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Thursday, June 8, 2017

Handsome Brook Farm Eggs │ Omega-3 Fatty Acids May Prevent Alzheimer’s │ Guide to Edible Flowers │ Aspirin and Cancer Prevention │ Indoor Air Pollution

Instead of my younger brother Mark getting himself upstairs to his bedroom by 10:30 p.m. last evening, he decided to pour himself a Scotch nightcap to top off the numerous beers he had already downed over the evening, and so it was 11:00 p.m. before he made his way upstairs.

It's got to be punishing ─ his clock/radio is normally set for about 4:20 a.m. to get him up for work.

Of course his delay in getting upstairs was mine as well, but I was in bed by 11:09 p.m., if I am remembering aright.

That left my youngest stepson Poté as the only resident still not in bed. As it turned out, he did not have to work today.

At some point overnight, we began to get some rain. And it has continued throughout the day.

I suppose that I slept a little better than I have normally of late, but I still rose reasonably early ─ the actual time now escapes me, but it was well before 7:00 a.m. Maybe even before 6:30 a.m.

I got busy putting more content into the post I am building at my Siam-Longings website, but I broke from it around mid-morning to ready for a local grocery shopping expedition to No Frills supermarket about four blocks away in the Cedar Hills shopping plaza (96th Avenue & 128th Street) here in Surrey.  

It may have been just ahead of 9:30 a.m. when I set forth on that short hike ─ and it was raining much harder than I had believed it was doing. But I got the job done.

I got engaged into a most lengthy interesting conversation with Poté early in the afternoon ─ more like the mid-afternoon, actually. I cannot recall just what initiated it, but it embraced all things financial concerning the house.

Apparently his mother ─ my wife Jack ─ is still of the belief that she will receive a legal settlement for harm she incurred when she and another in the same car were rear-ended by a car whose driver was not paying attention.

I think this occurred back in 2015 ─ some while back, at any rate.

Poté said that his mother wants to have the boys' entire den area remodeled, for there are no bedrooms there ─ each lad has appropriated a separate area for sleeping purposes.

But the question is whether my younger brother Mark will okay it. He is half-owner of the house. I don't see that there would be any issue, since it would not be costing him anything.

However, he has for years now maintained that once he has retired ─ and he turns 65 next month ─ he wants us to sell the house.

But he has never presented a realistic scenario as to what would then ensue.

He has contended that he wants to move far off where accommodation is cheap ─ perhaps somewhere with natural countryside to enjoy. Maybe even in another country.

However, he has to face the fact that none of his friends would be moving away with him. And he cannot bear to spend more than a night a week with his girlfriend Bev ─ the two drink too much to easily tolerate one another.

To my thinking, the best option would be for my two stepsons to make retaining the house as attractive as possible by throwing in and making a 25% contribution apiece toward maintenance expenses.

Poté sees the wisdom of it, but he's unsure that he would be able to afford it; and he is certain that his older brother Tho would balk, for Tho reportedly has some fantasy about importing some sort of rather high-end vehicle that has right-side steering.  

Anyway, I imparted some insight to Poté of just what is faced here with the mortgage, and things like the annual property taxes, home insurance, and utilities like garbage collection and water. I also shared how his mother has already blown our share of any house sale by brow-beating me into two remortgages towards the end of my working life back in 2010.

The mortgage ─ including a line-of-credit built into it ─ has far more than doubled. It is actually closer to three times what it had been back then before the remortgaging nonsense.

Since Mark was uninvolved with any of that, he is not liable. If we sold the house, then once the bank was paid off for the mortgage it holds, Mark would be entitled to all of what would remain of the sale price.

It's a huge and complicated mess ─ far too intricate to easily spell out here and now, so I am not going to attempt to. There are factors that I cannot even allude to, let alone lay bare here.

Regardless, there are some major conversations ahead where both Mark and my wife Jack are concerned.

It is unsettling, and has in the past laid me despondently low with deep worry.

In fact, I am going to leave from further discussion of today with this old image ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the image filed:

A scanned photo from my brother Mark's album circa 1975.

The chap mostly unseen is probably Al Cotts, a friend of Mark's. If so, the lass was his girlfriend, possibly named Cathy.

If you are American, do you have any familiarity with a brand of eggs that goes by the  name Handsome Brook Farm?

If you do know of that brand of eggs, and have bought any because of a 'pasture raised' label, then this should probably concern you:
FALSE LABELING: These eggs say 'pasture-raised.' But some aren't.
If you’re one of those lucky consumers who can buy eggs from a known source, like a local farmer or neighbor, you don’t have to worry about the label on the carton. You can easily verify if the hens producing your eggs roam free on pastures—or whether they spend most of their lives cooped up.

But consumers who buy their eggs at stores have to rely on labels—and on the honesty of the brands that apply those labels—for information on how various egg brands are produced.

When a company like Handsome Brook Farm goes out of its way to market all its eggs as “pasture-raised”—even though some of them aren’t—consumers end up paying a premium for a low-quality product.

Handsome Brook eggs are sold at over 4,000 retail stores throughout the U.S., including Kroger, Publix, Sprouts, Whole Foods, Harris Teeter, Wegman's, and independent and natural retailers.


This should interest you ─ the latest on research into brain ageing, and how omega-3 fatty acids may well be among the best dietary aids for protection that your brain can be given:




How familiar are you with flowers that are actually edible?

My impromptu long conversation with Poté this afternoon has used up too much of my time that was intended for blogging, so I am just going to have to drop this into your lap and leave it to you to pursue or not:



I have for several years been turned away from regarding aspirin as an innocuous means of pain medication ─ I have read some bad reviews of aspirin insofar as some studies are concerned.

However, it does seem to have its benefits ─ the trick is probably in figuring out just how much of it is safe and which can also prove beneficial:





My inclination is still only to take aspirin if absolutely necessary, but I would choose it over drugs like Tylenol and Advil.


Our home has four upstairs rooms with open windows: three bedrooms and the bathroom. Only in the worst windstorms do we ever close any of them.

So I feel reasonably safe upstairs where in-house air pollution is concerned. Still. it is always interesting to see just what research is finding out about precisely what comprises indoor air pollution, and its sources:




And here 'tis time for me to close off 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 little hideaway in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

Just recently I had begun working full-time on a three- or four-month contract with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I was supposed to have been getting furniture reupholstery training, but after being at S.A.N.E. for a few weeks, it had not materialized. I had grown so weary of having nothing to do all the day long that when my maternal cousin Randy Halverson told me of an opportunity of working where he was employed as a truck mechanic, I said to go ahead and put forth my name.

The job would involve a couple or so weeks of working on a garbage truck during a special Spring clean-up period in which homes were being allowed to put practically anything out at curbside for collection.

However, the day after Randy told me of the offer, I was told that I was getting transferred at S.A.N.E. to truck swamping duty on their blue pick-up truck ─ a position I had worked for a long, long time when I had been a part-time employee with S.A.N.E. working a day per week. I had done that for a year or more. 

So now my quandary ─ and this day was to be my first with the trash collection company, Haulaway or Haul-Away.

Making Haulaway even less attractive was the fact that I was told that I was only being offered three days of work that first week; and I also had to somehow find my way out to Haulaway's location in Surrey.

I was filled with apprehension the prior evening, and found myself unable to easily sink into sleep.

And I was beset with a rhinovirus that was just taking firm hold. 

This is all new to me ─ I remember nothing of it. I do not read ahead in these old journal entries because I enjoy the day-by-day surprises.

So let's see what befell on this date in 1976, a Tuesday. 

By the way,  in those years, S.A.N.E. ─ known by employees familiarly as "the store" ─ was located in an old building that does not exist today, but which back then was situated where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now spreads forth onto Carnarvon Street.
TUESDAY, June 8, 1976

I decided against Haulaway. 

I awoke at 5:30 a.m. During the night I broke into an awful sweat, though I must admit my sickness never much interfered with my sleep as yet.

I wrote a note for Bill, explaining my decision for S.A.N.E. 

Boy, the group at Nell's is going to be down on me (Randy & Billy especially), so I'll stay away as long as possible.

I also had a WD last night, but only involving the strength of my imagination with a girlie magazine.

Prior to leaving for S.A.N.E., I rested up ─ but excessively, for I aroused at 9:30 a.m. and had no time to deliver Bill's note.

Today turned out to be easier than yesterday, though Dwayne, Gordie, and I piled 2 huge loads on the truck in moving a woman.

I lunched on a quart of milk I bought, as yesterday; but I believe I'll end that expense.

I planned to walk out to mom's, but shortly past 6:00 p.m. Norman came; I'd thought maybe he'd left these parts. Well, he was about to ─ to 100 Mile House supposedly tonight, and wanted a few departure beers with me.

I told him of my vow of abstinence. 

Anyway, we went to the Towers, but left it. He was stripper-minded. so we came back to his car and soon found ourselves in the Dell (so much for Bill's note). We arrived just for the start of the show, getting a good table. The lady's physique was uncritical, and I could clearly see the cleft betwixt her beautiful thighs. I had 1 beer here on Norm.

Then he took me to the Tudor Inn at the Douglas border crossing; here he bought me 3 or 4, plus a number of games of electronic tennis.

He got me to mom's just short of 10:00 p.m. Norman wants me to plan on a possible 2 month wilderness adventure in 1977.

My only mail was a Western Lottery ticket (from Nelson's St. Joseph's School; but not the Olympic), and a $12.50 tithe receipt.

I left at 10:00 p.m.

By Bill's, I saw him walking from his car (just a bit past 11:00 p.m.) looking as if he'd only gotten home from work. He saw me not.

About 11:50 p.m. Anna Grimwood of June Penthouse blew me.

Bed at midnight. 
My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite that may have been little more than four blocks from my room.

My maternal Aunt Nell Halverson ─ Randy's mother ─ always had a large household. William (Billy) Little was one of those staying there, and he had been gung-ho about getting me working on the garbage truck that he was working on.

I was expecting that everybody would be thinking the worst of me for not showing up for duty, and making Randy and Billy look bad in the eyes of Haulaway.

That pick-up truck of S.A.N.E.'s had been outfitted such that high wooden 'fencing' could be inset into the box to add considerable height to its carrying capacity. It was no rare thing for us to be taking on a moving job if we could get it done in a day.

My mother Irene Dorosh lived out 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 ─ to have walked there from my room would have taken 1½ hours.

It was my old friend Norman Richard Dearing who showed up early that afternoon and had me change my plans. He lived well out into Surrey in the home he grew up in.

Our first stop for beer was a short walk from my room over to the Royal Towers Hotel beer parlour at Sixth Street & Sixth Avenue. Today, it is an apartment complex or something.

The stripper Norman and I enjoyed was in the Dell Hotel in Whalley. That old hotel is now gone, but the Dell Shopping Centre remains.

Our final beer stop at the Tudor Inn was misidentified by me as being at the Douglas Border Crossing. Rather, it was near the Pacific Highway Border Crossing. From the little research I have just done, the Tudor Inn or Tudor Ale House is now renamed The Bennett Craft & Kitchen, and is located at 187 176th Street in Surrey.

I remember nothing of any two-month wilderness adventure, so it clearly never took place.

Anyway, Norman must have just dropped me off at my mother's home, and then after a quick check for my mail, I left her and hiked the long walk back to my room in New Westminster.  

Perhaps the stripper earlier contributed to my waywardness with a Penthouse magazine before I finally got myself to bed.
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