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Sunday, April 16, 2017

Moderate Alcohol Use Generally Improves Cardiovascular Health │ Two Varying Interpretations of a Vitamin D3 Study of Cancer

My wife Jack had said that she would be coming home from Vancouver at sometime yesterday, but it didn't turn out to be until around 10:00 p.m. Had I not been expecting her, I would have gone to bed for the night.

She seemed fairly tired, but was not in too much of a rush to call it a night. So when around 11:30 p.m. she was shut up in the bathroom, I quickly took advantage and got myself to bed, affixing earplugs and blindfold.

When she emerged from the bathroom, it was not too much longer before she also retired for the night. It was likely near midnight.

While the both of us were still up, I watched her prepare some bok choy for natural fermentation, and have a good idea now on her process. She got very busy almost mashing it up with her hands in a large metal mixing bowl resembling a deep wok in shape.

Then using a colander, she twice rinsed the juices down the drain, her intention being to seek a state whereby the water the vegetables would be fermenting in no longer was greenish from the plant juices.

And of course, she had salted the vegetables while mashing the bok choy; and then did so again in preparing them for setting aside to ferment.

She had counseled that she liked to add the second water from soaking rice ─ the first water is discarded because it is considered waste due to having been used to essentially be a rinse for the rice.

And that seemed to be it. The bok choy is in an enamel pot awaiting natural fermentation.

I am sure that the juices did not need to be discarded down the kitchen sink drain. They could have been used as a stock of sorts for cooking, but it was late and Jack was short on time.

I actually have no idea why the juices could not have remained as part of the 'soup' that would be getting fermented. I didn't ask Jack ─ I just assumed that this was how she learned to prepare such vegetables for fermentation; and she had probably never questioned why, nor tried anything different as far as the process went.

My sleep overnight was very broken, as I am sure that Jack's was. I'm fuzzy about it now, but it may have been as early as 6:14 a.m. when I checked the time with an eye towards rising, even if it took me a couple of minutes to actually do it.

And I was soon at work adding more content into the old post I am editing at my website My Retirement Dream. I was almost finished a normal day's input on the edit when Jack finally got up. It may not have been much after 9:00 a.m.

She was quickly busy in the kitchen, preparing some dishes. Anon, she was upstairs showering. After spending some more time in the kitchen with one slowly simmering dish or another, she got herself rather dressed up.

I didn't ask her what was in store for her, figuring that she was going to hook up with one of her Thai friends who both own their own restaurant. She had bagged up some of what she had been preparing, including at least a couple of bamboo containers of sticky rice.

And by 10:40 a.m., she was away. I have no idea if she plans on returning today. This is the sort of communication we generally have.

Yesterday I posted a few photos taken last Fall ─ on November 13, 2016, I think ─ when Jack had gone back to Thailand to visit her mother for the first time since early March 2013.

Their home village is Nong Soong ─ it's perhaps a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani.

The photos were the first in a batch taken when Jack and some others ─ mostly family ─ had gone somewhere for a special meal. I don't know precisely where it was, but it was most likely in or near Nong Soong.

Often a nice body of water is turned into a great setting for an outdoor restaurant of sorts. Sheltered platforms are built out from shore over the large pond or small lake, and groups of customers can appropriate one of these hut-like platforms for as long as they like, as long as they are dining customers. Drinks sometimes figure largely into these affairs.

Anyway, just such a venue is where Jack and the others had gone.

This is Jack in the first photo I will post today:

This is Daisha, an old friend of Jack's she has known since at least her early teens. Daisha fancies himself to be a ladyboy, and is wont to strike some rather outrageous poses when he has the attention:

It looks rather like the group are having a picnic that they are preparing for themselves ─ as opposed to being customers at some outdoor restaurant.

Jack taking a few selfies and capturing some of the surrounding landscape:

I will stop there for today ─ there are simply far too many more photos to put into one post.


There is a recently published study that seems to have the best news yet that I have ever heard of where moderate drinking is concerned:





That last reference is very short, but it indicated that moderate drinking involved "a glass or two of alcohol a day." However, the first reference claimed that men could have three servings of alcohol daily and still be deemed moderate drinkers ─ that was actually what had me so excited about the study.

From what research I did on the study, a male moderate drinker was allowed however much 32 grammes of ethel alcohol a day are, and it was 24 grammes for women to be considered moderate.

But what sort of blinking help is that? I don't have the time to sit here trying to figure out what that means in terms of actual drinking.


According to many reports on another recently published study, supplemental vitamin D and calcium failed to yield any statistically meaningful benefit in the prevention of cancer in older women:



But here are how two other sources viewed this study:



It's fascinating how narrow-viewed some reporters can be. HealthDay.com usually gives a very balanced assessment of studies, although I suppose it wasn't as if they slammed this one.

Interestingly to me, the women were only taking 2,000 I.U.s of vitamin D3 daily. That would be my minimal dose reserved for the sunnier months of the year. In fact, since coming down with a cheek infection early in February, I have been taking 10,000 I.U.s daily of vitamin D3.

Perhaps researchers need to redefine what a high dose of the vitamin actually is. Study results might turn out to be far more revealing.


I have never undergone an acupuncture treatment ─ I never even looked into it because I am reasonably certain that I could not afford it.

I recall landing on a website within the past couple or so weeks where acupuncture was maligned as next to useless, and that the studies ─ usually out of China ─ that laud its benefits are unreliable because no researcher would risk his or her career by declaring anything bad about that national and historical medical favourite.

Despite my lack of any experience with the therapy, I am not cynical about acupuncture. I have read too many positive claims for it over my adult lifetime.

The following article speaks of the U.S. military's general acceptance of acupuncture treatments, although it seems that the Air Force may be less embracing:



I managed to get just over 40 minutes out in the backyard ─ I was in cut-offs and barefooted, but it was too cool to be without a pullover. The day had been predicted to be mainly sunny, but that was a lie.

I commenced my time at 1:30 p.m., and only started benefiting from measurable sunshine towards the very end of my session. I was to follow it up with some exercise in the small shed.

My wife Jack returned ahead of 3:00 p.m. She had been to the Thai Buddhist temple (Wat Budhapanyanantarama) in Burnaby. It was a Songkran-related occasion.

After she had left here this morning, I had wondered if maybe Songkran had something to do with what she was going to be involved with.

She was in good spirits, and we even had a meal together.

But she left Poté and I no later than 4:40 p.m. to return to Vancouver, saying that she would be back on Tuesday.

I have some photos of  her taken in the backyard while she was still dressed up, as well as a few taken during our meal together. I will try to remember to post them tomorrow.

My younger brother Mark is still not home ─ he was due back today from Vancouver Island, having gone there on Friday to visit an old friend of his.

Perhaps he got back later this afternoon than he anticipated, and decided to just go directly to the bar where his girlfriend Bev works.

Whatever the case, I am closing 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 renting my place in a house located on Ninth Street, and perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

My plan for the day was a 1½-hour hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The little house that she shared with her husband Alex is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

It was Good Friday.
FRIDAY, April 16, 1976

I awoke about 6:00 a.m..

I'm leaving for mom's at near 8:40 a.m.

Traffic was minimal this Easter holiday.

Alex was home, as I'd expected. He was in the garden, but gave me a beer when he came in.

I had some pretty starchy eating.

Phyllis dropped by with Sherry and Karen, friend of the latter. When they left, Phyllis said she'd come and take mom with her to Nell's later, if she liked. This return occurred before I had a chance to leave, so I went along, uncertainly. However, along the way it was decided to stop in at Mark's.

When we did, we learned that all Nell's household had gone to Bellingham. Too, Bill had also gone seeking them with his mother, an Elaine & child, and Billy.

Sunday's dinner at mom's is between 2:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m., and she invited Mark & Cathy.

When she and Phyllis left, I remained, planning to soon leave. Supper was served up, and cause Michelle is not all well (her tonsils are to come out in a week or two), I replaced her at the table.

Thereafter I was requested with great insistence to go to Bellingham with them and Garry Porteous and new girlfriend Cathy.

I really felt torn on this decision, but barely allowed myself to relent in their favour. I was tired, opposed to the idea of drinking with its hangover and unneeded calories, and quite unable to afford the time.

Englishman John dropped by and I met him. He's a well-built guy Garry's height, with great thick wrists. He was asked along, with wife Christine.

Anyway, after Iris was gotten to babysit, we left, all 7 of us in John's car.

The course of the evening found us in a tavern pub, then a cabaret where I spent $2 for admittance, and finally an end of it all at Gus & Naps. In all, I may have drank 8 beers.

Christine was very aloof; I feel she resents me. Big deal.

We stopped at Denny's coming back, for coffee; we waited quite a while, finally put in our order, then left before being served.

Jeanette was getting pretty out of hand, I thought, and after everyone left their place, they (she & Mark) fought. I waited at least a half hour, then left them in a light rain at 4:25 a.m., jogging all the way home, arriving just short of 5:00 a.m.

After a quick wash and tooth brushing, I retired.

It seems Jeanette has no intention of their group supping Sunday at mom's.
My older maternal half-sister Phyllis and her daughter Sherry (and whomever was Sherry's friend Karen) dropped by my mother's home while I was there. Phyllis was to offer to take our mother to have a visit with her youngest sister Nell Halverson, but I expect that first Phyllis was going to take Sherry and Karen somewhere.

Undoubtedly, I did not wish to become involved with such a visit, and likely intended to leave before Phyllis got back, but I failed.

I always had a terrible time of it saying no to people.

Phyllis and my mother decided to stop in where my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were living in a rented home on Bentley Road in Whalley ─ perhaps my mother wanted to extend the Sunday dinner invitation to them in person.

In making that visit, we were to learn that no one was home at Nell's.

I guess Phyllis and my mother eventually left, but I remained behind, foolishly thinking that I would be able to get on my way back to my room in New Westminster.

However, first came the supper invitation. Jeanette's oldest little girl ─ Michelle Lee Gunther ─ was unwell, and so I apparently had her seat at the table.

Meantime, Garry Porteous ─ Mark's oldest friend ─ and Garry's girlfriend Cathy had come by, and the Bellingham jaunt got life. I had heard about the English chap that worked at the mill that employed Mark; this must have been the first (and last?) time I met him, but I now remember nothing of him nor his wife Christine.

Unable to say no, I was impressed into going along with the bunch to Bellingham, like it or not. It certainly doesn't sound like the best of times, though.

I cannot remember any "Iris" who was enlisted to babysit Jeanette's two little girls while we were all gone.

Jeanette could get darned moody when we all went out for any extended period of time. We must have virtually drank in Bellingham until the taverns closed.

Eight glasses of beer wouldn't have had too great an impact upon me if that was all I consumed over the evening. Thus, jogging back to my room from Mark & Jeanette's home would likely have been invigorating for me as a 26-year-old ─ even if it was around 4:25 a.m. when I left them.

Ahh! My brother Mark is home ─ from the bar ─ at roughly 6:15 p.m. I expect that he'll be passing out in front of the T.V. ere too very long.
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