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Sunday, August 6, 2017

Study Shows that Walnuts Protect Against Development of Heart Disease

With no threat of Mark showing up last evening ─ he and his girlfriend Bev had left late that morning to make the long drive to Keremeos, and will not be back until tomorrow ─ I could settle in to watch a movie.

The sole interruptions would be the infernal noise my two stepsons always seem to delight in making in the kitchen.

And why are a 22-year-old and a 19-year-old ─ both of whom have jobs, and one of them a car ─ even home on a Friday evening?

The pair are lifeless without their girlfriends to do things with, so the two of them sit around here at home like lumps.

I think Poté ─ the youngest one, who is also the one with the car ─ may have eventually gone somewhere, but I do my best to try and focus on the small screen entertainment, and not the two of them.

The movie I selected and watched was The Bad Batch.

I see that Wikipedia calls it a "romantic black comedy horror-thriller film," but I can recall nothing in it even remotely smacking of comedy.

I had never heard of lead actress Suki Waterhouse, but I grew to like her very much.

It's a bit of a shame that the movie ended as it did ─ the Jason Momoa character deserved to be killed, just like the helpless victims he killed, butchered, and cooked.

But I suppose that heroine Arlen needed someone to keep her safe, so the heavily muscled cannibal known only as Miami Man was made to appear to be someone we might be able to empathize with ─ I wasn't able to, though ─ and Arlen basically seduced him at movie's end and threw in her lot with his, apparently getting him to agree to live in the wild desert instead of back with his detestable fellow cannibals.

I found it exceedingly incongruous that Arlen had no problem murdering the guy's wife or mate ─ the mother of his daughter; but yet this big creep was somehow better than the mother?

Should we ask the poor, pleading young woman who was missing some body parts that the cannibal couple had already removed for previous meals? Miami Man had no issue wringing the helpless young thing's neck like she was some chicken about to be slaughtered, and then he did just that ─ he butchered her entirely just as someone might have done a prized veal specimen or lamb.

It wasn't the ending I wanted for cannibal Miami Man.

I had consumed three cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer over the course of the movie ─ normally I just drink one can in an evening.

Anyway, after I had finished with T.V., I got involved in E-mails to a couple of people, and so my bedtime was not until after midnight.

I slept well enough initially. But the sleep breaks eventually did come, and I used one of them to make a visit to the bathroom, and to drink some water.

I think it was 7:19 a.m. when I made a time check and got myself up for the day ─ not feeling all that chipper, either.

Poté had to work today, so he headed out the front door somewhere around 7:45 a.m. I was busy with the new post I began yesterday at my hosted website Amatsu Okiya.

I got most of the work performed on it that I wanted to accomplish as a minimum today, and then I took a break and sought a good rest back in my bed in the hope that I might resuscitate sufficiently to undergo a session of exercise out in the backyard tool shed.

I am unsure just how long I lay in bed, but I could see that I was feeling in need of further sleep. I had to decide whether to succumb and seek that unconsciousness, or fight off the urge and ready myself for the exercise.

I went out to the shed, but I certainly felt lacking. I had the exercise, although it was a lacklustre performance.

Nevertheless, once it was done, I felt better overall.

I returned to the house to make my day's second hot beverage, finding that Tho had gotten up ─ it was around 11:00 a.m.

Then I finished that post work.  

As I have been reporting, as of Monday we have been experiencing considerable smoke in the air as a result of distant forest fires here in B.C. ─ I live in the Whalley area of Surrey.

The past two days have been the worst ─ the sky has been so grey that one would think we were overcast with cloud, and not actually experiencing clear, sunny skies that smoke has obscured.

It was so bad yesterday that there were times when I could not even see any indication of where the Sun was in the sky.

At 7:36 p.m. that evening, I attempted to get a photo of the Sun as it was setting ─ it had grown quite bloody. Unfortunately, I see now that my camera failed to realize that hue:

Cars were starting to gather in the cul-de-sac ─ my South Asian neighbours to the immediate right were having a big bash for some reason. There was even an emcee clearly using an amplified microphone.

When I got to bed after midnight, my earplugs had no hope of blocking out the laughter and music. However, I was sufficiently tired ─ and the music interesting and enjoyable enough ─ that I don't think my sleep was at all delayed.

I am curious how other neighbours felt?

A minute after I took that photo above, I went out to the sliding glass doorway that provides access to our backyard sundeck and I took this photo of the same neighbours' property:

There had to have been at least three of those tent-like structures in their backyard.

The side of our backyard fence ─ the old-looking lumber that you can see at the base of the photo ─ is well over six feet in height. There is an alleyway right there which is blocked off to motor vehicles, but it gets heavy pedestrian traffic.

Lots of company seemed to be hanging on over there through the course of today. I wanted to sit out in the backyard and do some sunning under the greyish skies ─ which were not as smoky as the previous two days, though ─ but most of my backyard is in full view of the neighbours' upper deck.

As a result, I had to take my chair and sit by our tool shed where I was blocked from their inspection. That was a bit of an annoyance, but I still vicariously enjoyed the chatter and laughing going on over there.

I miss having friends, and people to drink with.

At least I got in just over 40 minutes outside while facing towards the Sun ─ which was definitely more evident than the past two days. It was 12:18 p.m. when I started my session.

Once done, I came into the house and prepared my first meal of the day. Incidentally, it was to be the first meal I have had in 24 hours ─ and I still was not all that hungry, but I ate anyway.

I'm serious about not having eaten since my first ─ and also my last ─ meal of yesterday. I do not snack. The only 'food' I consumed after my meal of yesterday were those three cans of evening beer.

I didn't drop much weight, though. After exercising, I weighed in at 186 or 187 pounds when entirely stripped down ─ I am about five feet 10¾ inches in height.

Last December ─ it was the 13th, and we'd been suffering a string of frozen, snowy days ─ I took the following video clip after noticing our lovely letter carrier cautiously making her rounds in our cul-de-sac:

I never felt the video worth bothering to post back then because I was essentially fed up with the weather. However, in checking it out today, I felt much more nostalgic and receptive to it.

It's quite something how one's perspective in Summer is so much different where wintry weather is concerned.

Compare that one to the shorter Boxing Day clip I took:

Yes, those scenes are so much more pleasant to witness from the vantage of Summer!

That meal I had today included some walnuts ─ this is the third day in which I have had some after buying a 908-gramme package of 'halves & pieces' on Thursday.

All a person needs to eat is a half-cup of walnuts a day, and near miraculous benefits are supposed to accrue, according to research.

Actually, I think I have read of studies where some of the benefits ascribed to walnuts may set in with just small helpings three or four times a week.

Anyway, here are some reports on the latest research concerning walnuts:




I think that as long as I moderate my consumption, I just may be able to afford to keep some of these 'halves & pieces' in regular supply.

It's a bummer having to live on a pension.

And with that said, I think I will close down now 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 think that at this point I was at least halfway through a three-month contract of full-time employment with a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had some previous part-time experience with S.A.N.E. ─ possibly as far back as 1974.

Back in those early years, S.A.N.E. was housed in an old structure that was located on Carnarvon Street. The building no longer exists, but it was situated right around where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now makes its access onto Carnarvon Street.

I was working as a swamper on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck, which was usually driven by Esther St. Jean, a most likable woman in her early 40s.

I see that I was still trying to sleep on the floor for the sake of my back ─  it must have been my fourth night doing so.
FRIDAY, August 6, 1976

Up at nearly 7:30 a.m., and tired; it's too cool come mornings on the floor.

I had a copious WD, but no women were involved.

I discovered a black speck in the iris of my left eye; for the past couple days I've felt as if something gritty was affecting this eye.

My day wasn't too tough, and I did with Captain Maryyat's Peter Simple, a book I brought home along with some Playboy pages (mostly an essay on Stella Sevens).

I shopped at Safeway, buying among other things cherries (15¢ lb) and nectarines (29¢ lb).

I didn't get home till 6:00 p.m., and that with a ride, for I went with Esther & Melody to deliver a fridge to some drunks far out on Frances off Willingdon; Esther let me get 10 lbs of minced beef & chicken ($6) at National Meats (as I was returning to the truck, they'd apparently been discussing me, judging by how abashed Esther was at the threat Melody was going to blurt all; obviously it was a sexual nature).

Though I didn't feel like getting into them, my 4 sets of chins went as follows: 19 - 8 - 7 - 7.

Checking, I see that those people I hauled the fridge for resulted in the loss of my pornography and my copy of Fantastic.

I'm going to leave for Mark's about 8:00 p.m.

Only the pooch was home. I left perhaps 11:15 p.m., jogging from the hilltop.

Once home I decided to bake myself some bread, so turned on The Train.

I went pretty heavy on the bread, butter, & peanut butter.

Notes: Took was absent today; the dark speck vacated my eye.

Bed 2:40 a.m.
So that's what the old naval story was called ─ Peter Simple! I have often wondered about it over the years, for I had quite enjoyed it back then, but never could recall the title or author. I can't lay claim to remembering anything about the tale, but it did add a word to my vocabulary ─ spalpeen. (Not that I have ever had occasion to use the word in conversation ─ it simply stuck with me.)

I'm not sure what I meant about the book in my journal, though ─ the grammar doesn't make sense to me now.

I would love to have brought home and kept those Stella Stevens pictorials ─ Lord, she was a beautiful young woman!

I remember nothing of that fridge delivery, but I vaguely recall Esther embarrassing herself over some illicit conversation she had about me with her second-youngest daughter Melody, who was 17 or 18 years old at the time.

I knew Esther had a bit of an eye for me, but she was always a charming lady.

That's a decent collection of doorway chin-up bar numbers ─ especially since the doorway was so narrow and low.

I don't know if the trip to visit my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther was planned or spontaneous. The pair were renting a home together located on Bentley Road in Whalley.

I would have hiked there.

Only their German shepherd Daboda was home to greet me ─ he was kept chained just outside the front steps. I miss that guy ─ we got into some extremely long hikes together in subsequent years.

I expect that I let myself into the house and waited awhile; and then left for home when no one showed up at a fairly reasonable hour.

If I started jogging home from the top of the King George Highway hill, then it was only a block or two from Bentley Road where I began.

I must have grown quite hungry over the evening, and that's why I decided to sit up fussing with bread-baking. However, obviously I wasn't making it from scratch ─ perhaps previously I had bought some frozen loaves of uncooked bread dough?

I just don't know now.

"Took" was sometimes a co-swamper at S.A.N.E. He was Indigenous Canadian, and an extremely nice middle-aged guy. But he loved to drink beer ─ consequently, he wasn't always reliable about coming in to work.
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