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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,
Jane
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:

DrMicozzi.com

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

HuffingtonPost.com

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.
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