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Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Spring Ayurveda Dietary Tips │ Medical Authorities' Superficial Understanding of Vitamin D │ Research Proves Again Intravenous Vitamin C Therapy in Treating Cancer Works

It was darned near 11:00 p.m. before I made it to bed last night, as I recall. And it was another of those nights of utterly fractured sleep. I would find myself awake, and not understanding why, nor how I would be able to gain the comfort to return to sleep.

The problem was not that I was at all uncomfortable ─ just apparently not comfortable enough to get easily asleep, or stay there.

It was with something of a shock when I checked the time this morning to see if I should be rising yet, for I had been considering it shortly after 5:00 a.m. ─ but it was suddenly already about 6:30 a.m.

So I hauled my aching, stiff frame from the sack. I had a bill payment to mail ─ one due of Friday. I wanted to get it to the nearest mailbox not a block away, for I believe that it is listed with a 9:00 a.m. pick-up.

It was 6:45 a.m. when I left the house for the short walk, finding myself feeling stunned from my groggy night in bed. Even my legs felt off.

Years ago when I was in my early-to-mid-20s in the early-to-mid-1970s, I could get up in the dark early a.m. and head off for long walks or even runs without need of reviving from my time in bed. Neither was I in need of coffee.

That "me" is gone forever. It generally seems to take me at least an hour to come anywhere near what passes now for normalization.

My eldest step-son Tho had gone to work, but younger step-son Poté was still abed when I headed out to mail the bill payment. However, he got himself up while I was out. And before 7:20 a.m., had left to drive himself to work.

I was home alone.

I put in the usual day's expected work on the old post I am still editing at my website My Retirement Dream. After that, I needed to lie down for awhile to ease my poor eyes, as well as gain some relief from the punishment of sitting in a cramped posture on the metal swivel chair that I have before my very low and cheap computer desk or workstation ─ one more designed for a schoolboy than a taller adult.

I might have gone out today and done some shopping, but I am rather tied down here at home as I await a delivery that I have been tracking from the States since before the weekend. It apparently cleared Customs just after 3:00 p.m. yesterday, and left Customs around 9:00 p.m. that evening.

Consequently, I  have no idea if a delivery attempt might be attempted today or not. And I do not want to miss it. Poté had a package that no one was home to receive a week ago, and the delivery notice that was left thereafter indicated a postal station I was unaware existed ─ it seems to me that it was maybe a couple of miles away, despite there being two that are much nearer.

I do not want to have to be walking anywhere to collect the parcel I am expecting, and so I dare not leave home. Heck, I am even leery of going out into the backyard for any length of time.

It has been a mostly overcast day, although I have seen a few uncommon glimpses of blue sky, as well as some weak sunshine. But I also noticed around 1:45 p.m. that the street outside was wet ─ it had apparently showered rain, yet I was entirely unaware of it.

I made that discovery when I went outside to put something into our recycling bin. And in doing that, I discovered that someone ─ probably clueless Poté ─ had placed a large, clear plastic container of some sort of chocolaty-coloured beverage into the bin, and the beverage container had over two inches of liquid in it.

The container had its dome-shaped lid in place, with a straw protruding from it, and a serviette stuffed into that opening as if to best prevent any liquid from escaping.

That twit constantly has Tim Hortons cardboard coffee cups set out for the recycling bin that have anywhere from a trickling of coffee remaining, to a few inches of the stuff. The prick can truly get on my nerves, for he just will not change.

I was so furious when I found that container today that I just took it and hurled it into the garbage bin with a loud oath to accompany it.

Tho is perfectly happy to cart out all manner of his brother's sloppy finishings and just dump them into the recycling bin ─ it disgusts and enrages me.

And reinforces why I will never consent to share a residence with either of those two lads when we must forsake life here in our home if my younger brother Mark proves adamant about selling the house once he has retired later this year.

But I am upsetting myself and need to get off the topic.

I was interrupted in this tirade by a phone-call from my wife Jack, requesting me to take a package of meat out of the fridge icebox. She had said on Sunday that she would be around today from Vancouver, so evidently that is to be so. I just don't know when.

I will anticipate that she is likely to arrive during the latter afternoon, and it is 2:45 p.m. as I type these words.

And I see that the Sun is shining brightly ─ if just temporarily.

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I have said before that I do sense the wisdom behind the sort of information that is offered in the following article, but I would need to live alone and have full control of my life to ever even begin to try and adhere to anything like this ─ or even comfortably understand it:

LifeSpa.com

By the way, I despise having those popups thrust into my face when I am visiting a webpage like that. If people actually respond to that sort of thing and subscribe, it just makes no sense to me.

The ones that just rub me so wrong are those that pop up before I have even had a chance to start reading the article ─ why the blazes would I want to subscribe if I don't even know what the website is offering yet by way of information?

No, I do not value those popup invitations one wee bit. I have even been so annoyed that I have just closed out of the webpage and gone my way, never bothering to read anything at the offending website.

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I found the following article to make considerable sense, for I have read so much over the years extolling vitamin D that I just have no patience for those benighted 'authorities' who proclaim that most of the benefit claims are exaggeration:

DrMicozzi.com

I read with some interest his mention of "children during the mid-20th century" being subjected to artificial ultraviolet light in the belief that it was therapeutic for them; and that the likelihood was that the youngsters became adults and displayed 80% of the cases of skin cancer that alarmed medical authorities later in the century, incorrectly damning exposure to sunlight as the reason for the surge in such cancers.

And that notion is still prevalent today, alas.  

You might enjoy seeing photos of some of those kids receiving such treatments in the following article about that and related light treatments at Flashbak.com: Light Therapy For Naked Children, Delicate Adults, Sick Pigs And Quacks (Photos: 1900-1950).

I was born in 1949, but I don't think my brother and I were ever living anywhere where that sort of therapy was practiced. Besides, unless it was free, then my parents would have been unable to afford it for us.

Regardless, my brother and I were very much outdoor, country-based kids. We're both thankful for that.

Edith Tudor-Hart, Ultraviolet light treatment for children with rickets in a south London hospital (circa 1935)

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This past weekend, one of the two local subscription newspapers had a piece by someone who cited several therapies he was identifying as baseless insofar as lofty claims on their benefits were concerned ─ I can't remember what he tried to cover, but he picked on both chelation and IV therapy.

Well, fie to him! Unfortunately, though, people will read his slanted deception and believe it. For example, intravenous vitamin C therapy is being proved effective in mainstream medical journals ─ these reports tell of the latest published study:

Now.Uiowa.edu

ScienceDaily.com

HSIonline.com

That last report should have provided the link to their "Find a Doc" page for the American readers ─ this is it: hsionline.com/findadoc.

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I guess it had to happen.

Yesterday I mentioned how in checking my AdSense account, I was pegged with having earned exactly 28¢ in total over the preceding 28 days.

Well, I checked my balance again just prior to commencing today's post, and yesterday failed to register that token penny. A full day's effort of blogging for zilch.

I close out now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was paying rent for the little place in a house located on Ninth Street, and perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was to attend an Easter Sunday dinner at my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The house she and her husband Alex shared is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

To hike there from my room at a goodly pace was roughly an expenditure of 1½ hours.  
SUNDAY, April 18, 1976

I've been soundly awake since before 5:00 a.m., having slept a rather incomplete night.

I'm leaving for mom's at 8:10 a.m., looking forward to dinner ─ and hopefully a tide-over snack.

I got caught in the start of a lengthy bout of rain; and tho the traffic wasn't bad, the damn dogs were.

I guess I arrived about 9:40 a.m. 

I saw Bill's car when I passed his place, and when I mentioned this I learned he came back Friday night from Bellingham and phoned for me from Nell's.

When Alex left after noon for Mark's bunch, I had a small meal.

Phyllis came with Sherry and a tall fellow (age 27) called Doug, arriving shortly before we all began to eat soon past 2:00 p.m. A turkey, of course, and ham for those interested.

Boy, did I stuff before my day was done.

It seems all the relations are planning a reunion in Ontario in July. 

Phyllis & Doug left reasonably soon after eating, and a couple hours later she returned.

The party broke up at 8:00 p.m., using Phyllis' car for transport. I figured I'd have to walk from Mark's, but Phyllis had him, driving, take me home.

I took the opportunity to pass Cathy ─ who behaved beautifully, I must say ─ the magazine Human Potential.

I was sure relieved to get the ride; before eating today though, I weighed in at 187.

I couldn't resist; Climax Wrayanne did me in once again, just about 10:00 p.m. I'll retire within 10 minutes. It was a complete oozer.

Before I got asleep Bill came over; I ignored him at first, but finally did let him in. He wants us to go to Manning Park in a few days, mainly to see what it's like.

My new bedtime is 11:20 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite, and lived possibly as near as four blocks from my room. On the Friday evening just past, he had gone to Bellingham with a group from my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's household. 

As it happened, I had also gone to Bellingham with my younger brother Mark, his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther, and four others. Bill and his group must have returned much earlier than my crew did, for I never even left Mark & Jeanette's home to jog back to my room until 4:25 a.m.

I don't quite understand why Bill would have thought that I would be at my mother's home on a Friday evening, however.

Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together ─ it was on Bentley Road in Whalley, and quite close to the King George Highway, as this Google map shows.  

Mark and Jeanette had no car at this point ─ theirs had been written off in a collision, so this is why Alex went to pick them up. "Them" included Jeanette's two beautiful little girls. 

Phyllis is my older maternal half-sister, and Sherry her daughter; but I have no memory of "Doug," Phyllis's much younger boyfriend of the time.

I am certain that the magazine Human Potential that I gave to Jeanette was a product of Ambassador College

After Mark drove me home in Phyllis's car once she had taken the bunch of us to his place, I evidently was to run afoul of the pornographic magazine Climax.

Anyway, I remember no drive with Bill out to Manning Park, so it likely never developed.

Now back to the present ─ my wife Jack showed up no later than 4:30 p.m., so I need to finish and publish this post. Fortunately both of her sons are home to serve as a buffer for her and minimize the effect of the time I am spending sitting here upstairs while she cooks downstairs in the kitchen.
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