Cannabis oh cannabis, a litany of virtues—-
I’m home after cancer surgery and a day in the hospital, my discomfort floating in an opioid fog. Dazed and addled, a few tokes of “Purple Arrow” cuts through the haze, offering comfort and soon after sleep, glorious sleep. When I awaken, the opioids are history ‘cause my dispensary delivers.
About fifty years before that (yes I’m that old)—-
Woodstock, away from the crowd, the music a distant background; circle of ten complete strangers, sharing a chillum packed with particularly potent Acapulco Gold, top-level weed in ’69. The music was the catalyst for our union and now the cannabis, an agent for free wheeling conversation, and laughter.
Amsterdam, 1997, first visit to the city of coffee shops and canals—
After our withdrawal from the sixties, life became more uptight in the United States. Cannabis was there but had to be found, carefully. Then on a respite from the not-so-subtle oppression, my work took me to Amsterdam, with lodging next to a coffee shop featuring Cannabis Cup winning strains. If only in America I mused on the return flight, contemplating that thin slice of Afghani hashish stashed between the pages of my notebook.
For years, I’ve been plagued by ocular migraines. They arrive at no fixed time, for no particular reason. And for years, only one thing eases the pain and puts a smile back on my face–the ganja, mon. So when Arizona went medical, I went legal. Who would have thunk it, a red state goes green. No more furtive glances in the rear view mirror. No more missed appointments with the supply man. Best of all, a seemingly unlimited supply of strains and sophisticated baked goods.
For years, I’ve been plagued by ocular migraines. They arrive at no fixed time, for no particular reason. And for years, only one thing eases the pain and puts a smile back on my face–the ganja, mon.
Poor Maureen, she had no idea—
After Colorado went recreational, New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd ventured to Denver to sample the festivities. One of our most urbane and astute journalists, she neglected to read the directions clearly marked on her candy bar of choice and ate the whole thing in one sitting. OMG, the poor woman. Suffice to say, her lesson in suitable dosing was rather traumatic. But for newbies, it’s hardly the exception.
The mystery is finally solved….
When a new batch of edibles arrive, the question is always, what is the proper dose? How to achieve the right “balance?” It’s all good, but even though the strain is listed on the wrapping, and one can easily find the THC concentration info online, each edible is different. Should I eat a half and wait a few hours? Each experience is unique depending on a number of factors, there is no standardization.
Then, a light in the darkness. Kindred Balance arrives with a breath strip so discreet and predictable that I can easily incorporate it into my day, an amalgam of work and family. Convenient, quick and reliable, with the same relaxing yet invigorating effect each time. And, unlike other edibles, not full of sugar, for those of us who are careful about what we ingest. Hallelujah!