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Thursday, October 27, 2016

Women's Brains Better Able to Mask Early Cognitive Decline Than Men's │ Ongoing Colossal Failure of Breast Cancer Awareness Month │ Cinnamon and Gut Health

Despite watching T.V. last evening longer than otherwise intended ─ my younger brother Mark had passed out, and when he revived, he needed to have another beer instead of going to bed ─ I am confident that I was still in bed before midnight.

Mark never headed on upstairs until just after 11:00 p.m.  And since it usually takes him about half-an-hour to ready himself for bed (shaving, tooth-brushing, etc.), I would expect that he would be having a rough go of it when his clock-radio turned on at 4:20 a.m. to get him up for work today.

My first break in sleep that saw me use the bathroom was around 4:00 a.m.

I didn't think I was sleeping all that well thereafter, but when a final stretch of sleeplessness beset me and made me curious to check the time, I was surprised to see that it was 8:01 a.m.

And so I rose.

My eldest step-son Tho's car was in Mark's parking spot in the open carport, so I surmised that his younger brother Pote had driven Tho to the SkyTrain so that Tho could get to work in Burnaby ─ Tho is under a driving suspension.

But Pote was back in bed sleeping ─ I don't know if his girlfriend was still with him.

I did some work on the new post I am compiling at one of my hosted websites, but I wanted to make a beer-hike today.

When I was satisfied with the bit of post work, I started readying for the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley ─ I would be buying another four dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer.

It was 11:11 a.m. when I set forth ─ Pote was still in bed.

As I was cutting through the soggy soccer field at A.H.P. Mathews Park a couple or so blocks from home, about midway through it I came upon a rather enormous orange orb spider steadfastly crawling its way along.

I passed it by, and then had second thoughts about leaving it.

There were no shrubs nearby ─ the spider had slowly crawled a heck of a long distance, and would still have a long, long way to go before finding anything to climb and find shelter.

And there were seagulls in other parts of the field.

So I returned to the spider ─ a truly magnificent, imposing creature.

I stood my backpack onto the ground just in front of the spider, and when it touched the pack and perceived that it could be climbing upwards and away from the flat wet lawn-like field, it began its welcome climb.

I gingerly carried my pack to some distant blackberry bushes, noting a couple of times with a little urgency as I approached the bushes that the spider was getting quite near to where I was holding the handle of the pack.

But I arrived at them, and found a suitable high vine to tempt the spider off the pack, and it slowly moved onto a green leaf.

And my reasonably good deed was done.  I continued on my way.

Only afterwards did it occur to me that I could have filmed the creature with my Canon PowerShot digital camera that was in my back pocket, or else my iPhone 5.

The only other incident worth reporting was on the return leg of the trip.  I was walking University Drive and had just crossed 104th Avenue (as you may be able to perceive near the centre of this map) when a small insect blew into my left eye ─ the day was blustery, with drifting periods of light rain that never lasted long enough to get me wet.

I still had about 1¾ miles to go, and had to bear the irritation for the remainder of my hike.

It was 12:42 p.m. when I was back in front of the house door ─ my venture had taken the usual 1½ hours.  I set down my baggage to fetch my house key ─ Tho's car was gone, so I knew Pote was not home.

But I did not need the key ─ the damned young fool never locked the door.

This seems to me to be about the third time in as many weeks that this has happened.

I didn't know if he had gone to work over in Guildford, or was just briefly out; so before I did anything else, I got the ground beef I had taken from the freezer yesterday and prepared everything that I had on hand to go with it, and slow-cooked it all in a covered frying pan on an element on the electric stove.

It is 2:32 p.m. at this moment, and the dish was ready just before I began this post.  I am going to take a break now and enjoy some of the feed!


I have a couple of old photos of my mother Irene Dorosh's to post here now.  The descriptions beneath them are from the Google album where I have the scans filed:

I do believe that this photo was taken from in front of my mother Irene Dorosh's home ─ looking towards the mouth of the driveway.

The house is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue in Surrey, B.C. (Canada).

That is 90th Avenue, and it only extended for just a short distance more before terminating on Holt Road, quite near to Scott Road (120th Street).

I think those are lilac bushes or trees in bloom ─ one on each side of the driveway.

The photo could have been taken anytime from the late 1960s to the late 1980s.
I cannot offer a thing concerning this old photo of my mother Irene Dorosh's.

There seems to be a parade float or something down the road, but I have no idea where the photo was taken, nor when.

Research has found that among seniors, women entering cognitive decline have a 'cognitive reserve' that men lack.  The result is that they do not initially display the early warning signs that are evident in men, even though their brains are just as damaged:


To quote one of the researchers:  "This is especially important because verbal memory tests are used to diagnose people with Alzheimer's disease and mild cognitive impairment, so women may not be diagnosed until they are further along in the disease."

I don't know if I should feel fortunate or not.


October is hailed as Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but so much of what goes on is misguided.

Metastatic breast cancer is when the cancer has spread from the breasts to other parts of the body.

But can these statistics be true?
Breast cancer survival rates have NOT improved, despite all the pink football shoes and billions spent on cancer research. In fact, 30 percent of women diagnosed with breast cancer already have metastatic disease. They are likely to die after an average survival time of 18 to 24 months.

Plus, since 1976, the rates of women under age 40 diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer have increased by about 2 percent per year.

Per year!

And how much breast cancer research funding goes toward this kind of deadly metastatic breast cancer?

About 2 percent total. 
I will leave it to you to examine the article I took that quote from ─ go to DrMicozzi.comReal facts about breast cancer spoil the feel-good pink party.

Dr. Micozzi includes some good nutritional advice on breast cancer prevention near the end of the article.


I do believe that I shall henceforth start trying to add some cinnamon to my daily diet ─ a study on pigs reveals that it has the effect of lowering stomach temperature, and this seems to indicate better overall gut health.

And that would, of course, extend to the rest of the body.



According to that second reference, "consuming 1 gram of cinnamon a day should show the same effect on the human stomach."

I didn't realize, though, that too much cinnamon could be toxic over a long period of time.

A gram of cinnamon would be just under 40% of a teaspoon's worth ─ 38%, to be more precise.

But I have read that much of the cinnamon in the marketplace is suspect:
...Most of the cinnamon out there is a cheaper low-quality variety called cassia cinnamon, which contains higher levels of a liver-damaging compound called coumarin.

While in most cases you'd need to gobble a LOT of this stuff to suffer that damage, all bets are off if your liver has already been damaged... and in some cases, you could be in the early stages of liver disease and not even know it.

So stick to the good stuff, high-quality Ceylon cinnamon. It costs a little more, but it's worth every penny.  
That's quoted from one of the member sites of NewMarketHealth.com.

Two extremely helpful articles on the two different types of cinnamon are at FoodRenegade.com (Is Your Cinnamon Real?) and ThePrairieHomestead.com (Will the REAL Cinnamon Please Stand Up?).

I very much doubt that we have any Ceylon cinnamon here in the house, so I am going to go light on what I use until I can locate some ─ if it's affordable.  That second reference included photos of both types of cinnamon sticks ─ very helpful indeed!


The rain has become most steady this latter afternoon ─ I chose the right time of day for my beer-hike!

Here is where I close with an entry of 41 years ago from my journal, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the tiny unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

As mentioned earlier in today's post, my mother used to live in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey on 90th Avenue.  

Of late I had been hiking to her home to visit by traveling up the King George Highway all the way to Newton.  And then turning left on the railway tracks that cut through Newton, and following them towards Scott Road (120th Street) until I could access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road.

My mother's home was just a few houses down 90th Avenue on the right-hand side of the road.

When I would come home later, I would take the direct route home which ─ although far shorter ─ was still 1½ hours of fast walking before I was back to my room.

Well, on this day, I was going to make the hike in reverse order ─ and I have no idea why.  I hated traffic, and there would be nothing but lots of it once I started trekking the King George from Newton all the way back to New Westminster.
MONDAY, October 27, 1975

By my clock, I forced myself up at 5:15 a.m.

I will be leaving directly for mom's about 9:45 a.m., stopping on my way at Econo-Mart for flour; I also bought a can of McColl's for $2.17.

Phyllis was just in the process of leaving when I made mom's.

I ate fillingly.

Mom left at 1:00 p.m. to see about their car, and got back just before 3:00 p.m.

I left soon after, going the reverse of my usual morning Newton walk.

My feet really suffered, the burning sole syndrome.

I stopped at Bill's, this about 6:30 p.m.  

He goes to work tomorrow night, and learned he has high blood pressure and must undergo a test for diabetes.  He is to diet, and even looked into the possibility of jogging à la aerobics.

He wanted me to stay and watch TV, but I didn't.

He said there was a note from dad on my door.

When I got  home, I learned he moved yesterday to 6038 Imperial St, suite #223; there is no buzzer hook-up yet, so he said he'll await me both Wednesday & Thursday "at the back" at 12:30 p.m.

My bedtime will be before 8:00 p.m.
"Econo-Mart" was an outlet of a now-defunct supermarket chain.  This particular store was located in the Townline shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & Scott Road. 

"McColl's" was a brand of canned peanut butter ─ it came in a 48-ounce tin.  

I arrived at my mother's home just as my older maternal half-sister Phyllis was leaving after her own visit.

My mother's husband Alex had been in a car accident some days back, so I reckon that my mother was this day going somewhere to check on its repair.

Anyway, if my times are accurate, the trip back to Ndw Westminster for me that afternoon was darned near 3½ hours.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived in a bachelor suite about three or four blocks from my room.  He had been off work from the Royal City Foods cannery for over a week due to a severely lacerated finger or two.

That cannery no longer exists.

Poor Bill.  He never was to start jogging, and was never good at diets.  He ended up ruining his life by getting stomach surgery to lose bodyweight.

It was to cost him his job, and put him on a disability Canada Pension for the rest of his life.

Bill told me of the note from my father Hector, so I went home to read it.

He and his girlfriend Maria Fadden had been living in an apartment at 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby, but after being there for three or so month, they had been evicted.  I had often hiked there to visit him, and then back again to my room ─ quite a few times, actually.  Yet I cannot claim to remember the place.

His new residence on Imperial Street stirs memory, however.

I guess I will have to await Wednesday's journal entry to see if I made the trip to visit him on that day.

Returning to the present, the rain I heard must have been a passing storm.  All is quiet outside now at 6:21 p.m. 
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