Good-bye, sweet Finny

This morning the vet called. She said Finny still hadn't really been eating and they were worried about some of his recent test results. She said they wanted to go ahead and put in a feeding tube; but said before they could put him under to insert the tube, he'd need to be stabilized. After the tube was in, we could come in, be trained on how to use it, and then we could take him home.

Within the hour, she called back. My sweet boy had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and we needed to come in right away. We rushed in and they took us back to see him. They were giving him meds through the injection site in his paw, trying to get his numbers back up. He was just lying there under a little heating pad, and didn't respond to us at all. :(

When they did an x-ray, they discovered what looked like a perforated intestine, due to the cancer. Immediate surgery was the only option - but with dropping blood pressure, bilirubin levels, potassium, etc., he would not have been stable enough to survive surgery.

They carried him to us in a little red blanket, and we snuggled him and told him what a very good boy he was and how much we loved him. Then the vet came in and gave him the last injection. He was gone before she had finished.

I miss my sweet boy so much already...

Finn, again

The veterinary ultrasound revealed a thickening in the intestinal wall. After a new barrage of tests, we believe that cancer cells are infiltrating the wall of the intestine, causing ulceration inside of the intestinal tract. (This may also have been keeping him from absorbing all the nutrients in the small amount he was eating.)

We're starting on a new type of chemo tomorrow. They'll be keeping him in the hospital for at least three days to get him going and also to feed him intravenously.

It will be a very long three days without seeing his sweet face looking up at me or having his warm, soft little self curled up beside me at night...

(Hoping it is just three days)

Kitty update

Finny had lost more weight at his last vet appointment, so they did a full round of tests. We feared the worst, but, surprise, the results were the best they'd been in a year. Very encouraging.

The vet did ask me to double up on his appetite pills to see if we couldn't get him to fill out a bit. That should be doable, I thought.

But despite the additional chemical motivation, he's been less interested in eating than ever. It's pretty much 5 bites of food and he's done. I can coax him to take a bit more if I feed him from my finger, but then he turns his back on the plate, and a battle of wills ensues as I follow him around the room begging him to take just one more bite. (I am sure this looks pretty comical. But an empty tummy seems to makes him feel worse, so it is important to try to get him to eat.)

We think the current round of issues can be attributed to the pancreatitis. While it's a relief to think that it's probably not the end stages of the cancer, it is still hard to see him like this.

I am trying him on a new pill to see if it helps. And I think I will also let him take the lead on eating today. I know that every ounce I can get on his body now may give us critical leeway later, but I think maybe a day off from the feeding stress would be a good thing for us both.

The Lotus-eaters

On Superbowl Sunday, one of the quilt stores in the vicinity had a pretty impressive sale. I was trying to exert some kind of self-control, so when I saw a gorgeous Kaffe Fassett lotus leaf fabric, I told myself sternly that it wouldn't work for any of my current projects, and left the bolt there on the shelf.

I kept thinking about it, though. And as we were standing in line to check out, DH made the mistake of asking if I had gotten everything, or if there was anything else I wanted. I admitted sheepishly (from underneath my great stack of fabric) that that there might still be one more thing. Just then, a woman walked by carrying the lotus fabric. "THAT one!" I blurted out.

The woman glanced over at the exclamation, so I smiled and explained I was considering getting some of the fabric too. Could I have the bolt after she was done getting her piece cut? Well, she cradled the bolt possessively to her, and told me she was buying the whole thing(!) for the back of a queen sized quilt. Alas. I expressed regret that I had missed my chance earlier; but assured her (on a more positive note) that her quilt would be beautiful. She paused, and said reluctantly that she supposed she could let me have some of the fabric if I really needed it. But it was abundantly clear that she really had hoped to take it all home with her. And since I didn't have an actual plan for it, and couldn't really justify making a request without it, I politely declined.

But I couldn't get that fabric out of my head. I saw it around in other colorways, just not in the shades I loved the best. Maybe, I sighed, it would just have to remain another of those missed opportunities, one of the unattainables of which you dream...

Then today we ventured into town to one of our less-frequented quilt shops. And there it was, my beautiful lotus fabric!

I scooped up the bolt and headed straight for the cutting table. As I handed it to the woman who was doing the cutting, another customer craned her neck over and started ogling my fabric. "Oh, that's a beautiful print!" she said, "...How much are you getting?"

And suddenly, I found myself struggling to resist the urge, like the woman at the last shop, to claim that I "needed" the whole rest of the bolt! I am almost sure that I blushed as I pointed out the other colorways in a rather transparent attempt to redirect her attention elsewhere.

Consoling myself for my foolishness later on, I recalled that no less a literary personage than Odysseus spoke of the addictive nature of the lotus, and how it drove all sense and other thoughts from one's head:

"[O]n the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters, who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. Here we landed to take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk I sent two of my company to see what manner of men the people of the place might be.... They started at once, and went about among the Lotus-Eaters, who did them no hurt, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and ... were for staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters without thinking further of their return"
(Book IX, The Odyssey)

Tennyson, speaking in the (collective) voice of Odysseus's sailors, spoke of the lure of the lotus (or lotos) in terms befitting drug addicts.

So, all things considered, methinks my wee addiction to such a delicious lotus fabric may be not entirely without precedent.

Me also thinks that I should restrict use of such a dangerous and addictive fabric to the backing of my own quilt, so as to avoid being accused of being a pusher!

Fun with pixels

I found a Scottie dog block online, and it occurred to me that if I blew up the size and extended the background a bit, I could make the block pattern into a really cute one dog baby quilt. I showed it to DH, and he said that the doggie needed a ball to play with too, so I added that in. Here's what the resulting quilt pattern looks like:



I have a deep gray fabric with a nice mottled look that could work very well for the doggie; the background will simply be a variety of light and medium-light blues; and the ball will probably be red, unless I simply have to use red for an inner border, in which case I'll just play and see what looks best.

Simple, cute, and nice light-dark visual contrast for a baby. :)

Recollections of a young mother at Pearl Harbor

I've been transcribing the old typewritten manuscripts of my grandparents' memoirs. I wanted to share this excerpt about my grandmother's experience in Hawai'i during Pearl Harbor. (She seems to have written it up separately from the rest.)

My grandmother and I weren't close, but I find her writing voice to be warm and engaging (if old-fashioned in her attitudes towards things like race, gender, etc.), and wish I'd had a chance to get to know this side of her.



December 6th, 1941, was a Saturday in Honolulu, when all good wives were busy cleaning, washing and ironing, and baking in order to be ready for the return of husbands the next day from a two months submarine overhaul in California. None of us had dared to return to the States, because gossip had it that we might not be allowed to return to the Islands. My mother had kept urging me by letter to return to Seattle for weeks; but I didn't want to leave, in case Warren would get IN for a few days.

December 7th, I was bustling around getting 3 ½ year old Sally ready for Sunday School, and 1 ½ year old Nancy ready to join Kay T_____ (the Exec's wife) and myself at Diamond Head to watch for the subs' arrival. Suddenly, Air Raid signals screeched and whooped, and the radios blared forth with, "This is an attack. The Japanese are bombing Pearl Harbor. Everyone stay inside. No cars allowed on the streets, etc. Remain indoors and listen to the radio."

Bits of news, rumors, etc., circulated all day long -- one bomb reportedly made a big crater on the golf course, only 2 blocks away, and bits of wood, etc., landed in our street. But we stayed mighty close to home, with just an occasional neighborly confab in nearby yards.

The Captain's wife, Marian M_____, was as calm as she could be over the telephone, and it was so helpful to hear her steady patter of logic as to where our men might be, or their plans.

Blackouts were in effect after dark, all lighted rooms had to have dark shades, and in order to go from rooms to outside, one had to turn off room lights first, so as not to leak any sliver of light to the enemy. We had lizards that climbed our walls and curtains at times, and it was an eerie feeling to hear those little noisy creatures scurrying in the darkened rooms; if frightened, they would drop their tails and scurry away in haste, leaving wiggly tails behind.

We actually lived some 9 or 10 miles from Pearl Harbor, and there were several hills between us and there; but no one could be sure where the Rising Sun emblem would dip, and shower civilians with bullets, or, whatever.

I really was too occupied with the youngsters to be TOO terribly concerned; but, at times, various neighbors came by, and we'd wonder, "what if…." The retired tugboat skipper, Captain M_____, who lived behind us (and owned ours and surrounding houses) had given us waiting wives an open invitation to come to his house, and stay on his porch, etc., to spend our time with drinks and such. But, we were all too busily keeping our children, and heads, together in our own houses. He was a steady comforting man, even though a bit on the "jolly drinker" side.

Word came and circulated, through our dear Marian M., that the ship would be [in] on that day, the 9th, and that buoyed us! Finally our men returned, and for five days we made the most of every hour as a family – talk of returning to the states being at the head of the list. All families had to be put on a list for evacuation, and everyone, but the smallest of children (Nancy included), was issued a gas mask. Even though we were all "listed for evacuation," we always held out a hope, our men would return for one more family reunion before we left. Warren did come in, some time in January 1942, to find an empty house, as I was in the hospital with a strep infection, and the gals were in a private child-care home. But with Warren's return, we all returned to our house on Rooke Avenue for a few more days together. Evacuation for us three females came on two days before the next patrol return; but when the Government says, "now is the time," one obeys; and we embarked on the Aquitannia [sic], a lovely big ship that was made available for service families in late March. We took extra time in crossing the Pacific in order to evade any possible enemy subs; but actually saw none. We WERE being escorted, however! Landed eventually in San Pedro harbor, where my aunt and uncle from nearby Los Angeles took us in charge.

A few days later, we three took a train to San Francisco, to pick up our car, that had been transported back to the US several weeks earlier. And soon after, the gals and I were headed for home in Seattle, and the welcoming arms of parents and grandparents.

Written by Roberta A. W_____, August, 1983


I wanted to append a link to an account written by a woman who was 11 years old at the time of Pearl Harbor, and remembers her experiences very vividly. Sounds like they were quite a bit closer to the chaos.

Thanks for the memories

I mentioned earlier that I'd asked my mother to write down some of the stories of her life. On my birthday, she sent me 18 single-spaced(!) pages covering her life from birth up until we were born. I am absolutely thrilled to have this, and am looking forward (but not impatiently) to the next installment. Soon she'll get into memories that overlap with some of mine, so that will be pretty interesting. I do have some of my childhood memories written down (stream of consciousness style) but I don't want to influence what she writes, so we will have to compare later on.

I was feeling a little brash tonight, so I barged in and emailed my father to see if he would do one too. And... he said yes(!!!) I can't say I'm not somewhat flabbergasted, but I'm awfully grateful.