.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


Thursday, December 21, 2017

Certain Blood Pressure Medication Found to Multiply Skin Cancer Risk

Downcast as I was last evening, it appeared like I at least might be able to get to bed relatively early ─ I certainly cannot afford to drink like I wanted / needed to.

I had held off tuning in one of the shows I generally watch in the company ─ conscious or not ─ of my younger brother Mark. But when he was not home by 9:00 p.m., I saw no reason to deny myself just because he can't turn away from his drink.

And so it was that I watched the season finale of The Son.

Until this episode, I had been on the fence about whether there was anything redeeming about lead character and patriarch Eli McCullough (Pierce Brosnan).

Now I see that he deserves to die.

I resisted until about 9:50 p.m. from opening the single can of strong (8% alcohol) beer that I was allowing myself that evening. I had already had some spiced rum late in the afternoon as I watched the Christmas movie Angel of Christmas.

I enjoyed that movie.

I almost immediately recognized the actress portraying the lead character, even if I had no recognition for her name (Jennifer Finnigan). She is presently acting in one of the series I follow: Salvation.

Anyway, had it not been for that late can of beer, I would likely have shut things down for the night, even though Mark had still not shown up.

But around 10:10 p.m., home he arrived, effectively halting my hope for an early night.

And he was in no rush to be getting to bed ─ he was to drink at least two cans of beer, and sat up for more than an hour. It may have been more like 11:30 p.m. before he went on upstairs to his bedroom for the night.

Since his clock-radio is set for anywhere from 4:10 a.m. to 4:20 a.m., I cannot see how he would not have suffered for his nonsense this morning when he rose to ready for his day of work.

Incidentally, for the third time this week, he felt he needed to inform me that he and his girlfriend Bev will be preparing the Christmas dinner here on Sunday.

Alcohol renders Mark's brain into a state of senility or dementia, and I grow so weary of hearing him say the same darned things over and over again because it all seems so new to his flawed memory.

It is very difficult not to allow the irritation to shine thruogh when I am forced to respond ─ such as last evening when he prefaced the news about the Sunday Christmas dinner with the question, "Did I tell you that we'll be having the Christmas dinner on Sunday?"

As I said, he had not only told me twice before already this week, but I also heard him tell my wife Jack when she was here earlier this week, and he also told her youngest son Poté.

There is definite alcohol-induced brain damage being displayed.

I wasted no time shutting things down once he had gone upstairs for the night, and I was probably in bed not five minutes thereafter.

I thought that I would sleep quickly and well, but my emotions were still quite raw from something I had seen on my wife Jack's iPhone 6 that afternoon when it was lying unattended.

I had heard a text message arrive, and since the phone was in the living room and she was busy in the kitchen, I checked it in case it was from one of her two sons.

It was not. 

I had to apply some effort last night in bed to minimize the tearing as I reflected upon just how sorry has become my life.

I took three quick photos with my iPhone 5 of what I saw on the screen of Jack's phone, but I am not prepared to publish anything yet.

Nor say.

Even after I got to sleep, I found it to be rather broken ─ not what I expected for feeling so tired last evening.

I now forget when it was that I checked the time this morning and rose for the day, but it was probably ahead of 7:00 a.m.

I thought that my eldest stepson Tho had gone to work, and that I was hearing his younger brother Poté readying for work some time after I was here at my computer laying the foundation for a new post at Lawless Spirit, one of my six hosted websites.

I knew no different when the lad left around 7:26 a.m., I believe it was.

As I worked on that post, I sometimes talked aloud to myself ─ even railing at God for His constant inertia where my marriage is involved.

So imagine my chagrin when I became aware around 8:20 a.m. that someone else was here at home besides me.

I immediately assumed it to be Tho, shucking work for the day. I maligned him in my mind for being so damned lazy that he couldn't be bothered getting himself to the SkyTrain to commute to work in Burnaby after having his mother here the previous three mornings to roust out of bed for a ride to the SkyTrain (roughly a mile distant).

This very much fouled my ill mood ─ the notion that I would be spending the day home with him in the house when I so badly wanted to be here by myself to suffer in my misery. His presence would only aggravate matters.

Anon, however, I heard the culprit zipping up a tote bag and making other preparations to leave; and when he had done so at something like 8:56 a.m., I went to my brother Mark's bedroom to peer out the window to see if I could witness Tho wending his way along the short alleyway that he would take to get out of our cul-de-sac to catch a bus. 

But I saw him not.

So I hastened to my own bedroom on the opposite side of the house to look out toward the cul-de-sac in the hope that I might perhaps see him getting a ride with someone.

However, what I saw was a dark car backing out of our driveway ─ it was probably Poté, who was just then leaving for work.

And it had been Tho who had left considerably earlier. Yes, Tho still had left for work somewhat late, but at least he had left and did not merit my harsh thoughts.

Anyway, I was at last truly home alone.

I wanted to get out this morning to do some local grocery shopping at Deepu's No Frills market about four blocks away in the Cedar Hills shopping plaza (96th Avenue & 128th Street).

I nearly did not go despite being dressed, for I was disinclined to be public; and the groceries I most required were only some vegetables.

I will soon be out of my fermented vegetables, so I wanted to get some more to set up for fermentation ─ it takes at least four days before they are ready to begin eating.

However, I did find it within me to rally and go ─ it was something like 10:05 a.m. when I set off on that bit of a walk.

I got the chore done without aught worth reporting.

It is fairly mild out, and mostly cloudy; the snow that fell two days ago and froze will probably soften up quite a lot today.

Shortly after 1:00 p.m. I went out to the backyard tool shed and got my four sets of pull-ups finished ─ I try to do at least that as exercise.

In yesterday's post, I had said that today I would post some photos from a wedding that occurred on December 20, 1976 ─ I was best man.

But today I received notification from Google that it had created a collage from photos I loaded into a Google album back in 2008. I am unsure, but I don't think that I have ever experienced Google making a collage out of a set of photos from as far back as nine years.

Google only used two photos, as you can see here:

But when I sought the original photos, both of their metadata indicate that the photos were taken on December 28 ─ not December 21.

So I don't understand how Google can be claiming that the collage is celebrating today's date.

Here are the original two photos ─ both are taken from a vantage just outside the front of our house:

Just for kicks, I took some photos this afternoon facing toward those same two features.

These two were taken at 3:24 p.m. and 3:25 p.m.:

And this was also taken at 3:25 p.m.:

My two stepsons had only been here in Canada for roughly 2½ months when the two 2008 photos were taken. They had no conversational English upon coming here from Thailand.

Jack had gone back to her home village in Thailand and brought the boys back here with her ─ she had been here with me in Canada since May 2006.

We tried to get visas for the boys in 2007, but Canada Immigration denied them visas because Jack had gone back home so that she could be present to bring them here during that year.

One of the government's stupid, inflexible regulations says that a sponsor (in this case Jack) must be in Canada during the approval process of an applicant.

I have sunk so damned much money into Canada Immigration over the years. It took three tries for Jack to be approved for a visa ─ and I was forced to marry her over in Thailand in order to ensure that the third try would be successful.

I had only wanted to bring her here so that we could figure out how compatible we were. I had never been married before. And of course, I wanted her to meet my mother.

So we tried in 2003, and then in 2004 ─ both times with no success.

I married her near the end of May 2005, and we tried again ─ this time successfully. She arrived in Canada in May 2006 ─ nearly a year after our marriage. But my dear mother had died mid-March 2006, and so never got to meet my first-ever wife.

...I don't want to talk about this.

Actually, I don't feel like blogging.

At all.

Nevertheless, I do want to bring some attention to a recently published study that identified another hazard of statin use ─ and most people are taking statins needlessly anyway.

The title of the report will tell you all you need to know:


And this was the reference beneath the article, but the reference was was not linked to as it is here:


There was at least one other health-related topic I had thought to delve into, but my heart for it is just not here.

And therefore, I am going to close now with this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and no more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

As I mentioned earlier, my maternal cousin Bruce Halverson had married Donna Montroy on Saturday, December 20 (1976). I had spent Saturday night at their home off in Surrey because of the severe partying so many of us became involved in.

I had been unable to record anything in my journal that weekend because I was never at my room. And when I did update things on Monday, the journal entry was not very long.

This latest entry explains why.

First, though, note that Melody St. Jean had recently become my ex-girlfriend after she became involved with young Chris, a co-worker of my brother Mark. 

Melody and her furniture had been in the apartment of my old friend William Alan Gill for probably two months by this time ─ the three of us had originally planned on getting accommodation where all three of us could live together.

My room was too small even to share with Melody, let alone any of her furniture.

Bill was renting a bachelor suite perhaps four or so blocks from my room.
TUESDAY, December 21, 1976

My writing was interrupted yesterday by the arrival of Bill; Chris had sent him over to see if Melody had spent the night with me, for she had been missing since at least 1:20 a.m. during the night.

Chris missed work today, conducting his search.

Anyway, after stopping off at his place, Bill took me out to Mark's.

Now getting back to the week-end.

According to Randy [Bruce's older brother] and one or two others, Chris was very upset cause Melody was doing so much dancing; he stared at her at all times.

And I must admit, I looked quite attractive all dressed up.   

Bruce's mystery (gall bladder?) ailment put him to bed relatively early, but this didn't affect the celebrants.

Bill was ornery with everyone at one time, and Mark & I got into a shammed altercation, he bruising the palm of his thumb when we fell to the floor.

The party lasted deep into the a.m., when Donna blew up at Spud [boyfriend to Donna's mother Lil].

Garry Iverson, myself, Shirley [younger sister to Donna], and young Mark [Donna's kid brother] took 3 cases of beer and set off for Lil's, though I wished I'd remained at the Halverson's; I had 2 more plates of supper before leaving. 

It wasn't much longer before I retired. I was in one bed, Shirley later took another, and Bill took the floor between us, jealous we might fool around. He is convinced he and Shirley are beginning a love affair.

Well, I was sick all Sunday, my glutting having bloated me up through putrefaction.

We returned to Bruce's, and I was obliged to force down about 4 beer over the course of the afternoon.

I wanted to return to Mark's and peacefully recuperate, but he took off with Al Stewart, Wendy [Bruce's younger teen sister], and Cathy [beautiful friend of Wendy's].

(The Vargas [Al and Marie] never attended the wedding because they feel offended by something someone said about them.)

Finllay, in order to avoid being annoyed and having further bloating beer pushed on me, I went and layed [sic] down several hours.

I rejoined the group in time to be carried off again to Lil's with some of the active group.

I remained emprisoned there, feeling tired and ill, till Spud finally had Bill drive me home.

We passed his place and saw the lights on, though Chris' truck wasn't away.

I got home about 2:00 a.m. [Monday].

It was the next morn he called on behalf of Chris. He had stayed the night at Lil's, and Chris slept at home; that is how Melody managed to disappear ─ with a 26er of rum!

Wish she had gotten hold of me!

Chris was obviously pissed off, insisting her explanation had better be good. He was supposed to phone her from work at noon, so he was half expecting her home by then, remaining to wait while Bill took me to Mark's.

Chris had called everyone he could think of, including the "drunk tank"; he even had Bill trip on over to Garry Foreman's [Melody's boyfriend prior to me].

I am convinced I could have her again, if I had the money. I need a lottery man!


After exercising at Mark's, I walked over to mom's. She was bowling, and didn't get home for several hours.

For mail, among other things, I had a 5-pouch of Western Express [lottery] tickets (Jan. 12) on credit from St. Joseph's School, a Provincial [lottery] ticket and another pouch of 5 Western Express (Dec. 29) tickets from Football B.C., and another Provincial ticket from Winnipeg.  

Too, Jean [M. Martin, a U.S. pen-pal] sent me a gift: a box of fairly arty writing paper and envelopes.

I got a ride most of the way back to Mark's with Kay & mom on their way to work; he was home.

The only other items I have to mention are dad's sober phone call (he is more or less expecting Mark & I to visit on Boxing Day), and the two sets of ringing that occurred after midnight sometime while Mark & I were trying to sleep.

Could it have been Melody trying to reach me? Chris' folks left for their 3 weeks in California yesterday or Sunday morning; maybe she really is shy of shacking up with him.

I came home this morning with Mark on his way to work.

I typed up a short letter to Jean I'll mail today, as well as a $29 tithe.

Strangely, my $144 unemployment cheque came today; I'll cash it.

I considered stopping at Bill's to leave 4 Prevention magazines with Melody for Esther [Melody's mother] to keep, but I've decided to give my beard further time to grown before dropping in on her.

I must drop off the fireman applications for Mark & I at city hall today.

I'm leaving at 2:00 p.m.
And that was where the journal entry ended for that day.

I won't try and detail everything in that long narrative, but I will try to narrow down where some of those homes actually were.

My mother and her husband Alex were living in a small home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The house is gone now, but it was my main mailing address: 12106 - 90th Avenue.

Mark was renting a duplex unit less than three miles from there in the direction of Whalley. As I recall, the duplex was only a short distance down Semiahmoo Road from where it joins onto Old Yale Road.

Lil and Spud were renting a large house on Old Yale Road just beneath the railway tracks very near to 125-B Street that you can see on this map

As for my cousin Bruce, as I recall, he and his older brother Randy were sharing a house that may have been just a short walk from the back of the Wheelhouse Neighbourhood Pub on 96th Avenue.

The Pub is closed now, I believe. And much has changed in the neighbourhood in rear of it. Back in 1976, I recall a large pasture with cows and an electric fence, but there are nothing but masses of homes there now.

Mark was probably living about a mile at most from Bruce. 

And that's it for this post.

Post a Comment