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Saturday, April 7, 2018

A Reflective Saturday

The movie I selected last evening to help keep my younger brother Mark conscious was The Way Back.

It also served to keep us involved until rather late ─ it was at least 11:45 p.m. by the time the spectacle was done, and 12:05 a.m. once I was in my bed for the night.

I only now ─ in that Wikipedia article I linked to ─ see who an actress was who had a strong presence in the group of survivors trying to reach freedom and safety from both the Communists and the Germans during WWⅡ ─ it was Saoirse Ronan.

I just assumed that the character was a young woman. But the movie is dated as being a 2010 release, and back then Saoirse was...well, she was born on April 12, 1994. So she was probably 16 during the filming.

Can you pronounce her first name, Saoirse?

It's SUR-shuh or SIR-shuh, to present it phonetically. The first of the two vowels is given some stress.

Mark and I both read the book that the movie was based upon ─ I think I took it out of the New Westminster Public Library just over 41 years ago. It was titled The Long Walk, and the account is viewed rather spuriously, as the Wikipedia article on authour and purported Long Walk participant Sławomir Rawicz indicates quite clearly.

There seems just enough controversy over the legitimacy of the possible event to have some truth to it.

Anyway, I guess I slept quite well overnight, and never checked the time until maybe 6:33 a.m. And that was when I decided to start my morning.

I involved myself in setting up at new post at Thai-Iceland, one of my six hosted websites. And what a long chore that proved to be!

Mark rose just barely after 8:00 a.m.

It was raining lightly over the early morning.

By the time I was finishing getting that post foundation laid by maybe 10:45 a.m., Mark had returned to his bedroom and shut himself up into it ─ the usual indication that he is seeking a nap.

I hastened to have myself a light breakfast; and then I, too, sought a nap, and was in bed by 11:11 a.m.

I napped nicely, and checked the time about an hour later. And when I emerged from my bedroom, it was essentially in time to see Mark just about to head toward and out the front door, and drive off.

For him to head away so early into the noon-hour is somewhat unusual. Unless he had an appointment, then I suppose I should feel relieved that he usually spends Saturday nights at the residence of his girlfriend Bev ─ if he gets plastered because of an early start at drinking, the odds are that I will not have to bear any of him in that state this evening.

He would only come back home for the night if he and Bev both became too drunken to be able to put up with one another.

But I don't want to continue speaking about that.

I want to post some further photos that were taken earlier this year after my wife Jack had flown back to Thailand for an extended visit with her mother.

Early into her holiday, she and her two sons arranged for a family reunion of sorts in Bali. Jack brought five family members from Thailand over to Bali to reunite with her two sons, who had each booked two weeks off their jobs in order to fly to Bali and make the reunion possible.

I am only going to post three photos from the Bali stay ─ all three were taken on January 27 (2018) by my wife's nephew Mark.

In the first two photos, from the left are my eldest stepson Tho; then Kæ̂m or Gâaem (wife of the photographer, my wife Jack's nephew Mark); and finally, my youngest stepson Poté:

And a close-up view of the beach itself:

I have no doubt that everyone felt the Bali stay to be far too brief.

After my stepsons returned here to Canada, and Jack and the other five family members had gone back to Thailand, there was to be a wedding on February 25 of photographer Mark's older sister.

This is the bride that day, and her brother took these photos of her and whatever those mementos of that occasion happen to be:

I have no wish to be overlong with today's post, so I am going to bring it to a 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 ─ coincidentally, this was back when I read the book The Long Walk.

I was renting my rather stark hideaway in a private home located on Ninth Street [Google map], and two houses up from Third Avenue.
THURSDAY, April 7, 1977

I slept deeply, but got up at 6:30 a.m.

It's sunny.

There were 3 or 4 people in the laundromat today. I bought 2 Marvels (60¢).

I later went to Woodward's (mailing along the way the $5 I owed St. Joseph's School) to see about buying a good pair of shorts; I saw nothing my size I wanted (even so, I shall have to lay out over $12).

I am too unhappy to go downtown during the daylight, so I'll await sunset. It's a shame, for the day is ideal for sunning.

I finished a letter to Terri [Terri Martin was a U.S. pen-pal I had back then].


I had my nap soon past noon, and dreamed of living in a run-down place. The Halverson gang were over, Bill & mother, and even David Prince managed to get in.

["The Halverson gang" were the family and friends of my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson. William Alan Gill was an old friend, and Anne Gregory was his mother. Philip David Prince was also an old friend.]

There was also some girl I was apparently interested in, and maybe her mother. 

It seems other people may have been there too, though I don't think we were partying.

The end of the skit had almost everyone in the front room watching a science fiction show. 

I had mixed up a batter for pancakes, but it was a living batter capable of doubling and constantly growing, and had some power of mind control. It intended world takeover.

But I was making pancakes, preventing the stuff from escaping the plastic bag I had it in, though I wasn't really in control.

I'd used about half the stuff, with a few burnings of myself, when it willed my hand to again touch the pan surface. The back of my hand did so, and only applied itself more surely to the heat as I tried to pull away.

I finally lifted my hand, pan clinging supernaturally to it.

I quit frying.

It seems to me some girl would be frying in place of me at one point, for she was in an upcoming eating contest and needed the capacity practice, as well as a few pounds which were somehow supposed to facilitate her ingestive strivings.

Crazy dream.


I glutted at supper.

I'm going to mail my letter to Terri, and an entry to Kellogg's Corn Flakes "Alaskan Cruise Sweepstakes"; I am going downtown to perhaps buy the shorts I want, and maybe some runners.


I had to return home; my U.I. claim needs mailing this weekend, so I guess I'll have to do that tonight.

I went to Army & Navy and was amazed at their good 'joggers' buys, though I saw no shorts; however, I bought a cheap pair of runners with no rubber toe caps for a full price of $2.01.

Then at Eaton's I got a pair of blue shorts which just may do ─ for a total of $6.40.

Lastly, I bought some greens at Safeway for 98¢.

I'm leaving for Mark's at 8:50 p.m.
My younger brother Mark was renting a duplex out in Surrey. I no longer recall its precise location, but it was not too very far along Semiahmoo Road [Google map] from where it leads off from Old Yale Road.

I would have hiked there.  

I owed St. Joseph's School $5 for a pouch of Western Express Lottery tickets that they had sent me on credit. They seemed to sell lottery tickets via the mail as a means of fund raising, and I had bought quite a few through them. And then one time they just started sending me a pouch of five $1 tickets on speculation that I would honour the gesture and send them payment, and this practice kept on. I now have no idea just when and how I got them to stop.

The laundromat I used was a little more than three blocks from my room ─ in fact, very near to the public library up on Sixth Avenue. I always tried to get to the laundromat as soon as I could after its doors automatically unlocked at 8:00 a.m., for I hated sharing the place with a mob of other customers.

I don't quite understand why I felt that I needed to abort the Vancouver bus trip I had intended in order to seek a pair of shorts. 

If my Unemployment Insurance claim had to get mailed, why could I not have done so later? ─ surely there was no mail pick-up so late into the day, and it would therefore not actually get collected until the following day?

Whatever the case, my reference to being unhappy meant that my self-confidence was at a low, and I was feeling excessively public shy.
I suspect that I was likely seizing upon that postal duty just as a means of backing out of the long haul that would have been before me had I stuck with the trip into Vancouver. I probably just did not have the heart for the venture.

Okay, back to the present.

I had my session of about 12 minutes of exercising out in the backyard tool shed, but I never went outside until after 4:30 p.m.

I had a few doubts about my ability. However, I managed to squeeze out just over two more pull-ups than what is presently my norm over four sets.

The day remained very much overcast, even if the light rain did cease as the morning advanced.

Addendum: Just before publishing this post, I have managed to figure out why I needed to mail that letter with my latest U.I. claim that day instead of the following day. If it absolutely had to be collected by the postal service before the weekend, then I was probably going to take it right to the post office and dump it into the chute they had for letters and packages. And that was because there would be no mail collection from mailboxes the following day ─ it was to be Good Friday back then in 1977, a Canadian statutory holiday. Mail would not be collected until probably the following Tuesday, since Monday would also be a holiday.
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