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Tuesday, June 20, 2017

A Late Father's Day for Me! │ Nature for Full Well-Being │ Aspirin: More Risk Than Benefit

My wife Jack arrived home from Vancouver either late last afternoon, or early into the evening ─ more likely the latter.

My younger brother Mark was not so early. His arrival home may not have been much before 9:30 p.m.

There came a point thereafter while Jack, Mark, and I were watching an episode of Britain's Got Talent that her youngest son ─ 19-year-old Poté ─ came into the darkened living room and presented me with the following:

He even had a half-dozen cans of Mark's current preferred brand of beer to give to him ─ no doubt to help him not to feel entirely left out.

Poté's older brother Tho was in bed by this time, so I suggested to Poté that this all smacked of his own thoughtfulness. However, he claimed that he had not even yet seen the card ─ Tho had come up with it.

However that may be, I don't have the details on the procurement of the booze.

Of course, Poté and Tho are perfectly correct where the sentiment on the card is concerned. Had I not gotten involved with their mother in Thailand in early 2003, she and I would not have married in late May 2005.

And of course, she would never have been able to set foot into Canada like she did when she arrived here in May 2006. I doubt that she had ever even thought of one day coming to Canada until knowing me. She would have been hoping to become involved with an American; or possibly an Italian, for an older sister (Penn) had done so and spends most of her time in that country. Penn's daughter Tanya ─ a young woman now ─ is 100% Italian and cannot speak nor understand Thai.

Poté and Tho were to come to Canada for the first time in September 2008, and it was at the end of September 2013 that all three became citizens of Canada.

Everyone that the boys now know; their high school graduations here; their girlfriends; their jobs and cars and incomes ─ they would have none of it if not for me choosing to let their mother into my life despite knowing that she had two sons.

If not for me, neither young man would be who he is today. He would most likely still be limited to life in Thailand with scant opportunities; or maybe if their mother did manage to become involved with an Italian, perhaps that is where they would be today, speaking Italian instead of English.

Poté lost the ability to read Thai a few years after being in Canada, and his Thai speaking vocabulary is narrower than is his older brother's. Tho and my wife Jack have to use more than an occasional English word or phrase in communicating with him, but even Tho probably is much less proficient than would be a peer over in Thailand.

So that Father's Day card is far more accurate than I suspect either lad fully appreciates.

Jack was of course home to spend the night, so for me it was just a matter of sitting up and trying to wait her out. Mark remained up much closer to 11:00 p.m, than he should have, since he keeps his clock-radio set at either 4:15 a.m. or 4:20 a.m. to rouse him each workday.

I failed to take note of the time when finally my chance did arrive to get to bed while Jack was downstairs fussing in the kitchen ─ all I know is that it was well before 12:45 a.m. With a light on in the bedroom, I had donned a blindfold as well as earplugs; but I could not sufficiently relax to slip into sleep.

At one point I did peek at the time, and saw that it was 1:00 a.m.

Ultimately Jack finished whatever she kept finding to do, and came to bed also; a check of the time once the bedroom light was off revealed it to be 1:50 a.m.

It was far from a great night's sleep for me.

Whenever Jack spends the night and it is a weekday the next morning, her eldest son Tho ─ who is serving a year-long driving prohibition ─ always rouses her to drive him the mile or so to the SkyTrain so that he can get to work in Burnaby from here in Surrey.

Instead of busing like he normally would to get to the SkyTrain, he prefers depriving his other of her sleep.

When I became aware of her getting up this morning for that chore, I waited until she had exited the bedroom before peeking at the time ─ it was 5:56 a.m. I waited until I heard the pair leave, and then I also rose.

Poté was already up and readying for work.

Jack went directly to bed after she returned home; and Poté headed out the front door to his car at 6:38 a.m. to drive himself to work.

I was at work supplying content to the post I am building at my Lawless Spirit website; and when I had compiled that which I had hoped to accomplish today, it was time to try for a nap.

I resorted to my absent brother Mark's bed, putting earplugs in place and covering up with a light comforter. I doubt that it was much after 9:15 a.m., but it may have been. Still, it is possible that I was down for maybe 1½ hours before finally deciding to get myself back up.

I soon pondered getting a start upon this blog post, but around 11:00 a.m. Jack got up and commenced showering.

After awhile, I decided that I would work in the front yard garden and pull up as many new vines of bindweed (morning glory) as I was able to detect. I had noticed that there were a couple of white bindweed blooms on display in a thick clump of rhododendrons almost beneath our living room window.

While I was at work with that task, Jack came outside and announced that she was off to shop at Henlong Market. That was to afford me some time to get started on this post, and here I am at 1:05 p.m., still home by myself.

Often I lament here about how much I rue being confined to the debtor's prison that my home has become for me. I am a country boy at heart, but the Surrey I spent my boyhood in has become one large, sprawling city.

The miles and miles of traffic-laden streets, seemingly endless homes and other buildings, and the ever-increasing populations of strangers, serve to pretty much keep me confined here at home. There is no peace nor tranquility out there for me ─ just stress.

The following article aptly describes why Nature is so vital for health and sanity:


The Friends of the Earth Europe reference that is cited, but not linked to, is here:


You have to click upon the image there in order to access the excellent and colourful four-page .pdf report:

Most people truly do underestimate the intrinsic value of Nature for every aspect of our well-being. It's a shame. And unfortunately here in Surrey, development matters far more to those in governance than does undisturbed Nature.

I do not belong in this Surrey. But involving myself with my wife Jack and her sons has plunged me so far into debt that it will be impossible for me to come free of it in my lifetime without a financial miracle.

I want to refer you to yet another article by Dr. Marc S. Micozzi ─ this time it concerns aspirin. Unfortunately, however, I cannot find it within me to side with him:


He does speak of side effects, yes; but overall, he seems strongly in the promotional camp.

Now have a look at this article on aspirin:


The reference that was cited in that last report, but not linked to, was this:


Certainly I am no doctor, but there seems to be an enormous weight of evidence out there that aspirin is much too risky to be taken as if it was just another nutritional supplement.

Well, it is now 1:55 p.m. I am going to see if I can actually finish today's post and publish it before my wife Jack gets back here.

Here to close with is 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 small place I had in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.
SUNDAY, June 20, 1976

The landlady was responsible for my being up before 6:30 a.m.

I felt pretty sleepy while working my way thru my pre-breakfast chin-ups (7 super-sets with 15 minutes rest between, with 4 sets of as many as I could perform in each super-set, resting half a minute between each set).

I was hungry, but rather overate: a small pot of granola with yogurt and lots of milk. But I didn't have the burned-out feeling before eating that my stomach usually has after a large meal the night before, the surest sign to me of excess.

I had a small nap.

It's been a sunny day, though clouds were called for; however, S.A.N.E. restricts my time so much even on the week-end that I've about abandoned hopes of tanning ─ and tonight marks the start of summer, I understand.

I'm sure feeling isolated. I'm believing it would be okay to live with dad if he swore abstinence, and have an apartment with a colour TV on cablevision.

Good Lord! And it's a month yet plus 10 days till the next spin at a lottery fortune. I hate my life, working for nothing!

Bed at 9:15 p.m.
I was employed full-time on what I think was only a three-month contract with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends). I have little doubt that I was receiving whatever the minimum wage was back then.

And I just researched that ─ the following is taken from a .pdf document titled Minimum Rates in Canada: 1965 to 2015:
British Columbia’s minimum wage went from $7.53 in 1965 to $12.22 in 1976, fell to $6.77 in 1987, rose to $9.62 in 2000 and slid to $8.74 in 2010; it then increased to $10.66 in 2013 and lost a bit to $10.31 in 2015.
Isn't that astounding that the minimum wage was nearly cut in half  in 1987 compared to what it had been in 1976!?

Anyway, my landlady could get pretty noisy sometimes, and that must have been the case early that morning.

I have no memory of that super-sets system of chin-ups! Wow!

With all of those rest breaks, the whole thing must have taken an hour to complete. It's no wonder that I probably never stuck with it and subsequently forgot about it entirely.

All I had for chin-ups was a cheap telescoping bar that fitted in the only open 'doorway' I had, which I doubt was much over a yard or metre wide. In fact, this is the very bar and low doorway ─ a photo of me taken April 20, 1975, when I was 25 years old:

I must have poured the granola into a small cooking pot ─ perhaps I had no good-sized bowl. I was not exactly flush with dish- and cooking-ware.

Perennially, I would begin to trust that my father Hector could be relied upon to moderate his drinking. But he never could; and anytime we threw in together, he would return to his drunken, bender ways on binges that could span days. In truth, he often drank until he ran broke and had to sober up because he couldn't buy further booze.

It is now 2:29 p.m. Maybe I am going to be able to proofread this and get it published before Jack's return!! How rare!
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