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Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Bisphenol S (BPS) Proven to Accelerate Breast Cancer Cell Reproduction │ Seniors: Medications Bring Frailty │ Aortic Valve Replacement and 'Brain Bleeds' │ The Thyroid Cancer Origins in Your Home

Man, my AdSense performance is sucking profoundly ─ just 22¢ earned in total over the preceding 28 days.

I have been deliberating about it, and see no reason to indefinitely jeopardize my health like I am doing by blogging throughout each and every day, when I could be trying to recapture some of my lost former vitality.

I've been blogging for over 8½ years. Clearly, I have failed.

I will continue as I am doing only until the school term is over for the Summer and I won't have to be housebound. I do not drive, so there is no desire in me to try to be out walking anywhere during those periods in the day when the sidewalks are choked with students.

I shall await the "Summer holidays," and then cut right back on blogging, if not actually quit.


After my younger brother Mark retired to his bedroom last evening around 10:30 p.m., i wasted no time following suit to my own bedroom, for my youngest step-son Poté had gone out and was not yet back.

I have a perverse satisfaction from locking up the house at night and forcing him and/or his brother to have to use a house-key to get back in.

My sleep continues to be fractured throughout the night despite wearing earplugs and being mainly oblivious to sounds within or without the house. Yet I am comfortable enough in bed ─ it is not as if I am noticeably restless.

It was 5:55 a.m. when I checked the time this morning after peeking under my blindfold and seeing that it was getting light outside, so I opted to rise. I discovered that my eldest step-son Tho was housed in the bathroom immediately adjacent to my bedroom, so I used the ensuite bathroom in Mark's bedroom ─ he was long gone to work.

Then while I was downstairs in the kitchen boiling the water for my day's first mug of my special blended instant coffee / cocoa powder, he came downstairs and hustled to pack up and head off for public transport to begin his journey to work off in Burnaby. (He is serving a year-long driving suspension.)

His younger brother Poté never got up until long after 8:00 a.m., and it was nearing 9:00 a.m. before he left to drive himself to work.

By then, I had essentially put in a normal day's work on the old post I am editing at my website My Retirement Dream. And when I had met that accomplishment, I was ready for a lie-down just after 9:00 a.m.

I rather surprised myself by spending well over an hour doing so, and knew that I had napped for I had a recent dream still in my memory. Since it was at least 45 minutes until noon, I decided to add even more content to that post edit.

As I indicated in yesterday's post, I am unable to leave home because I am awaiting delivery of a package from the States that I have been tracking, and it cleared Customs ─ Monday evening, I believe.

So as far as I know, it might show up any day now, and I do not want to miss being present because Poté had a package that no one was home to receive a little over a week ago, and the delivery notice left for him indicated a postal station about two miles away that I never even knew existed.

I have no bloody interest in hiking two miles in a direction I never go just to retrieve a package that I could have been home to receive. It would be different if that outing could serve some other purpose, such as shopping, but there is nothing in that direction of any such interest to me.

On another matter, I was nearly tempted to gamble $100 on a ticket in a home lottery that I learned of today ─ the house is located in the Kamloops area, and the place looks fabulous. You can check out a video at KamloopsCity.com, if you are interested, but I doubt that the link will outlast the life of the lottery ─ 2017 Dream Home Lottery.  

As I said, I was tempted. But then I checked out the various secondary prizes, and just about all of them are useless to me. Since I do not drive, I would never be in Kamloops to be able to take advantage of the various gift certificates and what not.

Too bad.

I want now to continue posting some further photos from a picnic of sorts that my wife Jack and some people dear to her undertook on, I think, November 13, 2016.

That Fall, Jack had charged up the cost of a round-trip flight back to Thailand in order to go back to her home village to see her mother for the first time since early March 2013.

The large village is Nong Soong, roughly a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani. My guess is that the setting for these photos is in Nong Soong, or else very nearby.

We lead off with this photo of Jack's mother:

In this next photo, from the left we have Daisha, a dear old friend of my wife Jack's; then the woman I only know as Jack's "sister-cousin"; and then Lumpoon, Jack's oldest of two sisters, and Lumpoon's husband:

Here is Jack taking a selfie and capturing Daisha and "sister-cousin" in the process:

Another selfie that also captures Jack's mother:

"Sister-cousin" and eldest sister Lumpoon again:

And now Jack capturing some of the natural background thereabouts:

Jack's mother:

There are still far too many more to post today.


If you are one of those people savvy about the health hazards of Bisphenol A (BPA) and who have been putting some effort into avoiding your exposure to it, you may have been blind to the hazards of its replacement Bisphenol S (BPS).

The latest research has nothing but bad news for women with any concerns of developing breast cancer:



Modern Man cannot seem to devise enough dangerous chemicals with which to surround and threaten us ─ he has no intention of stopping until we're all sick or dead.


I do not take any regular medications ─ only nutritional supplements. Yet I have a hard enough go of it at maintaining musculature and strength at the age of 67. I pity my peers who are on medications and have given up strenuous activity, and are meekly accepting ever-increasing physical limitation.

Why is research needed to discover that the more medications a person takes, the more likely that he or she will become enfeebled?

Note these recent reports on just such a study:




Once a person becomes a senior, if he or she starts accepting that not-so-slow slide into debilitation, it becomes harder and harder to gain any traction and begin climbing back up that slope.

It won't ever be possible to get back to the top of where one had once been, but there is no need to accept defeat and just fade right away.


I sometimes wonder how researchers come up with the things they find in various studies they do ─ for instance, this one on surgeries for aortic valve replacement and the resulting cerebral microbleeds that often go along with it and which are entirely unnoticed...until they begin causing big problems in time:



I located a couple of other references to the study, but if you found that ScienceDaily.com report a tough go, then this pair are going to be pretty much baffling for you to negotiate:



If you do have an aortic valve replacement in your near future, maybe re-read the last part of that JacksDailyDose.com report for some advice on what you might best do.


As I said earlier, Man cannot seem to devise enough deadly chemical hazards to surround us with.

It has recently come to light why there has been a huge upsurge in thyroid cancers in recent years, and just about all of us likely have those cancer culprits throughout our apartments and homes:




It's never going to end.

As soon as we find one chemical hazard that has been around for years and which is practically impossible to eradicate, new ones are being developed and added into the marketplace, awaiting discovery years and years down the road that they, too, are potentially deadly.


There were no sunny breaks in the cloud cover today, but it remained free of rain showers for the most part. In fact, I can hear someone mowing their lawn.

Well, it is 5:54 p.m., and still no deliveryman has shown up with a package for me.

Here to close out today's post is a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. My tiny hideaway was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue. 
MONDAY, April 19, 1976

I got up at 7:15 a.m., but was awake some while ere; I didn't sleep too completely.

That idiot upstairs had to choose today for her rotten laundering, cutting me off from my fridge and the bathroom my bowels are telling me I need to visit. The situation was imperative by the time she was done.

I spent $2.33 shopping at Woodward's.

Greta should arrive at mom's today; her husband's funeral is Wednesday.

I composed a letter to E. Skolseg of the Dept. of Health re vocational training, then discovered I didn't have his business address.

I bed at 8:30 p.m.
My little unit had its own door to the outside world, but it also had a second door into the basement proper. There was a receptacle outside that door for any mail that might have arrived at the house for me. But there was also a cubicle housing both my toilet and shower.

I never realized until reading today's entry that my fridge was also outside of my unit and in the basement proper.

I was an extremely private, retiring sort of person. There was absolutely no way that I would have courted interaction with the landlady or the other female tenant from upstairs if either of them were in the basement. I would especially not venture out there to use my toilet ─ that was far too private a matter.  

And so I would suffer, cursing my fate to be having to live there.

That's interesting that I actually went out to do some shopping for that small figure at Woodward's ─ it was located about three blocks away. It existed on Sixth Avenue where the Royal City Centre Mall is today.

Greta was a Dutch friend of my mother Irene Dorosh's, and this is the first time that I mentioned anything in my journal about her husband dying. She would have had to come down to my mother's home in Surrey from where she was living in Barriere

Greta and her husband were separated, if not actually divorced, for Greta was involved with her "Kirk" up in Barriere.

Try as I did on enough occasions, I was never to be granted vocational training, and I have never understood why. Anytime I got close, I would get tested by way of something like an aptitude assessment, and then suddenly the topic became exclusively higher education.

I could not afford tuition for higher education, and the government never supported that sort of thing. It always seemed to me their perfect out for not having to grant me vocational support.

Oh bloody blazes! I just got a tracking update on my parcel and it claims there to be an incorrect address ─ and there is nothing I can do about it!  There is no contact information for me to use, and all they say in the update dated today at 2:24 p.m. is "Addressee's address being verified."
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