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Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Recurring Urinary Tract Infections and Cranberries │ Has a Cure for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome Been Found? │ Four of 10 Canned Foods Tested Contained Harmful BPA

Just as I was in the process of proofreading yesterday's post in this blog, my wife Jack showed up from Vancouver.

I was eventually to uncover that she had also entirely forgotten that yesterday was our marriage's 12th anniversary. She merely observed that we never do anything anyway...so big deal, I guess.

When my younger brother Mark arrived home, he set the compost and recycling bins out by the curbside. And in the process, he picked up a plastic bag that appeared to have some empty beer cans in it.

I had seen it earlier in the day when I was returning from my hike to do some local grocery shopping ─ the bag was lying in a low shrub of ours growing beside the sidewalk. I left it there, believing that some scavenger would anon come across the wee bonus.

Well, Mark said he had noticed it there for at least a couple of days whenever he pulled into the driveway, but he never bothered walking back out to it once he was parked into the open carport. Since he had to put out the bins for their emptying at some point over the course of today, he figured that he'd bring in the bag of cans ─ the scavengers had been given their shot.

As it turned out, there were three empty Budweiser cans...and a full one! So he was rewarded with a bit of a bounty.

It led off his drinking last evening here at home.

He managed to remain conscious through the evening for a recent change, and around 10:20 p.m. called it a night to head on up to his bedroom.

My wife Jack had watched a little T.V. while she ate some supper; and then suddenly hauled off around 9:20 p.m. at latest and went upstairs to our bedroom with a few things that she had brought home and left in the living room.

She shut the bedroom door, and remained there while the evening crawled on. I expected that she was napping, but it seemed that a light was on in the bedroom ─ light was showing through a very slim opening at the top of the door.

By the time midnight arrived, I was unsure what I should do. I was tired. But I knew that she usually slept very poorly here at home, and I wished for her to be undisturbed.

It wasn't until about 12:30 a.m. that I heard her open the bedroom door and go into the bathroom. And when she afterward came downstairs, I observed to her that she must have been enjoying a good nap, in reply receiving a wordless noise of what must have been confirmation.

She had something further to eat while watching a little more T.V., and then she got busy in the kitchen. I was going to take that as my cue to announce that I was going to get to bed, but the next thing I knew she was on her way back upstairs and into the bedroom.

And soon the light was out, with the door open. I could finally also get to bed.

I think it was something like 12:48 a.m. when I settled in. Sleep took awhile arriving.

There came a time early this morning when I heard her sleepy protests and realized that she was getting up. Her eldest son Tho had probably rapped on the bedroom door to impose upon her to drive him to the SkyTrain so that he wouldn't need to bus to it in order to get to work.

Of course, I always walked to the SkyTrain when I had to go to work from here ─ I never bused.

I waited until she had exited the bedroom and shut the door behind her, and then I peeked at the clock: 6:01 a.m.

I was very underslept, and considered remaining in bed. But my right nasal passageway was entirely blocked, and an impediment to relaxed breathing. I finally decided to just get up.

Jack was back home before I had even gone downstairs with my coffee mug to make my day's first hot beverage. She smartly went directly to bed, saying nothing.

As for my blocked nasal passageway, it never cleared until something like 6:27 a.m. Being upright was of course the key, but that did seem excessively long for the clearance to occur.

I spent the next portion of the morning putting content into the post I am working on at my Latin Impressions website. I speculated yesterday that I figured to be able to have it finished and published by tomorrow, but I now realize that it won't be until Friday.

When finally I had a typical day's effort put into the post, it was time to seek some bed-rest; and so to my absent and working younger brother Mark's bedroom went I. Covering up with his quilt, I did my best to relax and sink into a nap. I had brought my blindfold, but I dispensed with earplugs because I wanted to hear when Jack finally rose.

Eventually a noise was to rouse me from dream ─ Jack had left our bedroom and gone into the bathroom. I felt quite awfully rested, but it was going to have to serve.

It may not have yet been noon.

She was soon enough at work in the kitchen; and then early in the afternoon she announced that she was going to the mall, and would soon be back. These were actually her first words to me today, and she had said little enough last evening. In fact, I cannot actually recall anything she said to me last evening other than that rather negative comment about the news of our anniversary.

To be quite frank, this has not been a pleasant visit from her ─ her previous few drop-bys have actually been quite enjoyable for me.

Jack's youngest son Poté ─ who had gone to bed before I did last night ─ never got up today until after Jack had returned from her grocery shopping early in the afternoon. So in other words, he was in bed for over 12 hours.

With Jack back home, I got busy with some yard work, beginning with digging and pulling up of bindweed ─ the morning-glory-like vines that can be such a nuisance. According to a GardeningKnowHow.com article titled Morning Glory Control: How To Kill Morning Glory Weeds, true morning glory reproduces by seeding; bindweed can seed too, but they are perennial and spread far and wide via underground rhizomes.  

And those are what I kept trying to dig or haul out of the ground.

After messing around for awhile, I then went into the backyard to do some further work. Jack came out at one point to collect some mint leaves from a little clump of plants, and wondered aloud why another little clump that seemed to be doing so well last year died entirely out over the Winter with no trace of surviving shoots.

I wonder on that, too.

After she went back into the house, I kept busy. And then the next thing I knew, she had called out to me from the sliding sundeck glass door that she was leaving, and would I please clean up after her in the kitchen.

And so she was gone, returning to Vancouver ─ I don't think that it was quite 1:15 p.m. I can only guess if she will be back over the weekend.

After yesterday's considerable rain, today started off fairly cloudy; but by the afternoon, it was a mix of hot Sun and cloud. With my wife Jack gone, and having limbered up somewhat from the stiffness that was my helpless norm in the house, I decided to endure five sets of pull-ups in the tool shed before coming into the house.

If I didn't have the chore of this blog post confronting me, I could easily have spent a good while seated out in a chair in the backyard soaking up the sunshine and warmth.

The question was somewhat nagging at me after Jack had announced her departure: Why didn't she get her son Poté to do the cleaning up in the kitchen? The kid is a slob, and gets away with it far too easily.

Well, when I went into the house, I found myself alone ─ he had gone. Might he have had a later than usual shift at work?

Whatever the case, I was just pleased to be home alone.

And there are four dishes of good fare that Jack left us all to enjoy in her absence.

By the way, our bill for the annual property taxes arrived today. The sucking government wants over $2,500 ─ this is more than a third beyond what we pay monthly for the darned mortgage (i.e., $1,600)!


If I was subject to recurring urinary tract infections, I have no doubt that I would be making cranberries figure into my daily diet.

Why risk one's health with things like antibiotics?



I certainly agree on shirking the juices. Apparently the women in the study only drank 240 millilitres (mLs) per day, which amounts to barely over a cup.

I have never priced cranberry extract supplements, nor do I have any idea how many actual cranberries might equate to one supplement.

It is certainly worth finding out if you are subject to UTIs.


Anyone suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) has got to pay heed to this latest information concerning a means of overcoming the condition:





If the addition of probiotics and prebiotics into one's daily diet can turn the trick, then I wonder how helpful it would be to get into naturally fermenting vegetables at home like I have gotten into doing during the past two months?

I would really love to know just how valuable the product that I have produced for myself is.

I have only made two batches thus far: the first time was using just a purple cabbage, while the second time was a purple cabbage and two purple onions.

It has been so easy, too ─ just the vegetables, water, and salt (preferably not iodized table salt). As I believe that I said in yesterday's post, incorporating a quantity of celery might even remove the need for any extra salt at all, but I haven't yet tried this out.

For want of a large enough container, I have just used a good-sized rectangular plastic tub with a lid ─ as much as I wish that I had something else to use besides plastic. But I do not.

Each day after I set up the batch, I give it a good stir. And after about the fourth day, the product is already tasting pickled.

No bacterial culture, vinegar, or jars required! 

Neither of my two batches has managed to spoil before I have finished consuming the 'potion.' However, this last batch has been sitting out at room temperature for a few weeks, and is very acidic ─ I always ensure that I rinse out my mouth after having some in order to help prevent any possible enamel damage that might result if the juices were allowed to remain on my teeth.


This is abominable news if you are someone who does his or her best to keep bisphenol A (BPA) out of your body.

Recently, a broad testing of canned goods found that four out of every 10 of the cans tested contained BPA in the can linings:




And even when BPA is removed by a manufacturer, too often the replacement is also toxic to us.

But here is more concerning the harms of BPA:



'Big Food' is above all else concerned with profit and their convenience ─ that is primary.

I have little choice in that I must eat what my wife Jack prepares. But if I lived alone, there would not be a canned food product in my residence ─ ever.


It rather clouded over as this afternoon wore on.

No matter, it is time to shut this post down, so I shall do so with a journal entry from 41 years ago when i was 26 years old, and living in a small basement unit in New Westminster. I was renting my wee suite in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was about to start yet another week working full-time for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society

Back then, S.A.N.E. was housed in an old building that now no longer exists, but which was situated where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station opens up onto Carnarvon Street today.

I had worked for S.A.N.E. in the recent past ─ maybe over a period of about 1½ or more years; but I had only worked on a part-time basis, usually a day a week. I swamped on their blue pick-up truck.

However, my full-time employment ─ which may have been for just a three- or four-month contract ─ did not offer me that role. There was actually very little for me to do, and my shift settled like an enormous weight upon me as I did my best to endure the dragging time of each workday.
MONDAY, May 31, 1976

There is something frightfully wrong with me. I am sure I've been awake since 4:00 a.m., arising at 5:00 a.m. And it is because I live here with no shower privacy, and have to give my share of soul to S.A.N.E. so certainly.

I rested up from about 8:15 a.m. - 9:15 a.m.

David showed up at S.A.N.E. quite early.

I got my cheque for $234.76 in the morning so at 1:00 p.m. he & I broke up while I went to cash it.

I am really finding the tedium unbearable; nor can I see myself enduring for 3 months the imminent tutelage of the screwy B.S.ing Yugoslavian old-timer, Peter, when reupholstering begins.

Anyway, I cashed my cheque, banking $10.

I bought 2 money orders, $20.76 for books from the F.&S.F. Book Co. and $13 for an Olympic & Western Lottery ticket.

Almost back at S.A.N.E. I was recognized by old Stu who deprived me of $1.

The afternoon went by fairly well cause I was occupied.

After work I bought some groceries at Safeway.

Well, I'm going to mail for my books, for my lottery tickets from St. Joseph's School in Nelson; and I shall also mail a $23.50 tithe to the Church of God...all after I leave for mom's short of 7:15 p.m.

There was some light rain both ways.

Mom phoned Mark while I was there to tell him further of the house two down that's for rent.

My mail included issues #s 65 & 66 of AMRA, a card from the Worldwide Church of God announcing a meeting to be held Saturday coming at 1:30 p.m. at the New Westminster Secondary School Auditorium (I hope to attend "The Key to Real Happiness"), the June Good News magazine, and some lottery ticket order forms from Football B.C. of North Van. 

My bedtime is 11:05 p.m.
Gosh, I heard a brief light rain shower start up here at 5:50 p.m.!

Philip David Prince was an old friend of mine whom I first met at Newton Junior High School out in Surrey during the 1962/1963 school term. 

He had a room he was renting in New Westminster, and had been doing so at various rooms there for several years. I now truly believe that he moved to New Westminster just to be nearer to me, for I had been in residence there since at least as far back as 1969.

I think that I was his only real friend.

And now I sort of recall why I was hired at S.A.N.E. They had some notion of refurbishing old donated furniture. I remember the Yugoslavian, but had forgotten that his name was Peter. I also don't remember that he was lined up to be teaching this furniture reupholstering.

Peter was indeed an older man, but seemed to always be walking around in cut-offs and a wide-open shirt, if he even had a shirt on. He was resident in a building that was familiarly known as Fraser Apartments ─ a complex of very cheap rooms. I cannot quite place its exact location, nor do I know when it was demolished.

The thing about Peter was that he was deeply bronzed, and although lean, he was as chiseled with muscle as it was possible to be because he had no subcutaneous fat on him whatsoever ─ I had never seen his like.

He was also known to be something of a hoarder, and was always carting back to his room boards and material like that which he had found while out roaming about. He was a scavenger.

If he was a bombastic talker, I now recall nothing of it.

I also have no memory of the "old Stu" who deprived me of the dollar.

So I put in my dreary day at S.A.N.E.; and then early that evening decided to hike out and visit my mother Irene Dorosh where she was living with her husband Alex in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

The walk to get there from New Westminster was about 1½ hours of rapid-paced hoofing.

My mother's little house is now gone, but it was my main mailing address: 12106 - 90th Avenue.

If there was a house that had become available for rent nearby hers, I wonder why my younger brother Mark never checked into it? Or maybe he did, but lost out.

I never attended that Worldwide Church of God event at the New Westminster Secondary School, even though I tithed to that church. I never once attended that church at any of its locations anywhere ─ I just tithed to the organization.

I do not mention doing so, but I would have walked all the way back to my room later that evening.

I marvel at my walking younger self, as I have said before.
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