Despite my determined efforts to keep working until I drop, it seems that it has come time to use the old west analogy of hanging up my six-shooters. Through no fault of mine, my clinics have been closed. My astonishment at witnessing the medical effects of cannabis, clinic after clinic, day after day, and my deep respect for the pot warriors who risked life and freedom for years to explore the botany and science of this amazing and barely understood plant notwithstanding: I am uncomfortable with the inevitably growing commercialization and recreationalization (invented word...) of cannabis. My goal was always to explore and teach the compatibility of medicinal cannabis with conventional medical treatments. The need is still unmet, but commerce is sweeping medical uses in the closet. The absurd "health and wellness" nonsense (worse than nonsense -- deliberate deception) of CBD marketing is distressing. We know little about CBD, but what we do know suggests that it needs THC for maximal benefits. Alone, it can do some amazing things, but actually very few. And we do not know the doses. I am not sure we are a lot smarter about CBD than we were 5 years ago. The hype has buried the hope in silliness. So, onto other things, it seems.
Kid Stuff. The house across the street, 2235 SE 47th Ave, was going to put on the market last week for about the same price as the value of John’s and Jessica’s condo. After talking with our neighbors, they offered them their house “off the market.” They are happy to be nearer the g-parents and deliriously happy to have a back yard for the now-3-year-old Sam. It is about the same size as the condo, but it has a better distribution of space for a family…and a back yard. They hope to pass papers next week.
Above: Another sunrise from the deck.
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