Since we last spoke, I’ve had a birthday. I am 59 years old which is weird, to say the least. I will regale you with the festivities soon. Sophie is still recovering from The Virus, and I never got it, which is also weird because I wasn’t always vigilant with the masking, and there were a lot of fluids. Who knows? I know nothing. I am still curious as to why Sophie had no seizures during the peak of inflammation, and last I spoke with Nice Neurologist, he did say that he had one other patient who experienced the same paradoxical reaction to virus and fever. In any case, Sophie’s seizures are back with some regularity, mitigated by another increase in her dosage of CBDV. In case you’re new in these parts, CBDV is a cannabinoid — an isolate — and there are some promising studies about its use in epilepsy and in persons with Rett Syndrome. Sophie has never been formally diagnosed with Rett Syndrome (you’d have to go back into the old Blogger archives and search for that time we tested her for Rett Syndrome when the genetic test was brand spanking new, and Sophie tested negative for the MECP2 gene but had/has many of the clinical characteristics of the syndrome, including the deterioration in her gross motor skills and slow loss of the use of her hands, except for a fairy-like, near-balletic waving of her right arm and hand. Her left arm and hand is perfectly listless. In late spring we participated in a genetic study whose results we’ve still not learned, but who knows? Who knows, indeed. For those of you new to these parts, Sophie’s on a cocktail of cannabis medicine (as well as a small amount of two anti-epileptic Big-Gun Drugs that probably don’t do much of anything, but we loathe the withdrawal process) that includes Pure Cannabinoid’s CBDV, Charlotte’s Web original formula CBD, and Myriam’s Hope CBDA. The Big Guns of Drug Manufacturers are also working on a CBDV formulation, but I’m not waiting on the BGDMs, as per usual (think: whole plant medicine and tiny little mother mind™ thoughts).
Please email my secretary with any questions.
Let’s go to my birthday. I woke thinking, naturally, of my mother, the woman who gave me life who has recently died and whom I miss, terribly. I was her first child, and now I’m 59, and she’s dead. Also weird. She really loved birthdays and wrapped presents so beautifully. I guess we’ll never see the likes of that again, and while it may seem trivial, it’s not because my mother brought beauty everywhere she walked. I’m grateful for that.
My son Henry and his long-time lady friend Annika took me to a fabulous brunch spot in Venice Beach. I drank a Bloody Mary, ate two eggs sunny-side up with slices of crispy bacon and crunchy little potatoes, and we all ate some pretty fantastic biscuits smothered in butter and jam. I bought myself a snake plant at a fancy nursery and will bring it into my schoolroom on Monday as it’s been clamoring for a plant. I hung out with Sophie in the afternoon, opened a present from Carl which was a beautiful turquoise necklace and scrolled through a bazillion texts and emails wishing me a happy end of the decade birthday. My father sent a generous gift of cash, along with a brief note that made me cry.
At 6:00, a few dear friends, Carl and I went to Pizzeria Mozza and drank really good wine and some stellar appetizers before devouring Nancy Silverton’s famous pizzas. We had the following:
bone marrow scraped out of the bone, smeared on olive-oil soaked toast with roasted garlic and chervil—a pretty astounding flavor mix that won me over
panzanella: incredible cherry tomatoes and salad and olive oil and olives and chunks of bread all soaked in the dressing but still crunchy
fried zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta and herbs, oh my god
I ate one half of my Napolitana pizza that had anchovies, tiny fried capers, olives and mozarella di buffala and was really just so divine. I ate a piece of my friend’s Fennel Sausage pizza that was equally as good. Even Carl who is the least adventurous of all humans when it comes to food, devoured everything.
Then came dessert, which deserves its own homage as it included:
BUTTERSCOTCH BUDINO
This is a butterscotch pudding with Maldon salt and the softest, most gentle wave of creme fraiche, and I can’t tell you just how good this dessert really is, even better than the superlative Banana Gelato Pie with hot fudge and candied hazelnuts. I think there was some gelato as well (Burnt Almond? Vanilla? Blueberry Lemonade sorbetto?), but honestly, the BUDINO was everything. My 59th birthday is complete because of it.
It was, as you can imagine, a delightful evening, although the place was so incredibly loud, we basically shouted to one another for two hours in-between bites. This must be the future — right? — at least for those of us inching toward our sixth decade or well into it and headed for the seventh.
Happy belated birthday dear Elizabeth. I hope your next year is well happy and peaceful.
Happy Birthday, Elizabeth. I'm glad you were able to celebrate in style.