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Saturday, January 27, 2018

A bitch About My Brother │ Some Photos From Bali of My Wife Jack and Her Family Who Are Reuniting There

Sometimes my younger brother Mark makes me seethe with fury. Such was the situation last evening.

He got home from the bar right around 8:00 p.m. I hadn't started to watch anything on T.V. yet, but I was just about to.

With him now home, I held off, for I correctly figured that he was likely to be soon involved in fixing himself a supper.

I tuned in T.V. news whilst I bode time, awaiting his availability to watch the premiere episode of a series I have been wanting to watch for several months: The Defenders.

The opportunity was presented when he sat down to eat at the dining table, for it has a clear view of the T.V.

However, I had trouble locating a source link that did not buffer badly. And meantime, he had wolfed down his supper, grousing in such fashion about what I was struggling with to correct that I could not but take personal offence.

He next plopped himself into his favourite chair in the living room, practically demanding that I tune in some other show he suggested, but I had too strong a wish to view the episode that I was having such trouble locating a viable source for.

So I practically snarled at him, "Why don't you just go to sleep?!"

On any given evening, he tends to pass out for a period of time.

He countered with, "Maybe I just will!"

No sooner had he said that than I found a good source for the episode, and it began playing faultlessly. It was not a minute after my brother had made his retort, yet there he was, already unconscious.

I wager that he already had his eyes shut and was sinking away when he made the remark.

And now his beer-swollen brain had given up the fight to retain consciousness.

I watched the entire episode without his awareness for company. Why did I ever bother sacrificing some of my earlier evening to present him with an opportunity to watch the premier episode with me?

It had been my intention to just switch over to T.V. news once the episode was done, and go to bed, leaving him where he was. But whatever Fates there be that mock my best intentions, interfered and roused him just before I could do that. 

And so I ended up watching the next programme I had lined up ─ an episode of Twin Peaks.

When it was done, the evening was sufficiently advanced that I just decided to cap it with an episode of The Mick.

Mark had an early chiropractor appointment scheduled for this morning ─ his fourth in as many weeks ─ so he was not much later in going to bed after the comedy finished.

That freed me up to finally get to bed.

This past week, Mark has been imposing upon me just before he goes to bed to try and 'crack' or adjust his upper spine by applying deep pressure to it with the heel of a hand while he is upon his knees, his upper body spread face-down over a plushly-cushioned footstool. 

He doesn't exercise outside of his job driving a big warehouse delivery truck that he owns / operates. Yet he's always complaining about his various limitations of neck movement and related impaired limberness.

Well, I have my own issues in that regard ─ I am 68 years old, after all; but I endeavour to deal with them myself. So I find myself resenting him for suddenly deciding to use me for his own selfish physical easements just before he goes to his bedroom for the night.

Maybe he would be feeling a little better if he wasn't passed out for a bloody hour or so in an evening, snoring and choking away a yard or so from me where he seats himself.

When he is conscious, he spends much time with his eyes closed, lolling his head in rotations for long periods in a supposed effort to seek a loosening of whatever stiffness he is experiencing. It is a practice that I find most annoying, for he resembles some human spastic vegetable with no bodily control.

He hasn't a clue what is happening on any show we are watching when he so engages himself, yet he feels no compunctions about being refreshed with explanations if he feels the need to be informed about what he has missed, and this of course is further distraction for me.

Often, I just wish that he would not bother sitting beside me in the living room after he is home from the bar ─ just go straight to bed and be an unconscious blob there. I don't want to have to witness every aspect of it.

Okay, rant done.

I love my sober brother, but the sot he can become is no one I want in my life.

I don't now recall exactly when it was that I made it to bed last night, but perhaps it was around 11:45 p.m.

After getting asleep in due course, the point came in my night where sleep had become a commodity most hard-won, so I checked the time: 6:09 a.m.

I rose. The morning was late enough ─ remaining in bed was just too torturous.

I was soon at work trying to finalize the edit of an old post I have been working on for over a week now at My Retirement Dream, one of my six hosted websites.

I was to fail at that finalization, but if I am left alone this evening ─ i.e., if Mark spends the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev as he generally does on Saturday nights ─ then I will persevere later today and get the edit finished.

The afternoon had unexpected lengthy sunny breaks ─ the weather had begun raining after dark yesterday, and seemed to proceed throughout the night and long into this morning.

Mark kept his chiropractor appointment this morning, and was back while I was still involved with the post edit.

I realized that I needed a nap, so rather than punish myself with further hours trying to be done with the post, I yielded and sought the peace of some sleep.

I was possibly down for a little over 1½ hours, rising again into the noon-hour. Mark was gone.

He evidently never got any further sleep himself. His brain will be wickedly deficient as the evening wears on and the beer count rises.

As I said, I do so hope that he remains away from me this evening ─ I need no company of such as he will most likely become.

And I truly do intend to work on that old post edit. It won't happen if Mark shows up.

I was quite surprised and pleased to check my AdSense account just prior to commencing today's blog post. Somehow, my account managed to accumulate 50¢ thus far today.

To put that into perspective, during the preceding 28 days, in total my account only accumulated 58¢ ─ and over 40¢ of that also arrived on one exceptional day.

If Mark does remain away, I will be home entirely alone. My two stepsons are over in Bali, Indonesia. They left Vancouver International Airport in the early a.m. Thursday morning. 

The eldest lad ─ Tho ─ does not dare to set foot in Thailand because he has been in Canada since a final visit to his homeland back in 2009, and Thailand has a constitutional requirement that all Thai males must present themselves for military consideration at the age of 21.

So in order for the family to reunite, it can only be done in a country neighbouring Thailand.

My wife Jack had returned to their home village earlier this month to visit her mother, and make preparation for the mother and some other family members to fly over to Bali to create that family reunion.

Jack's group were to arrive in Indonesia around 11 hours after the brothers had done so.

Jack is footling the bill for her family members with money she received a few months ago for physical damages she suffered in a traffic accident three or so years ago.

Originally she received $30,00 after her lawyers took whatever they felt they deserved of whatever the original award was; but I think now all Jack has left is maybe $13,000 of that money ─ and her trip is not done yet.

I had thought that Jack was only taking her mother and two other family members to Bali, but evidently there are five others who went with her.

I have heard nothing from her nor the two lads since the boys left, but at least today I was able to find some photos that Jack had posted to her Facebook account.

Here are those photos.

These first two are apparently selfies being taken by Jack; that is her sister Lumpoon directly behind Jack; Jack's mother is wearing the glasses; and Jack's youngest son ─ 20-year-old Poté ─ is wearing the striped top.

Poté is here in the next photo escorting his grandmother while his older brother Tho takes up the rear:

Now we have Jack again, her mother still being helped by Poté, and Tho at the right:

The next two photos have the group seated at a couple of tables pulled together.

In the first photo, from the left are Jack; Poté flashing the Victory sign; Jack's mother; and the wife of Jack's nephew Mark, who is also present but not visible in the photo:

The second photo includes the above persons, plus Tho at the left; and across the table are Mark with his wife; then Mark's parents, one of whom is Jack's sister Lumpoon:

Incidentally, Lumpoon's son Mark is a year or two older than Tho.

Mark is taking the final photo, a selfie that includes ─ from the left ─ his wife; his mother Lumpoon; my wife Jack; Jack's mother; Tho; and Mark's father:

Nary a sign of Poté in that group shot. 

At least I know that all is going well ─ everyone appears to be having a great time, and I'm glad of that for Jack's sake. She has invested so much into this holiday.

I trust that her two sons are helping out to some worthwhile extent in financial terms ─ both have jobs, after all.

Well, I think I will just close down this post now, so here is an 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 two houses up from Third Avenue.
THURSDAY, January 27, 1977

I forced myself out of bed into the cold just past 8:00 a.m.

I had the laundromat to myself, and bought 1 comic.

After a Bullworker session [after returning to my room once I had finished with the laundromat], I went to Woodward's and spent $6.09 on groceries; I saw some Venus fly-traps there for sale (nearly $3), but couldn't afford to get one.

And now the bad news: I received a notice from the Unemployment Insurance [which was then under the jurisdiction of Manpower and Immigration Canada] directing me to come in at 10:20 a.m. Feb. 2 for an interview to determine if I still deserve benefit; I am to bring in all my work search records since filing ─ which I cannot do.

I typed Cathy [Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my brother Mark's beautiful ex-girlfriend of roughly three years] a letter to be mailed on my way to Mark's.

Looks like it's going to be foggy and cold here all day.

I'm leaving here about 1:40 p.m.


I went to International Meats and bought a beef heart for $2.06 (59¢ lb.) to take with me Saturday if I visit dad.

Mark was home; he has his truck back.

He suggested I falsify a list of work attempts for Unemployment Insurance; to that end, I am going with him tomorrow morning when he goes for his cheque, and list various industrial names on Annacis Island

Around 6:40 p.m. Mark left for the Vargas [Al and Marie Varga were friends who had an apartment in New Westminster ─ Mark was somewhat into Marie's sister Dianne]; he didn't go to work because he had a fireman's exam tonight to write; I guess after he finished he visited Dianne, for she phoned and I told her where she could reach him.

Not long after 8:30 p.m., feeling underslept, I laid [sic] down for a fast nap ─ and didn't awaken till nearly 11:00 p.m., missing Roots which I had watched faithfully since Sunday.

Bed at 12:30 a.m.
Mark was then renting a duplex unit that I believe was located a reasonably short distance down Semiahnoo Road from where it attaches to Old Yale Road in Surrey. I would have walked from my room to get to his suite.

But let's return to that morning. The laundromat's doors automatically opened at 8:00 a.m., so I usually tried to get there as soon as possible once it opened in order to avoid other users.

It was located on Sixth Avenue, very near to the public library.

After I had returned home and exercised, I then went to Woodward's which was very near to the laundromat ─ Woodward's used to occupy the entire area now known as Royal City Centre Mall

I no longer remember just where International Meats was located, but it was somewhere along Scott Road in Surrey, and not too very far from the base of the rather steep hill Scott Road became upon rising out of the flats.

That particular week, Mark was working an afternoon / evening shift at the plywood or similar mill that employed him.

I remained at his suite when he went to New Westminster to visit the Vargas and to write his fire hall test.

According to Wikipedia, Roots had aired its first episode that Sunday just past ─ i.e., January 23rd ─ and then an episode each successive night. It would have bummed me considerably to have missed the fifth episode as I did.

Although I do not mention it, I would have walked back to my room in New Westminster later that evening.

By the way ─ and speaking of exercise ─ I did get out to the backyard tool shed this afternoon to have some exercise there.
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