6 Year Old Charlotte Figi Inspired New Medical Marijuana Dubbed “Charlotte’s Web” To Help Treat Epilepsy, Seizures and Cancer

Originally posted on Bless Your Hippie Heart:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti4IHglQXGI

Charlotte’s Web is special strain of marijuana developed by the Stanley brothers  (Joel, Jesse, Jon, Jordan, Jared and Josh) for the purposes of bringing the extremely beneficial Cannabidiol or CBD, to patients who need the therapeutic benefits of the plant, without the psychoactivity accompanied by THC.  It does not induce the psychoactive “high” typically associated with recreational marijuana use.  A CBD rich Cannabis Oil is extracted from the harvested plants and concentrated through rotary evaporation.  To make it easier to perform clinical trials, they are planning to move the Charlotte’s Web part of their operation to Uruguay.  By doing so, they will also be able to import it to any U.S. state as hemp. (source Wikipedia)

Charlotte’s Web is named after Charlotte Figi, whose parents and physicians say she experienced a significant reduction of her epileptic seizures after her first dose of medical marijuana at five years of age, and whose usage…

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An Equal Rights surprise

This morning, as I was in line to exit the drive-through where parents drop kids off for school, the driver of the car in front of me got out and sprinted in my direction.  My first thought was she was going to tell me a brake light was out, or something to that effect, as she had been in the loop first and at some point was behind me.

Anyway, there I was, glad I had put a baseball cap over my bed head, and was wearing actual  clothes instead of a coat over pajamas, when I saw a small book in her hand and felt my warning hackles rise a little.  I do live in conservative-ville, where people think hypnosis is how I steal souls for the devil.  The strangers I see regularly in my day-to-day activities invite me to attend church with them, and after I say no, they never smile and wave again.  If this woman was going to invite me to ‘worship’ with her, it would be my first drive-by invitation.

She got close enough that there was no mistaking she wanted to talk to me and I let the window down, trying out a good morning smile.  She thanked me for having a Human Rights Campaign sticker on the back of my car.  It’s a blue equal sign, and it’s on the back window so it can’t be missed.  Now, all too aware of my coffee breath, I nodded, smiled and said something along the lines of “Sure thing.  Thank you.”  She fast walked back to her car and I’ve been happily stunned ever since, imagining this town populated with people who believe in equal rights for all.

I have seen other cars sporting the sticker here, it’s rare, and one time I was so thrilled to spot one, I honked and waved.  Sure that driver probably thought I was high, and had mistaken them for a brownie, but I had to show my solidarity.  Today I was on the receiving end of that same idea and it felt good.  Happy Wednesday.

What could save a boring author photo

I’ve been pushing the idea of taking an author photo around in my head for some time.  Mostly I keep thinking of how boring it sounds, sitting around while someone takes pictures of me, hoping to get a good smile, both eyes open, and may it please the publisher, catching a spark of intelligence in my countenance.

When I look through books and see author photos I think, what does what they look like have to do with the stories they write?  Nothing.  But then I decided it could be a fun thing.  You know, add a cool hat, or a kids tiara, I even snapped a selfie the other day with a pencil up my nose.  (Yes I regressed to age ten, I blame FB)  My friends found it amusing, but I doubt a publisher would agree.

And then it hit me.  I can have a regular, everyday author photo, yawn, but in the background I want Jennifer Lawrence photobombing.  I like that she’s not only doing this to other actors and such, but at places where everyone is supposed to be proper and on their best behaviour.  I would choose Jennifer or Sir Ian McKellan.  I will be seen as the hard-working writer, but one who doesn’t take herself so seriously, that she’d release a photo of herself with ‘Richard III’ snarling in the background.

You Know You’re a Writer When…

serenitywriter:

Does everyone know?

Originally posted on Kristen Lamb's Blog:

The Spawn and his minion Lazr Cat.

The Spawn and his minion Lazr Cat.

We’ve been talking about some heavy stuff the past several posts, so I figured it was time for a bit of levity. We writers are different *eye twitches* for sure, but the world would be SO boring without us.

You Know You’re a Writer When…

You’ve learned that regular people are cute, and no longer get offended with this conversation.

Regular Person: What do you do?

Writer: I’m a writer.

Regular Person: No, I mean, what’s your real job?

You’ve come to understand that writers are a lot like unicorns. Everyone knows about them, they’ve simply never seen a REAL ONE.

You Know You’re a Writer When…

The NSA, CIA and FBI no longer bother with you. Likely, they know you by name and now outsource to the creepy ice cream truck to just make a few passes and check to make sure…

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When the universe says, “read this book”

The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak was recommended to me by two different strangers.  One was while I was browsing in a book shop, and the other came online.  I looked it up, saw that it was set in WWII and thought, “I don’t feel like being depressed” and I let the idea of reading the story go.

My local library had a used book sale, that we almost missed because they haven’t been putting up early notices like they used to.  Only because my voracious-reader-twelve-year old really wanted a requested book, did I drive to the library on a Friday night.  It was the ‘members only’ preview of the books for sale.  Of course I joined up right then and we took a nice leisurely look-see of what was on offer.

I’ve been keeping an especial eye out for a Ken Follett book, in paper or hardback, and my daughter has been jones’n for Rick Riordan books.  No such luck.  No Follett, no Riordan, no good biographies (in my opinion), and blammit only the kind of cookbooks I have zero interest in.  When lo, The Book Thief winked at me from a low shelf of paperbacks for grown ups.  Turns out a lot of YA fiction was in the wrong place, but that was the only one I wanted.  You see, three hints is the charm.  Two suggestions and a lone copy in a sea of books I didn’t want, it was like a nudge to the back of the head, and the admonition, ‘Didn’t you hear the first two suggestions?’

How many books have had Death as the narrator, done so cleverly, and with a perfect lilt of poetry?  I admire Liesel, the main character, and how resilient she is.  I find myself swimming in the ebb and flow, feeling the cold, the bite of hunger and the humor of Rudy Steiner.

I havent finished the story yet, it is not an emotionally easy read, and I want to savor the parts I like.  Not just the characters, but the artistry the author has composed around them, and not lose their flavor to any disappointment that will come if it ends badly for Liesel, Max and the rest, as it probably will.  After all, when Death is telling a story, no matter how beautifully, do I really expect it to end happily?

I recommend it.  I am thanking the Universe.  I absolutely will pay closer attention in the future.

The mother of all bull rides

For a nice long while my writing was moving along briskly and I enjoyed it.  When I got stuck, the timing of a couple of new friends offering to go through “The Artists’ Way” workbook by Julia Cameron, with me turned out to be a light in the dark.  At first I craved sweets like a six year old, which isn’t like me at all.  My two friends said they had the same thing happen the first week or more, and for a time I accepted it.  Until I noticed, of course I noticed, how hard it was to bounce back.  The sugar rush would raise me high and then smack me down.  That coupled with the cleaning out of old emotional messes was threatening to knock me down.

I had a brilliant idea, I needed to exercise more.  I don’t particularly enjoy it, but afterwards I feel excellent, I drink more water, I make it through the day better and I sleep like a champ.  I felt as if I had unlocked the mysteries of the world.  My sweet-heart even joined me, which made it better.  Nothing like having a supportive hand to hold.  I was riding high, feeling like a genius.

Only now my mother in law has broken both of her ankles, and the best choice was to bring her here to live while she recovers.  I have very little positive to say about this situation right now, so I’ll stop there.

I feel as if the bull I was on, and thought I had tamed, has thrown me. I’m sitting in the dust with an aching arse, looking up the mountainous size of it’s back and wincing at the idea of getting back on.   But that is all there is to do.  I’ll be looking for jocularity and stories of others’ adventures of getting up off their duff.  Excuse me while I look around for where my hat got to.