The Tower of Power

What is this?

Get a little closer:

a little closer:

What you're looking at is a 30-day supply of locosamide, recently valued at well over $700. Better known as Vimpat (according to my friend A, it sounds more like the name of a small car), we finally have it in our possession. Thanks be to the good Lord above, because a non-profit organization came to our aid and picked up nearly half of the  first month's co-payment (when I find out whether it's ok., I'll publicly name said organization that has reduced me -- or augmented me -- to tears of gratitude). In the meantime, I'll be "working" with Anthem to add the drug to the formulary of covered drugs. If all goes well, the Vimpat will give Sophie some relief without too many awful side effects.

Thanks for being so supportive of my kvetching freak-out the other day. I wrote what I meant and I meant what I said. We have a serious problem in this country of ours, a problem that I think brings shame upon us as a nation. Even though this is a piddly old blog about a piddly little life here in the crazy, beautiful city of Los Angeles, and I'm willing to concede to my self-centered-ness in even having a blog, I know for a fact that I am just one of many. One of millions, actually, who struggle each day in an abysmal system that has for too long masqueraded as "the greatest system on Earth."

(the Tower of Power was made for me by Henry, our resident Lego genius. There were flowers on top, and it was called The Tower of Flowers, but I took the flowers off temporarily to better pay homage to the feats of skill and absurdity it took to get that bottle.)

Peach Pie and Trouble in Paris

I had about six peaches sitting on my counter, growing wizened. I cut them up, sprinkled some superfine sugar, cinnamon, and flour on them and tossed it all together. I had a Trader Joe's piecrust, frozen in the freezer (they're perfectly serviceable and have no fake ingredients) that I rolled into my blue pie plate. I dumped the peach mixture inside, rolled the other crust on top and crimped the edges. I made small slits in the top and sprinkled some more superfine sugar on top, baked it in a 350 degree oven until it was bubbling peach juice.

I fed it to four boys playing at my house and then finished it up by 9pm last night.

As for Paris, pillows flying in the living room did this:

Yes, that's the Tour Eiffel, in Lego, gracing a sacred corner of the room, the initial construction of which took many painstaking hours not only by our resident Lego genius, Henry, but The Incredibly Swiss Husband's meticulous attention to detail in the middle of the night.

I won't describe the screams of dismay that reverberated throughout the arrondissment.

Quel dommage.