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Thursday, July 27, 2017

Not All Drownings Happen in the Water

I suppose that my wife Jack felt like she had to atone for disappearing on Tuesday when she went out to have lunch with her friend Fanta in Langley ─ she never returned here to our home in the Whalley area of Surrey, nor did she text or phone me.

Of course, she undoubtedly was in contact with one or both of her sons.

Her atonement was an unexpected appearance yesterday just ahead of mid-evening. My younger brother Mark was already home from the bar or wherever he hangs out (instead of coming directly home after work).

Mark managed to remain conscious for an especially arresting episode of Fargo, but he couldn't maintain that hold when I tuned in an episode of Travelers afterward.

I have to admit that the Fargo episode caught me entirely off guard. I sure never expected disgraced probation officer Ray Stussy to be accidentally murdered by his more successful brother Emmit Stussy.

I think what I was figuring might really happen is that Ray's girlfriend would get murdered first ─ or else the pair would be murdered together.

But I don't want to 'lose' the girlfriend in the series ─ I find myself viscerally drawn to the actress (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) portraying her.

The actress is so darned familiar, too, yet I can't say that I remember her from any of the movies I may have seen which are listed as past credits for her.

I'll have to keep the movie 10 Cloverfield Lane in mind and try to tune it in sometime just to enjoy her.

Mark probably went on up to his bedroom for the night around 10:40 p.m., or a little later.

I am certainly glad that I never tried to wait out Jack, though! While she was busy in the kitchen, I decided to excuse myself and let her know that I was heading on up to bed.

I left the bedroom light on, donning earplugs and my blindfold. I don't clearly recall the time when that was now, but it was probably before 11:20 p.m.

Eventually I became aware that she was climbing into bed; and when the light was turned off, I checked the time ─ it was maybe 1:06 a.m. at minimum, so nearly two hours later.

I had actually been sleeping at some point.

I was able to return to sleep, but I had my wakeful spells. A couple of times I was excessively cool ─ Jack had appropriated more than her share of the light quilt that was our only cover. So with the ceiling fan doing its job, the exterior air was almost unpleasant on my exposed skin.

There came a time when her stirrings roused me ─ I realized that she was getting up. I hadn't heard her eldest son Tho rap on the bedroom door to summon her to drive him to the SkyTrain, but he no doubt did.

It's shameful, but if his poor mother is spending the night, the lazy 22-year-old will not bother to get himself to the SkyTrain in order to commute out to Burnaby where he works.

He never cares how tired she is, or that she might have to go to work late in the morning. He's too bloody selfish.

Just as she exited the bedroom and closed the door, I checked the time and read 5:57 a.m. My night was done.

Once the pair had left, I went downstairs to make my day's first hot beverage. Meantime, my younger stepson Poté was getting up.

When Jack returned, I was at work on the edit I have going of an old post at my hosted website Siam-Longings. Apparently she was too hungry to just return to bed, so she got busy cooking herself some breakfast ─ maybe she cooked for Poté, too.

But she did anon return to bed, and he left just ahead of 7:00 a.m. for work.

Yesterday's plan for today was that I would make the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley to resupply myself with beer. But Jack's presence generally overrides any such plans.

However, as I worked upon that post edit, I quickly began wondering why I should not just ready and go anyway ─ she can sometimes remain in bed quite some while, and I might even be back home before she was up.

So that is what I resolved I would try to do. If I could get myself all ready to go and she was still not up, then go I would!

And so it was. I was standing outside of the locked front door at 9:17 a.m., and about to head away.

The morning was rather overcast, but it did have extensive sunny periods. And the day was to become exclusively sunny by the afternoon.

On the outward hike, I generally cut through Surrey Place (Central City), which is about the halfway mark.

As I was doing so this morning, I had just come into the shopping centre via a door by The Brick, and I had just barely progressed past the entrance to Tim Hortons, when my attention was drawn by a young fellow approaching off to my right who had raised his right arm.

When I looked his way, he said with soft sincerity, "Nice jacket."

I just smiled and gave a slight laugh, and replied, "Thanks!" But I never broke stride.

I have been complimented on the jacket before ─ and it was while I was wearing the same pants I had on today. Both are blue denim.

The jean jacket is a legitimate Levi Strauss, size 44 (regular fit). It's a traditional cut ─ i.e., the waist only reaches down to approximately the belt area.

The jeans are something of a rarity ─ a pair of boot-cut GWGs. Do they even make these anymore?

I know that I look really good in the combination. Last Fall, two women ─ neither of whom knew each other ─ were effusive with compliments when we had gathered and waited at a traffic light.

One of those women was a rather young thing, and with another lass of similar age ─ she had also been looking approving. It turned out that the pair were visiting Mormons.

They were both lookers, but the vocal one had a handshake like a weightlifter ─ a very thick mitt. When I expressed my surprise, she allowed that she was a Montana ranch girl.

Gosh, I get sidetracked with my posts sometimes!

Suffice to say that I got my two dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer ─ I even volunteered to the guy at the till to deduct an extra $5 to the Red Cross. They were accepting special donations for purposes of relief in regards to the many forest fires here in B.C., with numerous evacuations, and of course some home losses.

By the time I had made my way back home and unlocked the front door, it was 10:51 a.m. It had taken me just over 1½ hours.

There was no sign that Jack had gotten up, so I wanted to see if I could get most of the edit work finished that I had intended for today on the post at my Siam-Longings website.

And I did! Jack was not to rise until nearly midway through the noon-hour. Even then, she expressed how sleepy she still felt.

Well, she certainly left us all a lot of food ─ we hadn't yet finished what she had prepared earlier this week.

I failed to take note of just when it was that I saw her off on her return drive to Vancouver, but it must have been around the mid-afternoon.

I wish now to post an old photo of my mother Irene Dorosh. There are no details accompanying the photo, so I do not know where it was taken. As for when, the appearance of the cars leads me to venture that it was likely during the decade of the 1970s:


Last week I read the following article with some interest, for I had never before heard of anyone 'drowning' a day or more after having a threatening incident in water:

DrMicozzi.com

I got around today of researching this a little further, and came up with these reports ─ I deliberately avoided any from a news service because such reports are not usually composed by someone with a medical pedigree: 

Lifehacker.com

ChestNet.org

PopSci.com

Osteopathic.org

I can only be reminded of all those times in my past when I may have submerged my face into a sink or basin of cold water just to see how long I could keep it there without breathing. Could that have potentially initiated something deadly?

And what about the shock of a cold shower, or especially a New Year's 'polar' plunge?   

Lord, we're a vulnerable species!

Well, I see that my afternoon has expired, and it is now into my early evening. I had best close up shop 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 probably two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was possibly nearing the midway point of 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 had previous experience with S.A.N.E. ─ possibly back into 1974; but only on a very part-time basis.

My role was that of swamper on their blue pick-up truck, a vehicle generally driven by a great lady in her early 40s named Esther St. Jean.

We worked out of an old building located on Carnarvon Street. The building is gone today, but back then it was located approximately where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Canarvon Street. 
TUESDAY, July 27, 1976

My sleep wasn't too long. Perhaps between 4:30 a.m. - 5:00 a.m. dad came tapping and calling with immense persistence. 

I suppose the visit from Mark & Cathy on the week-end (they were to bring him the cot as Hellen was supposed to be coming out for some reason) set him off. 

But if I let him in, it would only lighten his punishment for boozing, and possibly even sustain the blasted habit.

I got up approaching 7:00 a.m.

It's difficult to ignore the pathetic tone in his voice, but he must learn I'm no haven for his intentional mistakes.

I found the receipt for the Olympic Lottery ticket from Montreal Mark never received, according to Cathy.

My day was tolerable, and I have managed to sunburn my shoulders quite badly.

David Prince dropped around in the fore- and afternoon.

Speaking with Bill Sevenko I learned that Bill Anderson recently got out of a Burnaby hospital after a 2 month drying out session.

I found a penny in a ringer washer Evelyn Lee gave us; last week hoodlum Terry & I got 50¢ each from a French fellow we delivered furniture to in Delta

I forced out 18 chins.

Bed at 10:30 p.m.
My father Hector was a binge drinker. When he had the money, he would embark on drunks that would last for days sometimes. He would only taper off once he was broke.

He was living in Burnaby, but he would sometimes come in to New Westminster to booze it up. And then he would come around to my room at some ungodly hour expecting me to welcome him with open arms.

He didn't drive, so he was either walking, or taking a cab if he still had the money. But the last thing I wanted was to be subjected to his drunken drivel because he had been too stupid to get himself home at a proper hour.

Maybe he even just came because he was broke and wanted to borrow some money from me to continue drinking with.

Sure, it would hurt to ignore his importunes; but anytime I relented would only be reinforcement for him to be back the next time he was on a binge in town. 

I hadn't written anything in my journal about Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther paying him a visit on the weekend to being him a cot. Helen was one of his sisters ─ and she was resident in Edmonton. It made little sense that she would come on a visit to stay with him ─ knowing full well how he could be ─ when she had two sisters living in Vancouver.

As for the Olympic Lottery ticket, Jeanette had told me the past Friday that Mark had never received it ─ I had mail-ordered it for him as a birthday present. His birthday had been July 9th.

The ticket cost me $10, yet I had been unable to locate my money order receipt proving that I had indeed sent off a payment for it. Well, it seems that the receipt had now turned up.

Philip David Prince was an old friend I had known since we were in junior high school. He had a room fairly nearby S.A.N.E. at this time. 

Bill Sevenko and Bill Anderson were both former co-swampers of mine ─ older guys I quite liked. However, I now remember nothing of them. Apparently Bill Anderson must have had a drinking problem rather like my father.

I do not remember Evelyn Lee, either. I wonder how likely it would have been for anyone to want her old wringer washing machine? 

I also have no memory of "hoodlum Terry," another occasional co-swamper I worked with.

Those 18 chin-ups would have been done as strictly as I could manage to perform them ─ I detested people who racked up huge numbers of chin-ups or push-ups that were only performed with a partial range of motion.

I keep thinking of that Mormon farm girl from Montana. I sure could have used someone like her in my life when I was younger.
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