.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

The Inflammation-Fighting and Eye-Protecting Properties of Colourful Vegetables

As reported late in yesterday's post, my wife Jack had shown up from Vancouver before I had yet finished and published that day's entry.

My younger brother Mark was not home until around mid-evening. But at least he held onto consciousness throughout and retired to his bedroom sensibly around 10:30 p.m.

Awhile later, I was amused by Jack's antics. In the afternoon, I had set up a large batch of vegetables that I intended to ferment naturally ─ specifically, a cabbage, two large leeks, and a large fennel bulb.

Jack decided that she would set up some bok choy or some similar vegetable to ferment independently of mine, but she couldn't resist helping herself to some of the cabbage in my batch.    

I thought that was pretty cute. She has nothing but criticism because I do not follow her 'recipe' as she learned it in her home village of Nong Soong back in Thailand, but my vegetables are still good enough to appropriate for her purpose.

I just slice up my vegetables. However, she works hers over with a combination of manual kneading and crushing ─ she calls it "massage."

And then she rinses everything thoroughly, washing away the plant juices.

I consider those vital!  

Anyway, she's still getting plenty of benefit once the remainder ferments; and as long as I suffer no ill effects from my method, I will stick with what I'm doing.

I may have parted company with her around 11:30 p.m. or soon thereafter, betaking myself to bed. I warned her that she needed to be mindful that she would be getting up early this morning ─ her lazy eldest son Tho generally uses her presence to his selfish advantage, forcing her to get up in the morning and drive him to the SkyTrain so that he won't have to take a bus to reach it.

We live about a mile from two of the Whalley stations, and he has to take the train to get out to Burnaby where he works.

I'm foggy about it now, but I think that I may have still been awake when Jack finally came to bed last night.

It was around 6:10 a.m. this morning that Tho rapped loudly on our bedroom door to summon his mother from bed. And so ended my night, for I usually take that interruption as my cue to get up.

Of course, I wait until I hear Jack go out to her car, and for Tho to follow suit.

I was seated here at my computer with my day's first hot beverage when Jack made her return; she promptly wended her way directly to bed.

Much of my morning was spent setting the foundation of an edit to an old post at my hosted website Siam-Longings.

I should here mention that my eyes were burning with exceptional intensity when I had risen ─ I definitely needed much more sleep than I had obtained overnight.

Once I had finished setting up most of the edit's foundation, it was my intention to repair to my working brother Mark's bed and seek further rest.

But then I realized that since I would be housebound today, time would be better served sitting out in the backyard in the sunshine.

And so at 10:22 a.m., I commenced 40 minutes of doing just that. During the latter half of my time outside, I could hear some racket going on in the kitchen, and I correctly reckoned that Jack was now up.

Her youngest son Poté was home and in bed, too, because he had today off work. Nevertheless, I would not expect him to be up at that time of the morning unless he had a later shift ─ Jack was the most likely candidate as authour of the kitchen sounds.

I was to learn from her that she had some photographs that she took on either July 22 or 23 during the occasion of the fourth Vancouver Thai Festival which was held at the Vancouver Art Gallery.

The photographs were all on her iPhone 6.

Unfortunately, she texted them to me in one message. When I saved them and then downloaded or transferred them to my computer, the images were uselessly small. I'm not going to post them here or anywhere else ─ they're worthless, by my estimation.

If she wants me to have them, then we are going to have to upload them from her phone to my computer.

When this revelation made itself known, she was busy readying herself to run off to have lunch with her friend Fanta in Langley ─ Fanta has her own Thai restaurant.

So it remains to be seen whether or not I will actually have access to the quality version of her images. I hope so.

It's now 3:39 p.m., and I am still awaiting her return this sunny day.

In lieu of her photos, I shall instead post this image ─ a scan of a photo of my mother Irene Dorosh:

You can see the date July 1973 imprinted on the left border ─ that is of course when the roll of film (that this image was part of) was developed.

I recalled seeing a similar scene that I had scanned months ago, so I searched it out:

And in finding that image, I also came across this one of her husband Alex that I am convinced was taken at the same time:

Can all three of those photos not be related as to date and location?

Changing topics now, I appreciate having it reinforced just how vital various plants that we may harvest and eat truly are. The following report does just that, helping to keep it freshly in mind precisely how important vegetables can be:


A reference that was given for that article was not linked to, so I shall offer the link:


On a very related note, I recently came upon this article:


I cannot honestly say that I was even aware that carrots came in anything but an orange colour.

In watching the early video in that article ─ the video is under four minutes in duration ─ I saw that seeds of the different colours can be found just by doing a Web search for rainbow blend or rainbow mix carrots. 

I would love to grow some of those, but I don't trust the soil here on the limited property we have. I have no doubt that the lawn has been drenched over the years with all manner of chemicals. 

And anyplace where we have a flower bed such as immediately beside the house, then the soil will also be contaminated with numerous chemicals that have come from the house's exterior walls over the decades.

I think that I would need access to an actual field that has never experienced the contamination byproducts of construction, nor any sort of lawn-style chemical treatments.

But I am living in a debtors' prison, and only a financial miracle will ever set me free of my hampered and limited lifestyle. 

All afternoon I have been bombarded by the barking of dogs ─ the brown hound just beyond our backyard fence, and some unseen beast of recent vintage resident somewhere beyond the far side of the cul-de-sac I live in.

I am going to call it quits for today 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 perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

For two consecutive nights I had been prey to despondence. Let us see how this new day dawned for me.
SUNDAY, July 26, 1976

Up at 6:45 a.m.

I guess today I'll mail Ron's letter as well as an order ($12) for 2 stamps commemorating Calgary and the International Women's Year. (That was penned with the thought in mind I would be collecting some sun; but I went nowhere.)

In recent days I've come to believe I may have a touch of hypoglycemia; I eat some much, but have poor energy. 

I ate so much this evening I considered being sick; fortunately it was mostly fruit, and my body eventually removed some of the filling moisture.

But I can't diet if it necessitates having an empty stomach, or I feel weak.

Bed at 10:00 p.m.

I watched many, many hours of the Games.
I had composed a letter the previous day to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal.

I sent out a great amount of mail, and had gotten into the habit of buying commemorative postage stamps ─ by the pane ─ for use on my envelopes. I felt that the common definitves were just too boring. 

Apparently I remained home that entire day, and never even set foot beyond my room's door. I had no telephone, so I wouldn't have spoken a word to a soul.

The previous day, I had gotten out and at least had a darned long walk. But the only time I may have had any conversation was when I went to pick up a registered letter that was being held for me at a post office.  

It is clear to me now that I was likely more lonely than I recognized at the time.
Post a Comment