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Sunday, May 14, 2017

💀 ☠ Your Brain's Volume Is an Indicator of Your Potential Longevity │ Arthritic Knee Replacement Surgery: Is Yours Really Necessary? │ Sleeping Pills and Hip Fractures Associated

Returning here to the usual 'scene of the crime,' I proceeded to self-destruct last evening and was not finally in bed until around 1:45 a.m.

I remained abed for the remainder of the night, sleeping reasonably well for the hours I was allowing myself. I think I checked the time and considered rising around 7:21 a.m., but then I may have lost focus for another 20 minutes or so before actually getting up and out of bed.

I knew that it was unlikely I would be leaving home today on any of the possible errands I could have undertaken ─ my spirit was too crushed.

So I worked at compiling content in the post I am putting together at my Lawless Spirit website. My eldest stepson Tho had slept somewhere else last night, and returned while I was in the latter stages of completing a normal day's work on that post.

I needed to try and resuscitate body and spirit, so shortly after 10:00 a.m. I was back in bed. I was to enjoy a deep nap, and came out of it with a somewhat odd dream fresh in mind. Context and details are now lost, but it seemed to involve a haler or younger version of myself involved in a course or large workshop. During a lunch break, I wandered off into the wooded grounds of the facility and came upon the sort of fitness circuit set-up that used to be available at various park locations for decades here in Surrey, but which were all dismantled a decade or so ago ─ for whatever utterly stupid, retrogressive reason.  

It is interesting to me to have dreamed of such a thing. I was quite keen to engage in chin-ups, but I am unsure if I did ─ there may have been an issue of privacy, and I probably was not keen on displaying myself exercising in view of anybody.

If ever I came into the money, I would have such facilities built on my property ─ just various bars for doing different kinds of chin-ups, as well as dips.

Alas, though, it is naught but a vain fantasy never likely to become reality.

Anyway, upon rising from the deep nap, my younger brother Mark was home from having spent the night at the residence of his girlfriend Bev. Following up on our discussion early yesterday afternoon in which he had revealed being diagnosed with a beginning cataract, I printed out two pages of information on potential treatments.

However, he had sought his own nap before I had turned the information over to him, so it had to wait until he was finished, and readying to go out for the afternoon.

One thing I read but did not pass along to him as yet is that a couple of articles I came across implicated heavy drinking as one possible cause of cataract development, and Mark drinks so much that on any given evening there is a 50% chance that he will be passing out for at least some period of time while we are watching evening television.    

Not too long after he had left, I went out to the backyard tool shed and undertook some exercising there, and then I came inside and ate for the first time today.

And then I began this post.

The day had been primarily overcast this morning, but in the early afternoon the Sun began to enjoy longer and longer appearances. If not for being tied down with having to blog every day as I am, I could be outside benefiting.

It is why I am contemplating either stopping blogging entirely in a month's time, or else just drastically reducing what I include in these posts. They take me hours to complete, and rob me of time for anything else.

It would be one thing if there was a financial reward, but there is not. My AdSense account revealed the usual token penny in my account for today when I checked in just before starting the post.

The whole effort is just too demoralizing, and I refuse to lose yet another Summer once the students are done with school, and I don't need to be concerned of them swarming the sidewalks during lengthy portions of key parts of the day.

I want to get back into walking extensively.

But we shall see.

I have some further photos to post from my wife Jack's credit-charged trip last Fall to return to Thailand to see her mother again after not  having seen her since early March 2013.

This first photo was taken on November 21, 2016, and just under an hour before Jack started taking photos within Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport to return here to Canada, so it is possible that she is aboard a flight taking her from the Udon Thani International Airport to Bangkok:

She would have bade good-bye to her loved ones who would have seen her off at the airport, and I am sure that she was feeling despondent and alone as she left everyone for what will undoubtedly be a few more years.

And this is the first of very many photos that Jack took while killing time at Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok, awaiting her flight to eventually get her to the Vancouver International Airport:

That was most of the photos, but I will save the remainder for next time.


Well, here is one method of estimating my hope of longevity that I will never be able to take advantage of ─ how about you?

These reports tell of the latest research into the brain and how it ties in to longevity:





I honestly have no idea if MRIs are entirely harmless or not, but I know that my medical plan isn't going to cover the cost of one just so I can frivolously figure out if my brain is ageing more rapidly than the rest of me.


I reported quite recently on the wisdom of reconsidering having voluntary (i.e., elective) knee replacement surgery ─ believe it or not, surgeons who do the procedure are not always the best folks to be getting advice concerning its indispensability or its possible benefit.

Here are a couple of reports about this ─ the second one is new, and the reason I am posting about this again:



When I was in the hospital to have my left leg's quadriceps tendon reattached to my knee cap (patella) back on November 5, 2010, there was a chap in the hospital who seemed to be there to have both knees given replacement surgery.

I have always wondered how the poor guy fared, and why he felt that he had to choose to have it done. I had no choice ─ not if I didn't want to have to walk like Gunsmoke's Chester for the rest of my life, hauling my bum leg about as if it was roped tight to a leg-long board.


Have you considered taking medication to help you sleep? Or maybe you already do take an insomnia drug?

Here's is what the latest research has found ─ these four reports speak about it:






Early last evening I took the bother to phone my old friend William Alan Gill's lady-friend Sandra Wilson. She lives in a Vancouver apartment, but she will sometimes undertake the dreary commute over to visit him in Victoria at the care facility he is in.  

I knew that she had planned to visit him around the time of his 71st birthday over a month ago, so I bit the bullet and gave her the call to see how the visit went.

She said that it was a better than usual visit, and she even had the staff put him into a wheelchair or something similar so that she could take him outside for a short distance ─ he rarely gets outdoors. Apparently there is a nearby waterway. She wheeled him over to it so that they could look out at it while they talked for awhile.

And they talked for awhile back at the facility just out front before she brought him back in.

He was in good spirits, and happy to see her.

She figures to be going back for another visit very early in June.

They have known one another since maybe 1985. I have known Bill since at least as far back as 1962.

I miss him. However, I cannot afford an overnight stay in Victoria. And I cannot even begin to imagine the dreary horror involved in trying to make a day trip over to see him.

Sandy deserves to be blessed for taking the trouble.

I close 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 the little place in a house located on Ninth Street, and maybe two houses up from Third Avenue.

This date was the finish of my eighth day employed full-time for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society

I had worked for the same organization for many, many months on a one-day-a-week part-time basis until a government grant they had ran out. Somehow, they managed to garner a new grant, and hired me and a few others on a full-time basis, although we may only have been on a three- or four-month contract.

However, I used to work as a swamper on their blue pick-up truck. But now, I was not on that assignment, and I in fact had absolutely no defined duties. My days were oppressively boring as I tried to pass time.

It was also demoralizing.

I often wrote a line or two into my journal throughout the day as opportunity afforded, so be prepared for jumps in continuity flow.
FRIDAY, May 14, 1976

I awoke about 6:20 a.m. this sunny day, pay day, I hope, and my last day of perforce toil if God via Sunday's Olympic Lottery is good to me; it has the anonymity the Western lacks.

At lunch I still didn't know if we'd be paid today. I stopped at the liquor store (being sighted by those on the truck heading for the store) and bought $4.49 in wine (40 ozs Beau Sejour & 26 ozs Red Devil) for a possible visit to Art tomorrow. Mike Schutz was there and noticed me first; he was returning to work, he said.

Now I'll be off to Woodward's for peanut butter and 2 32-oz containers of yogurt for Bill & I Sunday. Then lunch.

Well, I'm off for work now, and just about to set off for Bill at his cannery with under 90 minutes! 

I got my cheque, and had some trouble cashing my $125 at the Bank of Nova Scotia.

I made it to Bill's, getting in some running as Wednesday, and hopefully the last ─ but only in boots; I plan on getting some class runners. Too, I may win Sunday's lottery!

Bill & I shopped for supper; in all I ingested about 2 lbs liver, 1 large onion, 3 slices bread, 1 veal patty, 32 ozs plain yogurt, a small bowl of Alpen cereal with milk, and half a tray of some icinged lemon buns; and I am "blah" full.

Bill wants I & he to go to a drive-in tomorrow night with his mother.

I'll be in bed at nearly 12:40 a.m.  
I have tried all of my life to win a lottery jackpot. Back then, I truly believed that God might help cause me to win so that I could finally turn my life around. I am unsure what I meant about the Olympic Lottery being more anonymous that the Western Lottery would be if a large prize was to have been won. That's not how lotteries work ─ they always advertise the names of the big winners.

I bought the wine at my lunch break with an eye to perhaps be visiting Art Smith the following day. He also used to work for S.A.N.E. He was in his early 40s, but he and I had gotten close when we were co-workers on the pick-up truck. However, he seemed to want to do nothing but drink, and I often tried to avoid him.

He was a married man with three young kids, the older two being girls who were most welcome of me ─ it was as if I was family.

In the liquor store I bumped into Mike Schutz ─ I had known him for several years as a New Westminster regular in my life. He was around my age, probably 6½ feet tall, but quite a few pounds lighter than I was. He was a very nice guy, and I rather regret losing touch with him.

After getting the wine home, I continued on another three or so blocks to Woodward's up on Sixth Avenue ─ it used to occupy the building that the Royal City Centre Mall now represents.

Bill ─ the same dear old friend now in the care home in Victoria ─ was then living in a rented bachelor suite that may have been little more than four blocks from my room. I have no idea why it was that I wanted to hook up with him that afternoon at Royal City Foods where he worked ─ a cannery that used to exist just barely downriver from the Pattullo Bridge.

No doubt I was very happy to have gotten paid that afternoon, but the cheque was made out on an account at a bank I had not before dealt with. And I had no photo identification, nor a bank account anywhere.

As for Bill's mother Anne Gregory, she lived over in Maillardville in a suite she was renting. However, on weekends and his other days off, she was practically a fixture at his apartment ─ cleaning, cooking, laundering, etc.

I have no memory of ever attending a drive-in theatre with the two of them, so it likely never happened.
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