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Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Magnesium Can Counteract Inflammation │ Glyphosate and Other Deadly Gardening Chemicals

My younger brother Mark spent some of last evening unconscious, and as a consequence missed the finishing action to the season finale of Blindspot.

And now the action on the show skips two years into the future? That's never a good sign for a series. Dramatic licence like that generally signals that the series is dying.

Anyway, at least Mark kept reasonably near the target on his bedtime ─ not too much after 10:30 p.m. However, my bedtime was delayed until around 11:00 p.m. as a result of my youngest stepson Poté taking a bloody late shower after coming home with his girlfriend in order to have her here to spend the night with him.

I hope the idiot was good and tired this morning.

I had gotten up once during the night ─ just after 4:00 a.m. ─ to use the bathroom and drink some water. I noticed Mark's bedroom light on, so I have no idea if he was already getting up for the workday, or what.

When next I checked the time, it was 7:04 a.m. I was to find myself alone in the house ─ with the front door unlocked, of course.

My stepsons are utterly dense.

I got to work adding further content into the new post I am working on at my Latin Impressions website, but I broke off ahead of 9:30 a.m. to start readying for the four-mile round-trip beer replenishment hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley.

I get out so infrequently any longer that it takes me a considerable while to prepare myself ─ I find myself so damned public shy. And so it was that it wasn't until 10:19 a.m. that I was standing outside the locked front door, ready to begin the hike.

There was nothing remarkable about the venture, however. The morning was a mix of Sun and some cloud; and I was back at the front door by 11:46 a.m. The outing had taken me just under 1½ hours.

I generally try to walk a little more slowly than that.

Foolishly, I had forgotten to get an empty 24-can flat to match the full one that I kept with the beer I bought. We tend to fill up the flats more quickly than we should because Mark and even my two stepsons sometimes buy half-dozen cans of beer or coolers that come without any packing, apart from those plastic six pack rings.

But next week I will have to make another hike to the same liquor store ─ Mark has a birthday coming up fairly early in July, and we typically just gift one another a bottle of booze. I'll pick up one or two empty flats then.

That hike and the toting of the two-dozen cans of beer homeward will be my workout for the day. I finished up the editing that I wanted to put into the Latin Impressions post for today, and then rounded myself up the makings of my first meal of the day.

One thing or another had kept me from getting a start on my post here in my blog, and now it is 4:34 p.m. My wife Jack texted me about half an hour ago, asking me to take out a package of ground beef from the fridge icebox. And so I can be expecting her to show up at any point today from this time on.

I want to post this old photo of my mother Irene Dorosh that I recently scanned:

I can but speculate now, but I venture that the year must have been around 1964 or 1965, in which case my mother would have been around 48 or 49.

I believe that we were living in a rented house on Bergstrom Road ─ it would be 136th Street as shown on this Google map.

The King George Boulevard is actually 136th Street; but as you can see on that map, if you were traveling along the King George from the top of the map, the street identified with that number continues straight along, precisely where the King George takes a veer very soon after one would have crossed over 64th Avenue.

So if one were driving up that 136th Street (or Bergstrom Road) after it separated from the King George, we were living somewhere between 62nd Avenue and 60th Avenue, and on the left-hand side of the street.

I have no doubt that the house is long gone by now, so I would not expect to be able to recognize its location if I was to try to find it. I recall that we had a fairly long, curving driveway that may have been unpaved, and that sort of ran around to the rear of the house; and I also remember that my mother used to hang out freshly washed clothes on a clothes line that we had.

I wish that I knew its exact address, but of course I do not.

This is making me feel too wistfully nostalgic, for I recall now having some of my old identification cards from the two secondary schools I attended in that era, but now I wonder if I have lost them ─ I cannot think where they may have gone.

So allow me to get right off the topic.

You may realize that it is ideal to have as little inflammation going on within your body as you can possibly achieve. Even poor dietary choices can generate and also exacerbate existing inflammation.

However, there are nutritional choices we all can make that can subdue ─ if not eradicate ─ considerable amounts of inflammation.

Check out what this one mineral can do:



A supply of magnesium is something I ensure is maintained in my roster of nutritional supplements.

Just within the past two or three days, I read that Monsanto is furious that California has dared to rule that glyphosate is cancer-causing, and needs to be indicated as such on products such as weed killers containing it:



Well, to hell with Monsanto!

But there are many more chemicals in such commercial products that are killing us than just glyphosate:


I hope you were aware that Adam West ─ T.V.'s campy Batman ─ recently died, and did not learn of it for the first time by reading about it here.

That last report cited a good retrospective on the actor; however, there was no direct link to it ─ this is it:


Well, my wife Jack has still not shown up, and it is now 5:52 p.m. I am going to close out today's post now while I can with this journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was paying rent in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

On this date, I probably had finished my first month of a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

In its earliest years back then, S.A.N.E. was housed in a large old building on Carnarvon Street ─ a building that has long since been demolished. But back then, the building was sited right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station today spreads forth onto Carnarvon.

I had been involved with S.A.N.E. off and on through part-time work since 1974, I believe. Generally, I served as a swamper on their blue pick-up truck, which was often driven by a wonderful lady in her early 40s, Esther St. Jean.

Those of us involved with working at S.A.N.E. often just referred to it familiarly as "the store."
MONDAY, June 28, 1976

I did not sleep soundly at all, and never got up till 6:45 a.m.

There was a fair amount of work today, but besides Took, there were 3 other fellows, nor did I feel the lassitude that has been so common to me.

Dave came in the morning to borrow $2, but in the afternoon paid me back.

Toward the end of the day I shopped at Safeway ($5.77), meeting and talking with Judd on my way back to the store.

Seems I may ─ will ─ get part of Wednesday off for working overtime tomorrow (helping load up a 3-ton to take Shirley to Quesnel), and all of Thursday & Friday.

I had envelopes on my list of things to buy today, but found about 30 first at S.A.N.E.

On my way to mom's I'll mail a letter each to Jean and dad, and a letter seeking information from Los Angeles' International Yogurt Company; also, an entry to Montreal's Sylvania Blue Dot Olympic Sweepstakes. I'll be leaving about 6:30 p.m.,taking Mark's sunglasses so they'll be handier for him to reach. (Alas! I forgot them.)

Mom was home.

My only piece of mail was F.&S.F. Book Co. list #116 for Summer.

I snacked.

I spilled the beans telling mom Cathy sprained her foot Friday night drunkenly running across the King George; seems she said it occurred disembarking a bus.

I had to be rather careful in striding due to yesterday's friction rash 'twixt my thighs, and truthfully got back to town just as the condition was getting bad.

Bed at 11:25 p.m.
So we had five swampers that day! "Took" was an Indigenous Canadian chap who was probably into his 30s.

It must have been my old friend Philip David Prince who came to S.A.N.E. to borrow the $2 ─ which meant more back then than you might imagine.

By the way, that house I was talking about earlier in this post was the first home I lived in where David was to visit me ─ he and I had both started Grade Ⅷ during the 1962 / 1963 school term at Newton Junior High School out in Surrey, but we probably didn't get chummy enough for him to care to visit me until around 1965.

"Judd" ─ whom I bumped into after doing some shopping at Safeway ─ was Gerald Smith, the younger brother of a former S.A.N.E. co-worker of mine, Art Smith. Art was in his early 40s, so "Judd" was somewhere in his 30s.

I think that I must have been wrong about where Shirley Johnston or Johnson was to be moving ─ I have always been certain that it was in the region of Princeton and Hedley. Consequently, this is going to be very interesting to me to confirm (I do not read ahead into these journal entries).

Anyway, I put in my day at S.A.N.E. And then early that evening, undertook the 1½-hour walk out to my mother's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. Her home was my main mailing address.

Her little home is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue

One of the letters I was going to mail was to American pen-pal Jean M. Martin (née Black).

I never mentioned anything in my journal for Friday's entry about my younger brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther spraining her foot. I am sure that she did not want my mother and my mother's husband Alex to know that she was drunk at the time ─ that's most amusing!  

Believe it or not, after having a relatively short visit with my mother, I then turned about and hiked the 1½ hours all the way back to my room in New Westminster.

The chafing thighs arose after I had hiked out to Surrey the previous day to do some sunning. I would have likely done the sunning with just my top bared, and while wearing my pants. 

Thus, my undershorts and that region of my pants would have become very damp. The walk back to New Westminster resulted in a friction burn of my innermost thighs that was proving troublesome where distance walking was concerned.

Well, it is now nearly 7:00 p.m., and still my wife Jack has not come home. Perhaps she will do so late this evening.
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