

Alas, this is all that exists on that plot of land now where once the backyard was rich with vegetable produce; blueberry bushes and raspberry canes; and apple, plum, pear, and even a peach tree ─ I took this photo on August 18, 2014:


TUESDAY, September 9, 1975

I got up at 3:30 a.m., but have probably been awake since 1:30 a.m., too uneasy about missing my run to fall back asleep.

I left for my 11 laps several minutes before 4:30 a.m., dropping off my library book on the way.

According to the news, Alex may be striking yet this week; also, welfare is going to be a troublesome quarter as well due to forthcoming rulings.

I finished The Witchstone.

I left for mom's perhaps 7:15 a.m., and my hair got so damp from fog it dripped.

It was good to arrive early, but I ate enormously.  In fact, I am considering regular and frequent fasting to be rid of the flab on my gut.

There are such lovely young gals around!

My mail was an Olympic ticket and a Church of God letter. 

Mom's neighbour Nick came over for a couple hours.

The day became hot, being sunny.

Apparently the Western lottery is to be raised to over 5 times the present prize, the tickets then costing $3.

I came home with some apples & plums & toilet paper.

One good thing about fasting is I won't be such a burden on mom's pantry.

My back has begun to develop eruptions, probably because my tan is about gone; ever since I began sunning, it had been clear.

I planned to stay up till 11:00 p.m. watching TV, but changed my mind; I should be abed by 8:50 p.m.
I was trying to get in regular runs at the New Westminster Secondary School track, but with the newest school term back in force, I would only be able to use the track long before or long after school hours.  

Alex was my mother's husband.  I was never exactly sure just what it was that he did for employment, but he belonged to a large industrial union.

The news concerning welfare or social assistance concerned me because ─ even though I was employed one day per week ─ it was through an employment incentives or initiatives programme in place between New Westminster social services and my employer.

I now do not precisely recall the details, but I was issued the usual single person's rate for social assistance each month, and also received a considerably smaller cheque each month for my time served as a truck swamper ─ probably the minimum or even less-than-minumum hourly rate.

The Witchstone might have been the book by Anne Mather ─ it was not the book I had returned to the library.   

I was unable to afford a very good diet on my own, so whenever I was in the presence of food, I tended to eat gluttonously.

The government lotteries were coming on strong back then as something relatively new, and the Olympic Lottery ticket I had received in the mail was for just such a one.

My mother's neighbour who visited was Nick Phillips (or however the last name might have been spelled).  He was quite a short chap, but remarkably talkative ─ he seemed highly-strung.  As I recall, he lived across the street and in a house just to the right as reckoned from my mother's home.  

My mother worked as an evening office janitress, and New Westminster's Scott Paper (now Kruger Inc.) was her main gig.  As a result of working there, she often had access to discarded products that had been selected for quality checks and so forth, and brought into the office building ─ and thus the toilet paper I was taking home, along with some fruit from my mother's backyard.

I always had something of a struggle with complexion issues, and have only ever looked really good in my own eyes when I have been well-coloured by the Sun.

It is approaching 7:00 p.m. right now, and that damned dog is still penetrating my house with its infernal noise.  The irresponsible owners give no damn, and ought to be fined or even sued.

But the City of Surrey does nothing....
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