Photos taken 17 February 2007. Click each photo to enlarge, or click here for the whole gallery.

Photos taken 19 February 2007 at China Camp State Park in San Rafael, California.

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California Street, San Francisco

Flowers

Far from Yare, Pt. Reyes, CA

That bridge again.

I take pictures every day with my Canon Powershot G6.

Performancing

Friday, May 21, 2010

My heartbreak



Sherman isn't with me any more. He had a host of problems and complications from the problems, including a heart murmur, feline asthma, and chronic kidney disease. He got pneumonia about 4 months ago and his kidneys tanked. We hospitalized him for 3 days, which bought him some time - he was otherwise a goner. The 4 months since had been full of me giving him medicines and other treatments, sub-cutaneous fluids daily, a hormone injection weekly, and multiple pills and supplements twice a day. But I'm so glad I got those additional 4 months.

2 weeks ago or so, Sherman's blood pressure went through the roof and caused him to go blind. Unfortunately, I don't think we recognized his blindness right away - he was already not very active, and knew the apartment well enough to keep getting around. But Thursday night it was unmistakable. His eyes were so big and it was obvious he wasn't seeing a thing. You could really see the bewildered and concerned look in his face - like he just didn't understand what was happening to him. We took him to the ER the next day. His retinas had ruptured and he would never get his vision back. We started managing his blood pressure as well, and got it back to normal. And even though he couldn't see, he kept going, moved about the apartment, bumped into walls and had to hunt around for the familiar places now and then, but didn't let it stop him. Unfortunately though, this was the beginning of the end.

So last week I juggled working from home half days to make sure Sherman ate and drank, which he didn't much want to do. He would only drink or eat when I was holding him, holding food or water for him, then coaxing him for 2 or 3 minutes (and being very patient). By Thursday, that wasn't always working either and he had grown so weak he could no longer hop up to the spot he had made for himself on the love seat (even with the "step" I had made for him to make it easier). Then, when I was putting him down to do some work, I put him in front of his litter box in case he needed to use it before going to lay down. He went inside and I waited... he was in there a long time so I lifted the lid to see if he was having trouble, and he was just laying in it, too tired to come out I guess. My heart broke for about the 100th time that week when I saw him there.

Friday morning, things were even more grim. I came home at lunchtime to check on him, hoping against hope for a sign of improvement, but there wasn't any. So I called a doctor who makes house calls and who had been referred to us to discuss end of life options. I was planning to make the appointment for Saturday (or if he was unavailable, Tuesday, since he doesn't have hours on Sunday or Mondays). While speaking with him, he offered to come over that afternoon as well. That's the option Jay wanted, thinking it would be easier to get it over with. So I went from having a remaining day to spend with Sherman to having about 45 minutes. The vet came into our bedroom and put Sherman to sleep while I held him. Sherman was comfortable and ended peacefully. But it hit me like a wrecking ball when I laid him down, trying to be gentle, and saw him lifeless as I let go of him. It was beyond anything I imagined and I can't begin to describe the grief, which was likely compounded by the absolute helplessness I felt that I could no longer do anything whatsoever for him and the fact that I was making a purposeful decision, without his knowledge, to end his life and hoping it was the decision he would ask me to make if he could.

In the long run, I think Jay was right - Saturday was probably not as bad as it would have been. But Friday afternoon was about the most painful day I have ever experienced - at least that I remember (and of course, the memory is still fresh). And so I'm still trying to say goodbye to Sherman

Ever since he was a kitten, I sang "Baby Mine" to Sherman. This was the last time I got to sing it to him, the day before he died.



I miss you, Shermonster.

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Why do so many people hate the word ‘moist’?

You’ve probably met them – you might even be one of them: People who hate the word ‘moist’.

If my own personal, unscientific tabulations over the years are any indication, ‘moist’ is among the most-hated words in the English language. In fact, I just Googled the term and two of the top four results were about hating the word. So there, I am right.

But why? I don’t get it. Of the words that mean ‘kind of wet-ish’, ‘moist’ is really about the most positive description there is. By comparison, the ickier versions of ‘kind of wet-ish’ include ‘damp’ and ‘swampy’.

Think about it. I endeavor to achieve brownies and cupcakes that are moist. But I would shy away from any baked goods that were damp. When I put my hands down someone’s pants, I am generally pleased to discover the underwear is moist. Damp underwear, on the other hand, I am not as OK with. Moist panties, good. Swampy panties, bad.

So moist is a good thing! Let’s overcome our distaste for moist. In fact, let’s declare May ‘Moist Appreciation Month’. I challenge you to find ways to love and embrace moist in your life.

Do you hate the word moist? Can you get over it – at least for the month of May? What other words to you hate?

  • I'm Matty G
  • I grew up in Grand Island, Nebraska. Now I live smack in the middle of San Francisco.

    Parallaxis is the view from here (& there).

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