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Friday, July 14, 2017

Asinine Media Warnings About Vitamin D Supplementation │ Regular Sexual Activity and Brain Health

Although I do not now recall precisely when it was last evening that my wife Jack arrived home from Vancouver, it was after my younger brother Mark was already home and soundly passed out in his chair in the living room.

I wasn't interested in sitting up late into the evening with him for company, so when I saw my chance to get to bed after Jack had vacated our bedroom, I made haste and was ensconced there by 10:58 p.m.

Mark was still passed out in his chair, and I have no idea when he ultimately regained what scant senses he had remaining in his possession and properly went to bed. He keeps his clock-radio set for 4:30 a.m. to get him up for work.

Jack retired soon after I had, so she must have been unusually tired. Only her youngest son Poté and his girlfriend were...well, I can't say "up," because they spend all of their time lying in bed together, no matter what the time of day. They just had not yet properly gone to bed, either.

As usual, I had quite a night of broken sleep. In fact, it was 1:04 a.m. when I rose to use the bathroom and drink some water.

I was deep into a dream in the morning when I heard Jack and her eldest son Tho talking ─ he must have summoned her to drive him to the SkyTrain here in Surrey so that he wouldn't have to take his bus to get to it for his commute to work in Burnaby.  

I peeked at the time and saw that it was 5:50 a.m.

I waited to hear them drive off, but when that still had not happened by 6:05 a.m., I got up anyway and got to work at the construction I am doing of a post at my hosted website Thai-Iceland.

I don't think they left until at least 6:15 a.m.

Poté was up because he must have had to drive his girlfriend somewhere earlier.

Jack did her self-appointed duty for her rather pampered eldest, and smartly returned to bed upon arriving back home.

I kept expecting Poté to head off for work, but he never did.

Once I put in the effort I had intended to get done today on the Thai-Iceland post, I needed to take a rest. My eyes had been burning all the while from the inadequate sleep I had gotten.

I resorted to my brother Mark's bed ─ maybe it was around 9:45 a.m. ─ pulling the thin comforter over me, and was soon dancing in and out of awareness.

I think it may have been around 10:20 a.m. when I correctly believed that I had heard my wife Jack exit our bedroom and head on downstairs, so I got myself up, too.

Had I not felt so insufficiently rested earlier, I would have undertaken some exercise out in the backyard tool shed, but I felt too physically degraded for the challenging stress. And so I was never to benefit from any activity today.

Heck, I never even sat outside in the backyard to get some sunshine. 

Jack wasted no time busying herself in the kitchen. With her now up and bustling, Poté decided to catch a long nap. He remained in bed until late into the noon-hour.

Alas, Jack was not to be home too late into the afternoon, but it was sufficiently late to have rather spoiled my day's plans, even if much of that was mere routine.

It likely was no later than 1:30 p.m. that I was to see her off on her drive back to Vancouver.

Okay, time now to post an old photo ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the scanned imaged filed:

This photo was probably taken sometime from 1974 to 1976, and is part of a collection belonging to my younger brother Mark.

That almost appears to be me at the left, for I did have rather shaggy hair back then. But I did not typically wear sunglasses, and neither did I smoke cigarettes ─ except unless I was pretty darned drunk.

The blonde chap at the right is Darrell Porteous, if I am spelling his first name correctly.
I quite miss Darrell and his older brother Garry (who used to be my brother Mark's best friend). The four of us have an enormous history together that stretched from elementary school in the earliest 1960s, all the way into our 40s.

I don't know why, but Mark and Garry quit keeping in touch by around 1990, and Darrell had also fallen away.

But on to something else ─ an article I read a few weeks ago (June 21, apparently):


I wondered when I would read of a refutal:


I am absolutely willing to agree that synthetic vitamin D is suspect; but I believe that we can safely take 10,000 I.U.s of vitamin D3 daily in the greyer months ─ that is, the months where those of us in the Northern Hemisphere must deal with soggy and even snowy and frozen months.

For a truly comprehensive look at why that first article is baseless, see this:


All of the information concerning blood measurements of vitamin D in terms of "ng/mL" levels is utterly wasted on me. I don't run to doctors to have every minute thing about me checked, measured, and evaluated ─ I cannot even imagine ever having my vitamin D levels checked!

I am sure if I went to a doctor and asked it to be done just because I was curious, then I would bloody have to pay for it ─ my health insurance most likely isn't about to cover the costs of testing just because I asked for such a test out of sheer curiosity.

C'mon, let's be real!

How's the sex life, by the way?

No, this has nothing to do with vitamin D ─ it concerns another article at the middle website above that spoke of a study that...well, see for yourself:


I wanted to learn some more about that study, so I dug up these two reports ─ the second one links to the study, if you care to peruse it for yourself:



Sadly enough for me, I am 67, and have not had 'intimate relations' with my wife nor anyone else for over four years. 

I hope I can at least retain my wits until I finally put an end to myself.

I may try for a little Sun exposure if I can finish up today's post early enough, so I am going to take my bow now and close out 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 renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was working full-time on a three-month contract for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had worked on an irregular part-time basis for S.A.N.E. as far back as 1974, if I am remembering right ─ and just about always, I swamped on their blue pick-up truck, which was generally driven by a wonderful lady in her early 40s named Esther St. Jean.

The building that housed S.A.N.E. has been gone for some years now, but back then it was situated on Carnarvon Street right around where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station today opens up onto that same street. 
WEDNESDAY, July 14, 1976

I had trouble getting asleep last night, as well as sleeping in; I arose 6:30 a.m. to find it already sunny.

On my way to launder, I waved at Mike Schutz across the street.

I couldn't find my missing August Marvels, but bought 2 September titles and 1 from D.C. 

Comics are 30¢ now! I blew $1.20 in all.

I had an easy enough day working with Gordie and some young fellow on a week's probation.

Beyond lunch I had a slice of white bread & bologna from Gordie, and some potato chips from Esther.

I'm leaving for mom's just short of 6:30 p.m.

As I began the bridge I saw a girl at the summit suddenly appear, looking about. Then she started running my way, as if she had a boyfriend or someone she was racing.

After she passed me, sure enough, I saw a rather husky fellow coming into view. And as he became more completely, I recognized him for a RCMP man. 

He proved to be about my height, but wasn't in very good condition. He had a walkie-talkie with him, and the young fellow smiled rather sheepishly as we passed and I said, "A bit more exercise than you expected!"

I saw his car on the other side of the bridge.

Along the tracks, I received a pleasant "Hello there!" from one of 3 young ladies sitting athwart them.

And as I was nearing the end of my Scott Rd walk I saw a police car pull quickly into a driveway. When I came by I saw one of the 2 occupants working his way into an abandoned house next door; presumably his partner was going in the back.

Alex was the only one home when I got there, and mom didn't show up for at least a half hour.

My only mail was a postal ad.

I had a calorie-ridden snack there.

I really cared little for my walk home, especially the last part.

Bed at 11:35 p.m.
Mike Schutz was a really nice fellow around my age whom I sometimes did some drinking with. I think he may also have been doing some part-time work at S.A.N.E. He's someone I wish that I had maintained contact with.

I used a laundromat for my laundry ─ I believe that it was up on Sixth Avenue very near to the public library. I no longer can recall where it was that I would seek out my favourite comic-books when I was killing time waiting.

My swamping co-workers tended to vary. I am no longer absolutely certain, but "Gordie" may have been a somewhat mentally challenged young fellow who made the most unrealistic proclamations ─ at least, for somebody who seemed prone to talking a lot.

After my day at S.A.N.E., early that evening I set off on the 1½-hour hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh at the little home she shared with her husband Alex in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

Their home was my main mailing address; and although that house no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

I remember that incident with the girl and cop running over the bridge.

I had just gotten into the walk across it when I saw her slowly rising into view from the summit ─ there is a sidewalk on the right-hand side of the bridge as one leaves New Westminster for Surrey.

She probably thought initially that I was another cop heading her off, and so she looked about uncertainly; but then she realized that I was just another pedestrian. so she came rushing my way.

I recall her as being attractive enough ─ a brunette; but of course, very serious in expression.

The policeman was younger than me, I thought. He looked very boyish, in fact. And he was breathing very hard ─ the girl was in much better condition.

I often wonder on that incident from so long ago. Had I known that the girl was being pursued by a policeman, would I have seized and held her?

I rather think not. I was actually quite chivalrous in my thinking. 

It is a long haul to get to where they were from the Surrey side of the bridge. I have no idea why there wasn't another cop at my end if the young fellow was using his walkie-talkie all the while.

Anyway, once I was across the bridge, I always turned right onto Scott Road (120th Street) and followed it to where a set of railway tracks crossed over it just shy of Larson Road as seen on this map (you may have to zoom in a bit to see the railway tracks).

At the railway tracks, I would turn left onto them and keep following them for a mile or two to where they again crossed Scott Road up by 99th Avenue.

I think I saw the three girls ─ teenagers ─ fairly early into my walk along the railway tracks. Who knows what they were doing there by themselves just sitting on the rails.

The next police incident would have been just before I reached Holt Road as I walked along Scott Road ─ I would have to take to Holt in order to access my mother's 90th Avenue, because the avenue did not quite reach to Scott Road.
After visiting with my mother for awhile and being given something to eat, there was nothing for it but to make the return hike all the way back to my room.

I had been doing that hike so many times that I was becoming most weary of the same drudgery. It was probably dark well before I was back to New Westminster, but that was usually something positive from my perspective. I loved the anonymity of the night. 

However, walking the bridge after dark with the traffic headlights perfectly blinding  me was never a treat.
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