Monday, July 6, 2009
My good friend S and I had a fantabulous lunch today at Mozza-- the most perfect chopped salad of lettuces and herbs and salami and the thinnest slices and bits of cheese and a sprinkling of herbs and just enough acid, was it lemon or vinegar -- in the dressing. And then we had two little pizzas -- on the most perfect crust, completely devoid of grease -- tiny little clams that tasted in one bite exactly like the sea and on the other thin slivers of artichokes and a bite of lemon taking the edge off some kind of creamy cheese. S had a glass of wine because it was her birthday lunch, and I took a couple of sips from it and it tasted like flowers. And then we had dessert -- spoonfuls of butterscotch pudding with a hidden crunch of Maldon sea salt, so faint that the sharpness was a surprise that disappeared in the puff of thick sauce that came with it and the finish of light, airy whipped cream. We just about ran our fingers in the glass and licked them, it was so good.
On the way out we kept talking, mainly sharing stories of our daughters who both have special needs. I gave her a big bag of clothes that Sophie had grown out of and remarked on the rickety stroller in the back of my car that I need to replace. I need to buy a new one, and the insurance company doesn't cover wheelchair/strollers. The stroller will cost at least $2500 and I just don't have that now or, for that matter, in the near future. And then I remarked that I understand insurance companies cover Viagra, that drug that helps older men maintain erections. S has the same sense of humor as me and she pointed out that I should write about it and call it:
SPECIAL NEEDS MUSINGS
So here's one:
I wonder if I could get a prescription for Viagra, cash it in over time and buy a wheelchair for Sophie?
I wonder if there's a black market for Diastat, the rectal valium that we have to keep on hand for emergencies. Each package has exactly two doses, already in their syringes, and they cost $450 each (without insurance), and I always have to make a case for how much we need them whenever I refill them.
I could perhaps stockpile the Diastat (since the insurance company suspects that's what I'm doing) for real and have a rectal valium party where people pay for their dose.
And then there's another blogger friend, Ms. Moon, who mused on her own personal vanity as she slowly gets ready to be a grandmother. Even though I'm nowhere near being a grandmother, I spend an inordinate amount of time being vain -- about my weight, about my appearance, about the loss of my skinny, young, carefree self -- you'd think I had nothing else to worry about. HA!
I wonder whether Gertrude Stein worried about what she looked like. I like to think not. That she had somehow come to a state of peace and sat, immobile, on her literary throne, waited on hand and foot (and loved) by the even uglier Alice B. Toklas, eating incredible food, entertaining the greatest literary and artistic talents of the day. I want to be like Gertrude Stein.