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Friday, March 9, 2018

Low-Average Sodium Levels May Lead to Cognition Trouble in Seniors │ Ongoing Environmental Noise Can Lead to Heart Disease

I withheld checking the time overnight until 4:50 a.m., for by then it no longer seemed an easy matter for me to make a return to sleep as I had been managing to do.

Today should be my younger brother Mark's final working day before he retires, so I remained in bed another 10 minutes to ensure that he would have left for work ─ he generally does so by 5:00 a.m. on his workdays.

He was indeed gone when I rose, so I turned on my computer and then logged into it ─ the Internet had been unavailable since possibly 1:45 a.m. yesterday.

Did it somehow right itself after well over 24 hours?

Nope. It was still disconnected.

And so for a second consecutive day, I arose unable to work on the post I had been constructing at one of my six hosted websites.

The day was quite sunny, but chilly.

As I wasted time trying to occupy myself essentially doing practically nothing of interest, I became too uncomfortable to bear the penetrating damp chill, and so I returned to bed ─ fully clothed. 

I remained there quite some time, and  probably napped a little.

My wife Jack had said yesterday that she would be home from Vancouver around noon today to prepare some food for her youngest son Poté to pack along for the group that he would be traveling to Whistler with ─ fare to enjoy during their stay there.

But he was still here and in bed when I made that return to my own bed to escape the unpleasantly low temperatures and the boredom.

When I could bear wasting no more time just inertly laying there in "the sack," I rose again, and was soon wondering how I was going to cope with feeling so miserably chilly.

The solution I came up with was to perform 111 of my version of Hindu squats in my younger brother Mark's bedroom (mine is a little too cramped).

That certainly proved effective. And I topped it off with my third heaping teaspoonful of instant coffee in a mug of freshly boiled water.   

Poté was soon enough to rise, and we anon got to talking about the Internet.

He was speculating on the possibility that Shaw may have shut us down for data-overuse, but it didn't seem reasonable that they would do so without a warning.

Besides, why not instead just charge us extra on our next bill if this was the problem? That would be the more likely scenario.

He has set up an account with them whereby he can check our data usage, but one thing that has long befuddled the lad is that he could never find our specific plan in the bundle or package descriptions he sees Shaw advertising.

We're paying $60 a month for 65 gigabytes of data usage.

I don't wish to get revealing about what goes on in our household as far as data usage is concerned, so I am not even going to identify the plan itself. I will just say that I referred to our bill and got the actual plan name, and then looked it up.

I saw a few particulars, but when I clicked on a link for further information that probably included the price, access was blocked with a popup declaring that the plan was not available in our area.

I don't now know how long we have had the plan, but I feel safe in projecting that it may well be exceeding 15 years.

Perhaps we have been grandfathered

Whatever the case, he said he would call Shaw about our Internet stoppage, and feel them out about upgrading to a plan allowing a few multiples of what our plan supposedly allows ─ maybe we won't find ourselves having the slowdowns we often meet with for our various purposes.

He did make the call quite late into the noon-hour, but by then his mother was home, and consequently he never got around to feeling the agent out about upgrading our plan. 

However, at least we got our connection back. The agent said that sometimes the feed to an account can get interrupted, breaking right off. So the service was jolted back to life, and Poté unpowered the modem and then juiced it back up, and all was well again.

I learned about Poté's Whistler venture. Apparently most of the group (of possibly nine people) are co-workers, and the family of one of them owns a cabin up there. Consequently, there will not be any accommodation rentals to be concerned about.

Friends with means!

Anyway, after Poté and some of his crew left toward mid-afternoon, Jack quickly readied herself and by about 3:20 p.m. was on her way back to Vancouver. 

She said that she would be back on Monday.

By the way, before she arrived home today, and while Poté was having a shower, I had my exercise break out in the backyard tool shed. All I got done yesterday were the four sets of pull-ups. 

My wife Jack recently returned from an extended vacation in Thailand to visit her family back there. And early into that trip, she took five family members ─ including her mother ─ to Bali, Indonesia.

The purpose was for the family to reunite with Jack's two sons, who both had booked off two weeks from work and flown to Bali for this occasion. 

Tho ─ who is 23 years old, and who has not been back to Thailand since 2009 when he was maybe 15 years old ─ does not dare to reenter Thailand. 

There is a constitutional requirement that all male Thai citizens are to report for military consideration once they become 21 years of age.

Obviously Tho never did that.

And since he doesn't want to face enlistment ─ or maybe some manner of punishment ─ all concerned feel that he needs to avoid any such potential risk.

So the reunion could only be held in a country neighbouring Thailand.

Laos or Vietnam or even Cambodia would have been nearer to their home village of Nong Soong, which is perhaps a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani. However, there are no flights from our Vancouver International Airport to those countries which do not have a stopover in Bangkok ─ something Tho dares not do.

And so it was that Indonesia was chosen.

I bring this up because Google has notified me that it created a short slideshow-style movie of some of the photos from that trip ─ photos that I have thus far uploaded into a Google Plus album.

Here is the feature ─ it isn't quite 20 seconds in duration:

Okay, a couple of health-related topics now!

The first involves a study that has found that low-normal sodium (i.e., salt) levels in seniors may lead to cognitive problems. 

The study only featured men, but why would the results be much different for women?

These first two reports about the study ─ even though the reports are quite short ─ may be a little tough to assimilate:



Perhaps this Jack Harrison opinion-piece is of benefit:


More and more, it seems that the decades-old governmental dietary guidelines need to be trashed.

The second topic concerns a study on noise ─ the din out there has consequences more far-reaching than most of us realize:



Of course it is not just traffic noise ─ for prime example, that damned brown hound just beyond our backyard fence has had me in anguished tears of rage and frustration because there has been nothing I can do to escape its incessant barrage on some days. 

Something like that can easily bring on a heart attack or stroke when the aggravation become essentially unbearable.

I have murdered that beast in untold ways in my imagination over the past five or so years that it has been there at that property. 

It affects me so strongly that I must stop discussing it ere I reveal the true extent of the hatred within my heart for the suffering I have been made to endure.

In fact, I am going to close out today's post 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 the rough suite in a private home located on Ninth Street [Google map], and two houses up from Third Avenue.

The previous day's journal entry had said that I was leaving my room at approximately 5:00 p.m. to hike out to the duplex unit that my brother Mark was renting in Surrey, for he had a good-sized colour television ─ and cable; and there were a couple of shows scheduled that I wanted to watch. 

I only had a fairly small black & white T.V. with its own built-in antenna or aerial ─ nothing rooftop that would have pulled in more channels. 

I think Mark was working an afternoon / evening shift at the plywood mill that employed him, so he probably was not home. But that didn't matter, if so ─ I had access to his suite.

I no longer recall the exact location of the duplex, but it was not too terribly far down Semiahmoo Road [Google map] from where it detaches from Old Yale Road.

Since I wrote nothing further that previous day, I probably spent the night there ─ I was doing that quite regularly over the recent few months. 
WEDNESDAY, March 9, 1977

I got home tonight by 11:40 p.m., but only cause Bill [my old friend William Alan Gill] met me on Old Yale hill again, and took me into town after turning round.

Very decent of him.

The night is clear, but terribly gale-ridden.

Yesterday a fellow with a Commonwealth accent summoned me in a downpour on Scott Rd; I obliged him his offer, and went as far as Scott-town [96th Avenue & Scott Road], then hiked to Mark's.

Bill came by for a short while that night after Mark was home.


My walk to mom's this morning ─ the whole day, nearly ─ was punctuated with showers along with the winds.

I visited with her till 1:45 p.m., though I did nap there.

Too, I bought myself 2 lbs. of buckwheat flour ($1.16) at Spice-O-Life.

The Western Express Lottery was on at 5:30 p.m., and I recorded the numbers while Melody [my ex-girlfriend Melody St. Jean] talked via the phone (from 4:45 p.m. - 5:45 p.m. or so).

I lost; my closest chance was a 172 instead of 132 for $25.

Earlier in the day, I took a message for Mark; in 1 week at 8:30 p.m. he is to be at the New West firehall for some sort of appointment.

I guess he was very pleased to come home and discover this, judging by his garrulity.

I suppose it would have been best if I'd footed it home tonight, but I'll not gripe.

Bed c. midnight.
I must have wrote that entry rather speedily if I did it in the 20 minutes between arriving back at my room and getting to bed.

My mother Irene Dorosh lived in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey, and just less than three miles from Mark's suite.

Her home was my main mailing address; and although the little house no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue [Google map]. 

I must have been walking back and forth to Mark's suite from my room by accessing the railway tracks stretching between Old Yale Road and Scott Road ─ if interested, the railway tracks can be seen on this Google map just below 125-B Street & Old Yale Road.  

I generally preferred not to get rides, for I was rather passionate about the exercise benefits of all the walking I did.

However, if a stranger cared enough to bother stopping and actually offer me a ride, I just about always felt that the polite thing to do was to graciously accept the offer.

Gosh, it's nice having the Internet back!
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