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Thursday, May 4, 2017

Parkinson's Disease: Exercise More Beneficial Than Drugs? │ Many Dermatologists Still Perfomring Five Unnecessary Skin Treatments │More Damning Research on Diet Sodas │ Confusing Sex with Love

I went to bed last evening with my younger brother Mark still passed out in his chair in the living room downstairs, while I guess the T.V. news informed his unwitting mind.

I think it was 10:25 p.m. once I was in bed. I was tired, but sleep was initially elusive; and despite earplugs, I eventually heard Mark take to his own bedroom across from mine.

Sleep broke sufficiently once overnight for me to care to check the time, and then avail myself of the opportunity to use the bathroom and drink some water.

The final time I checked the clock-radio I believe that it was 6:21 a.m. ─ time to rise for the day. My eldest step-son Tho had already left for work unnoticed by me.

His younger brother Poté never rose until well after I was upstairs here at my computer with my day's first mug of hot blended instant coffee / cocoa powder. It may have been something like 7:18 a.m. when he headed out the front door to drive to work.

The day was mainly sunny. I had in mind a couple of shopping expeditions; I finally settled upon the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley.

However, first I wanted to compile a regular day's minimum of expected content into the old blog post that I am editing at my Siam-Longings website. And to finally accomplish that without falling prey to the grogginess that generally accompanies this task, I had a second mug of just hot instant coffee with some cream.

By the time my work was done, and I had gotten myself ready for the hike, it was 11:29 a.m. when I was setting off.

It was so warm! I deliberately walked quite slowly, dressed in blue jeans and a denim jacket. I had a letter to mail, so I would be cutting through Surrey Place (Central City) to drop it off at Pearl Photo / Canada Post.

I cannot afford to play the various regular government lotteries as a pensioner, so I limit myself to those occasional home lotteries that come out a few times a year. Sure, the tickets are hefty in cost to participate, but the odds are far better than is winning the jackpot on a government lottery.

And so it was today that I was mailing off a $115 cheque for participation in the Hometown Heroes Lottery. Since approximately mid-February I have faithfully restricted myself to just one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer each evening, and thus I have a little extra spending money as a result.

A hefty gamble like this might just  pay off ─ who can say? I sure need it!

There was absolutely nothing of note about my very warm outing. I did just about all of the return trip with my jacket unbuttoned, but my face was still trickling perspiration.

Also on the return haul, I may have saved the life of a fairly young earthworm that was writhing in the middle of a Sun-exposed sidewalk. The poor thing was unusually wet ─ I expect that its inner fluids must have just been seeping away into its environment, swiftly evaporating from the heat of the concrete.

The worm was also a little pinker and more tender than I would have expected for one of its size ─ perhaps the length of my small finger, or just slightly more.

I tossed it into some weeds growing behind the top of a wooden retaining wall, so the worm would not likely be finding its way back onto the sidewalk unless it planned to slither up the side of that long, dry wooden slab instead of burying itself beneath the thick weed cover and unto the damp earth.

My good deed.

I was back home probably no later than 1:04 p.m.

I put together a brunch; and then instead of submitting to an urge to seek a nap, I went out into the backyard and sat in the sunshine for 15 or 20 minutes ─ I actually lost track, forgetting just when it was that I started my time out there.

And so my day ─ it is 3:42 p.m. at this moment, and still mostly sunny out there.

There are more photos that I want to post from my wife Jack's visit last Fall back to her home village in Thailand. She had not seen her mother since early March 2013, so she applied the cost of the trip to credit, and made her way back to the family village of Nong Soong, which is approximately a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani.      

Jack already has two actual sisters, so I have never quite understood why she always refers to the well-covered woman at the left in this first photo as being her "sister-cousin" ─ I do not recognize the woman at the right:

I should explain that there is a gals-only meal with drinks taking place here...and "here" may well be somewhere within Nong Soong, or else somewhere fairly nearby.

The woman in the spotted top is actually rather attractive, whomever she is; that is my wife Jack at the right in this next photo:

I cannot tell if I know this woman or not, but "sister-cousin" is wearing the same wrap around her lower body in the final photo below:

My wife Jack again:

There are some further photos taken during this apparently three-gal fun event, but I will stop here for this time.


The evidence seems to be strong that exercise may be more beneficial for sufferers of Parkinson's disease than are the medications that are commonly prescribed to alleviate the condition.  

Here are some reports on the latest research:





Doing what should come naturally ─ it's always the best medicine!


Have you any issues that have been getting the attention of a dermatologist ─ or maybe you are considering seeing one?

In either case, the following report may be of some value to you in a precautionary sense:


This was the reference that he linked to at the end of the article:


I find it somewhat peculiar that the good doctor did not cite the protective and even corrective effect that is bestowed by having the most optimum populations of healthy microbial flora within and without our bodies, for many skin conditions are a result of auto-immune disorders.


Just what in blazes is it going to take to get people to stop drinking diet pop (soda)?

Is the damned stuff so important to them that people willingly bury their thick heads in the sand to avoid having to listen to the loud and ongoing warnings?

Here are a couple of reports on the latest research:



That first report had quotes from Keith Fargo, director of scientific programs for the Alzheimer's Association. He was minimizing the implications of the study.

I expect that there is a lucrative living to be made in the higher echelons of the Alzheimer's Association ─ would someone making such a living really want to see a total end to Alzheimer's disease within his or her working lifetime?

I didn't need to look too deeply to see that the Alzheimer's Association has strong, deep ties to the Pharmaceutical Industry.

And this undated article at GoldStandardBrain.com: Big Pharma to Cash-in Big on Alzheimer's Victims.

No, rather than listen to the opinion of Keith Fargo, director of scientific programs for the Alzheimer's Association, I would prefer to heed the learned assessment of Dr. Ralph Sacco, professor and chair of neurology at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine:
"I know that when we first focused our data on artificial sweetened beverages and stroke risk [a] few years back, I stopped drinking them," he said.

The following two articles beautifully describe the difference between living a hedonistic life that is forever pursuing the allure and promise embodied by sexual attraction, and a satisfying and fulfilling life of the devoted love a man and woman really should have for one another:


It is so very tragic that some of us will learn too late in life that the years spent as slaves to the satisfaction of our sexual lusts will have become ingrained, and something that may be impossible to break from.


It is 5:53 p.m., and still mainly sunny and gorgeous outdoors.

I close out today's post 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. My little hideaway was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

The previous day, my old friend Norman Richard Dearing had come by for a visit, and we talked about getting together on this day to apply for employment at Surrey's City Hall as garbage collectors.

I was also planning to make the 1½-hour hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ the home she shared with her husband Alex was my main mailing address.

That little house is gone now, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

I remember nothing of this discussion Norman and I had, so I cannot imagine that we actually applied for the jobs. I shall be learning what was to pass as I type out this entry from my journal ─ it is all new to me!
TUESDAY, May 4, 1976

I had an awful time sleeping last night because of late TV watching at the landlady's, and didn't get up till nigh 6:00 a.m.

I'm leaving for mom's about 7:40 a.m., and will mail for my next 2 lottery tickets along the way.

It began raining lightly a couple miles from mom's, but my hair held up.

I began eating, telling mom of my plan with Norman. To facilitate things, she called Sandy and got the address of Randy's employer: Haulaway, 7845 (I think) - 132nd St.

Mom next even tried to get hold of Phyllis to take me to apply (it was raining quite seriously), but she must have been out. I was pretty full by now, so was quite relieved.

For mail I had a Vitamin Sales list, my Muscle Mag Annual 76, and 2 separate envelopes containing identical copies of Muscle Mag #5.

I believe Michelle got her tonsils out yesterday, and is no longer all smiles about her hospital experience. Marian and her boyfriend (who wasn't Negro, though everyone expected him to be) came and have now gone to Vancouver Island. Cathy apparently was going to phone Bill yesterday to pick up Mark from the hospital; the truck wouldn't work; but I doubt Bill was available at the time, unless he is on an evening shift again.

Phyllis came by just as I was about to watch the movie War Italian Style, so mom asked her then if she'd take me to apply. She was willing, so the 3 of us went for the ride.

We found the place, and I learned they weren't even accepting applications for labourers unless they had "industrial tickets." That was that; I guess I was far from disappointed.

Phyllis next took mom to her Avon peddler to pick up an order, then I got back to my TV.

I left no earlier than 3:45 p.m. for home, with some toilet tissues and some frozen green beans.

I got caught in a heavy rain, but I felt reasonably calm coming back; probably cause I wasn't faced with the prospect of working.

When I got home I found a note on my door: "Garnet. Would you phone me tonight its about a job at Sane (a paying one) Esther. 5260547." Well, this is the night Bill said for me to come over, so it is no problem; but I guess I won't be going on a lengthy walk I'd planned to undertake after leaving him tonight, flabby as my belly is.

I visited Bill, and phoned.

I am to come in tomorrow for 9:00 ᴀᴍ, and apparently will be employed in the workshop rather than on the truck; wages may be from $100 - $125 weekly. But I'm not looking forward to it.

Dwayne and Eugene are 2 others doing what I'll be doing.

What a drag!

I next called Norman; he wants me to phone again tomorrow, apparently hoping he can get on too. I suggested if I got paid Friday I would treat him in celebrating Cathy's divorce.

My third call was to mom, relating the news and saying I'd only be out on the week-end.

I had a few peanuts at Bill's, watching TV; I left at 10:00 p.m.

I'll easily be abed by 10:30 p.m., if not earlier.
I think that my maternal cousin Randy Halverson may have been an apprentice truck mechanic at Haulaway or Haul-Away or whatever the garbage collection service used to be called. Sandra (Sandy) was his wife ─ my mother spoke to her in seeking the address of the business.

Phyllis is my older maternal half-sister.

Michelle Lee Gunther was barely into elementary school ─ she was the eldest of two beautiful little girls that my younger brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther had. I don't know if Mark needed the ride home from the hospital because he was picking up young Michelle, or if he was there for some other reason ─ when I wrote these things, I don't think I expected that I would ever forget the details.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived possibly little more than four blocks from my room in New Westminster, and he had previously been helping Mark and Jeanette get around when their car was out of permanent commission due to a traffic accident. Anytime Bill had to work, Mark or Jeanette would drive him there in his own car, and then use it until he needed to be picked up after work.

That had gone on for a few weeks until Mark finally got in possession of a pick-up truck. And now it was apparently on the fritz.

Marian was Jeanette's beautiful younger sister ─ both of the sisters were beautiful.

Jeanette was not officially divorced ─ only separated. But the divorce was becoming final around the end of the week, and Jeanette was planning on celebrating it.

My mother worked as an evening office janitress at Scott Paper (now Krueger Inc.) in New Westminster, so she often had access to lots of products like toilet paper and facial tissue, and even paper towels ─ I often had lots of it to take back with me to my room.

The note I found on my door after I had walked back to my room was from Esther St. Jean, a dear woman in her early 40s. She often drove the pick-up truck for S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends), a New Westminster charitable organization that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

For many months I had worked about one day a week as a truck swamper through a grant S.A.N.E. had via an employment initiatives or incentives programme that was in place between them and social services. When that grant finally ran out, I had to be let go.

Now it seems that S.A.N.E. was in a position to hire me full-time...but not to work swamping on the truck. I had no carpenter or related skills, so I knew that I would be virtually useless in their workshop. I didn't like the sound of the opportunity much at all.

I remember Dwayne Johnston or Johnson, but I have no memory of any Eugene ─ two other guys who were apparently also getting hired.

Isn't it strange that I do not ever remember working for S.A.N.E. full-time? I wonder if it did not actually happen? But I will not read ahead in my journal to find out. I love slowly learning about my past young life.

By the way, I am impressed that ─ after than three-hour round-trip walk I had out to my mother's home and back, I fully intended to go on some long hike that evening were it not for that note from Esther.

Well, it is 7:03 p.m., and the sky has hazed over. It is time to proofread this post, and get it published.

(It is 7:26 p.m. now, and I have heard some very light rain going on for the past wee while.)
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