Sammy closeup

Sometimes it's hard to make out Sammy's face (or much of anything beyond a mass of black) in photos. Here's a nice closeup, taken at the Bayview leash free area.

Bertie and Hillary

This says it better than I ever could.

Help Impeach Darth Vader

Or even better, sign a petition to impeach Dick Cheney

A Gum Tree Fell Onto Our Neighbors House!

Really. We were in the way of a bad hailstorm last Sunday. Fortunately, our damage was minimal except for some dings on my car. In nearby suburbs, the hailstones were as big as cricket balls - ours were not quite that big.


The speck of blue in there is our very nice neighbor, David. (Pronounced with a spanish accent because he's from Chile.)

I say "our" damage, because "our" gigantic tree fell onto "our" neighbor's roof. As I speak, it is still resting on their roof and a huge branch of it is resting on our carport roof. The emergency services guys came to check it out after the storm and said they would have to get a crane to remove it. We sort of thought that might be done on Monday, but.... I guess there are a lot of big trees to move after that storm. Tim was at home when the tree fell, but didn't hear it. He said the wind and sound of the hail was so noisy that it was all he could hear. Our theory is that one particularly forceful gust of wind knocked over the tree at the base - no roots at all! It was growing among some large boulders, so I don't think the root system was at all extensive.



Cheers, Judi

My New Pasttime (read: Therapy)

I call these things Twigs. I invented them. Most of them are either hanging or standing earrings trees, the others are mobiles. The mobiles are best seen in motion because they spin and bobble and sparkle. I'm really enjoying making these things - it's relaxing and creative and all that good stuff. They are also natural - wood, willow, cane, collected sea shells and bird feathers.

As I am writing this a huge Yellow crested Cockatoo keeps trying to raid the bird feeder on the balcony. You try not to encourage these birds because if you later stop feeding them, they will destroy your house - no kidding! This particular cockatoo is quite persistent and I'm getting pissed off! So with luck I might have a whole new stash of large white feathers for my mobiles! (Just kidding. I couldn't hurt a fly.)

Cheers, Judi

Zappa and Vai - badly dressed great guitarists

Cranes flying over the Rio Grande

I'm in Socorro for a few days. Today the kids and I went down to the Rio Grande where I took these great pictures on my cell phone.


Cranes flying south over the Rio Grande

Doggy Heaven - where I used to take the dogs when we lived in Socorro

Zoe's first paper

Zoe is second author on a paper!

Gamma and beta neural activity evoked during a sensory gating paradigm: effects of auditory, somatosensory and cross-modal stimulation.

This was a result from her honors thesis.

Gavin's introduction to his new colleagues, written by his boss

R&D

In this addition of the TrueBlue, R&D is pleased to announce the arrival of Gavin Cornwell as a Research Associate I. In a continuing effort to tip the balance of power in R&D to the Dark Side, we had to go all the way to Dallas, Texas to unearth a suitably qualified chemist. Gavin is no prairie cowpuncher with lone star tattoos though; he hails originally from New Mexico. Interestingly, he's the son of a radio astronomer, which has led some to suggest that Gavin's early life is actually based on the 1982 movie, E.T.

Despite his outwardly quiet and unassuming manner, Gavin is accomplished in Capoeira, a Brazilian martial art characterized by fluid acrobatic play, feints, subterfuge and extensive use of groundwork, as well as sweeps, kicks and headbutts. Not long after starting at KPL, he decided he wasn't getting beat up enough, and also took up Jiu-jitsu. Please don't be confused about the red welts on his neck, they're more likely from his work-out the night before rather than a chance encounter with a Rockville floozy. In two short months, Gavin has already made a significant contribution to R&D, slicing through the fluorophore conjugate project with ninja-like skill and bringing it to gate review a month ahead of schedule. Not only is his scientific sword sharp, but his razor like wit slices even Michael Federman to shreds on a daily basis. To this Gavin, KPL can simply say "Cheers!"-Seth

Finally, We're Permanent Residents!

Tim got the email from our immigration caseworker just last night. After several last minute requests for various missing forms or information, we were approved.

Even when your employer is requesting the permanent residency on your behalf, and the employer is CSIRO, application is still a long and arduous process - especially when you are both over 50 and one of you has a mental health problem and can't work. Tim had to get his heart checked out (I could have TOLD them he has a good heart), but would they listen to me? I had to meet with an independent psychiatrist who could verify that I was an unlikely axe-murderer, and besides, I couldn't possibly be any crazier than the "Chaser" guys are, right?

An applicant also has to prove they aren't currently married to more than one person (assuming they aren't Muslim or Fundamentalist Mormans, I guess). We had to write to the US for our divorce decrees (Tim's one decree and my two - yeah, I have a somewhat crazy past, so deal with it.) You also have to get criminal checks from your State and the US FBI.

So all in all, applying for permanent residency is an expensive and complicated and stressful process and we are really glad it's over with a positive outcome.

We're excited because we love living in Australia, and now it even feels more like "home." I'm glad they didn't deny me because I'm a somewhat crazy old person... although, from what I've heard about certain Australian politicians....

Cheers and G'Day Mate and No Worries!
Judi

Mica (Nee circa 1989-October 11, 2007)

One of my best girlfriends died today. She was 18. I found her at the Humane Society in 1990, and I think she was about one year old. She had been rescued while roaming the mountains east of Albuquerque, New Mexico. I think she must have been hungry when they found her, because I have never known a dog who would eat anything... well, almost anything. She used to leave the sprig of parsley on her plate.

Right after I got Mica, she developed a cough. I was worried that she was going to die and I remember asking the vet to be straight with me. I didn't want to get attached to her if she was just going to up and die right away. It turned out to be kennel cough and she recovered quickly. It was love at first sight anyway, so I had already become attached.

A couple of months later, she and I drove to Arizona and then back to Albuquerque via Bisbee and then Silver City, New Mexico. I had my new Jeep Wrangler at the time, and she used to sleep in the front seat with her head on my lap while I drove. While we drove through Silver City, I thought I was going to lose her. She was suffering from some sort of convulsive/shaking problem. As I debated on whether to find a vet to check her out, it dawned on me that she was terror stricken by the sleeting, thundering, miserable weather we were driving through. That was the first of many times she would have the same reaction. Doggie valium would have been beneficial.

Mica saw me through three hospital admissions. She actually got to visit me when I was in Charter Hospital for the depression, etc. She also kept me company after my hysterectomy, and I was lucky to have Rich Abitz, a friend from work, come by and take Mica and Buggy for a run in the foothills. I was soon on my feet from the operation, and I'm sure the twice daily dog walks hastened my recovery.

I used to go camping with Mica and Buggy (blue heeler), and I was always convinced that if I ran into trouble, that Mica would fight off anyone or thing who had evil intentions. Fortunately, I never had to find out.

In November, 2004, Tim and I decided to move to Australia. Moving to Australia with dogs is no easy task, and it became clear that Mica would not be able to travel due to her age. My friends, Robyn and Tom, offered to take her, while we would bring Sammy and Karma with us to our new home. The grief of leaving Mica behind was overwhelming. I felt such pain for months, that when we finally had to say goodbye to her, it wasn't terrible. She knew what was happening and settled herself on Robyn and Tom's porch. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect home for her.

Since the last time I saw her, the only real trauma came when she was lost for 1-2 days. She had walked 25 miles north along the highway and was rescued by a good-hearted trucker and some wonderful people from Sevilleta National Wildlife Refuge. Robyn didn't tell me about the event until she was safely at home (bless her heart). A part of me was sure she was trying to find her way home (to our old house along her route), and the guilt I felt was miserable. She was an Iditarod Dog champion at heart and body (or would have been if she had been born in Alaska and not New Mexico), so for an old girl, 25 miles was a walk in the park. (Not really. Robyn said she was thirsty and exhausted when they found her.) Many of the dogs in the Iditarod look like Mica, just look here.

I lost a best friend, and I know it will be worse for Robyn and Tom, because they will keep feeling her around their house for awhile. I'm blessed to have had Mica as my friend and companion, and blessed to have Robyn and Tom be the wonderful and generous friends (and adoptive doggie parents) they are.

We were so poor....

On the road again

I'm traveling again after a long hiatus. In the last month, I've been to London, Manchester, and Perth. I was born near London and did my first degree at the University of Manchester so I know them well, although I hadn't visited either for many years. Manchester is much the same mucky, wreckage-of-the-industrial-revolution town, though with a new veneer. Both London and Manchester are very dirty compared to Australia cities - lots of rubbish on the street. One thing that has clearly improved is the food - I went to a number of really good restaurants.

I've not seen much of Perth. I'm staying at Scarborough in the Rendezvous which is a nice hotel. I've been walking on the beach when possible. Here's the view of the Indian Ocean from my window:



Tim

Now for you cat lovers....

Boatie dies trying to dodge sturgeon

I mercilessly make fun of the Australian habit of adding "IE" to almost any word to personalize it, and here I am again.... The title of an Australian newspaper article describes a sad event, and indeed it is. But somehow, turning a "Boater" into a "Boatie"... well, I can't help but find it amusing. For example, "The truckie gave a pressie of sunnies to the postie." I'm surprised they didn't call the sturgeon a "fishie". I give you further proof that Australian slang was developed by three-year-olds.

Of course, being me and after looking at the title a bit, I realized it could be interpreted in a couple of ways (if you take creative license as I do). As you can see, Boatie can be boa-tie. Which brings us to the photo below. (Not my photo, just one courtesy of a Google image search.)

Now this is one helluva "bowtie", er, I mean boa tie. Get it?

Cheers, Judi

PS: Feeling kinda silly this morning!

Should the "Friends" be tried too?

A beautiful little Chinese girl, nicknamed, Pumpkin, was left alone at a train station in Melbourne and soon after her father fled the country. The little girl is now in foster care, and it appears she will be reunited with her mother's family. The police waited two days or so for a search warrant before they would open the boot of the car. The mother had been missing for days. The mother's body was found in the boot of the family car at the family home. She was dead.

But - what if a wounded and/or gagged woman were in the boot of the car while the administrative work was taking place? The woman was dead, but did they know that? While the police were getting a search warrant, couldn't someone have died?

But - the part of the story that truly amazes me is this:

"The cause of death was unclear, but friends of Ms Liu's fugitive husband, Nai Xin Xue, were in little doubt about what had happened. A friend, who wished to remain anonymous, said Xue, 54, had spoken in the past about killing his wife.

"He mentioned it a little bit, but we never knew whether he would do it or not. Nobody could know for sure that he would do it. As a friend, you could only try to give him some help, to make him not think of the bad things. He said he felt no hope and that he felt he was being played by his wife, that she didn't really like him or love him."'

If someone mentioned to me they were thinking of killing someone, I would report them - to someone. I would find help. I would take action. This man has a history of domestic violence with his wife, and no one does anything? By all means... just try to get this guy not to think of bad things and it will be alright.

I hope they catch the guy soon and hang him by his cajones (sp?). And the friends? What is a suitable punishment for inaction, or for that matter, incredible stupidity.

Judi

Three wheels on my wagon

THREE WHEELS ON MY WAGON
(Burt Bacharach / Bob Hilliard)

The New Christy Minstrels

Three wheels on my wagon,
And I’m still rolling along
The Cherokees are chasing me
Arrows fly, right on by
But I’m singing a happy song

I’m singing a higgity, haggity, hoggety, high
Pioneers, they never say die
A mile up the road there’s a hidden cave
And we can watch those Cherokees
Go galloping by

SPOKEN: “George, they’re catching up to us!”
“Get back in the wagon woman!”

Two wheels on my wagon,
And I’m still rolling along
Them Cherokees are after me
Flaming spears, burn my ears
But I’m singing a happy song

I’m singing a higgity, haggity hoggety, high
Pioneers, they never say die
Half a mile up the road there’s a hidden cave
And we can watch those Cherokees
Go galloping by

SPOKEN: “Duh, Paw? Are you sure this is the right road?”
“Will you hush up? You and your maps!”

One wheel on my wagon,
And I’m still rolling along
Them Cherokees after me
I’m all in flames, at the reins
But I’m singing a happy song

I’m singing a higgity, haggity hoggety, high
Pioneers, they never say die
Right around that turn there’s a hidden cave
And we can watch those Cherokees
Go galloping by

SPOKEN: “George? Should I get the bag of beads and trinkets?”
“Woman, I know what I’m doing!”

No wheels on my wagon,
So I’m not rolling along
The Cherokees captured me
They look mad, things look bad
But I’m singing a happy song

SPOKEN: “C’mon all you Cherokees sing along with me!”

Higgity, haggity hoggety, high
Pioneers, they never say die…

I am three! See me on my trike!

This was taken on my third birthday (1958). Things to note:

• Sturdy construction of trike
• Sturdy construction of shoes
• Trike-sweater color coordination
  
• Grey socks, grey underwear
  
• Massive bell
• Embroidery on dungarees nicely moderates the otherwise excessively masculine impression

Cornwell siblings, 1958

My father was an excellent photographer and at a time when we didn't have much money spent quite a bit on cameras and film. His major gift to himself every so often was a better camera. He developed a lot of black and white photographs himself in a makeshift darkroom but also took a lot of color slides. My eldest brother Chris is digitizing the best. Here is one of the four of us. From left to right: Chris, Patrick, Tim (me), and Fran.



This was evidently taken near Fleet, Hampshire, in 1958.

Tim

Vincero! Vincero! Vincero!*

Actually, maybe not.....


*(Translation: I will win! X 3)

Some truth

Starry night

Quite extraordinary!

Tim

Midnight Visitors, well.... 7:00 PM

Call the cuteness police - We had Mom and baby visiting on our balcony last night.
These are brushtail possums. This is the first time I've actually seen a Joey outside the pouch (in person, not just in a photo). Here's a photo of what this little guy was like on July 26.... well, if it's the same little guy.

Karma is becoming insistent on dragging me to the dog park, so I'll cut this short.

Cheers!
Judi

Oh, funny funny funny

Domestic Goddess, That's Me OK

Anyone who knows me would say that "Domestic Goddess" is not, well, me. Housework isn't my favorite thing to do, and I am clutter challenged. I am trying hard to improve my cleaning and decluttering skills, and with so many resources on the internet, how can I fail? There is http://unclutterer.com on my newsreader, and I faithfully watch the Canadian TV Show, Neat. So what have I learned. Lots. Am I improving? Everyone has to start somewhere.

So I have my own little segment of cleaning wisdom I'm going to pass along to you. I invented this myself, so if anyone else uses my "secret" formula, then I get all rights for it. I developed the secret recipe, because I don't like the smell of vinegar - who does? The secret recipe is for homemade, eco-friendly window washing liquid. Ready?

Take a spray bottle (I always recycle my old ones and use them until they die.). So assume you have an empty spray bottle the size of a Windex Bottle. Put in about 1/4 cup of white or cleaning vinegar, fill the bottle with water, and the secret ingredient..... ta dah.... add about 1/2 capful of Eucalyptus Oil. Shake it up Baby! Get your trusty microfibre rag out (I hate using paper towels.), spray your mixture on the window to be washed, and rub. It's best to use a second rag to dry. Not only does this mixture smell good and fresh, but it works incredibly well - leaves the window shiny, streak-free - and best of all, it's fast and easy. I am actually enjoying washing windows now, go figure...

So you heard it here first, from the Domestic Goddess in Training....

Cheers, Judi

Joey Possum, etc.

So, I can't seem to get it right. Last Saturday night, we went to see and hear the John Butler Trio, not the John Bishop Trio like I wrote in my last post. Do you remember Joey Bishop, US comedian, from days of yore? Somehow I have the "JB" stuck in my brain, and so poor John Butler is misrepresented as Joey... well, Bishop. So let me tell you about the chubby possum who has been visiting us lately with her little Joey in the pouch.........

Stick a basketball between your legs... now try running on a narrow railing with your mouth full. That's our Momma Possum - delicate and light footed, she ain't. I really hope she doesn't meet the same fate as the poor popped possum I found a few weeks ago.

Here's one little Joey getting a ride.

With love, Judi

Catching Up....

I just received an email from an old friend and neighbor (from home town Weston, Mass. USA). She saw our blog mentioned on the WHS alumni website and kindly sent an e-hello. This surprise contact served to remind me that a blog is a way to stay in touch or get in touch, and hence, worthwhile to keep up on a more timely basis.

News: As you know, Gavin graduated UTD with flying colors, and has already accepted his first "real job!" He's moving to outside of Washington, DC (Gaithersburg, Maryland), and will be an associate chemist. Moving to the east coast after growing up in New Mexico and living in Dallas, Texas, ought to be eye-opening. I think Zoe is going to join him for the ride east which should make for a fun trip, especially if they take some time to check out the country on the way.

Sad news: A couple of weeks ago as I was pulling out of my driveway, I noticed a dead animal on the grass near the road. Sadly, it was a dead possum. More sadly, it was a mama possum. I have been told to look inside a "dead" possum's pouch if it's a female, to check for offspring, and this girl had a dead baby. My friend, Jenny, said that a baby possum with no hair is called a "pinky." If they are more developed they would be called a "joey." This baby was a pinky, but fully formed. It was fascinating to be able to look into a pouch like this, but it was also upsetting. I later called Tim in tears. I think the possum, a brushtail, must have been hit by a car. It had a ridged imprint along the fur on it's side, but no other signs of trauma.

Tim and I will be going to hear the John Bishop Trio on Saturday night. We're looking forward to it. They have a great sound that you just have to move to.

I just got involved with a new "cause." It's called Barking Mad. Barking Mad is an organization that advocates for "Access Rights" for dog owners. Australian's love affair with dogs is only surpassed by the US. Even the UK comes in third! However, there are very few places in Australia where you can take your dog without being fined. Barking Mad is trying to get councils to allow dogs on more beaches... anywhere. I'll keep you informed on how we do, but the "packleader" is originally from the US and I'll tell you.... "I wouldn't want to get in her way!" This girl gets things done!

With love, Judi

Goosebump Producers

Sometimes incredibly beautiful and touching things come from unlikely sources. Listen to the salesman and Connie and watch the reactions of the audience. They both gave me goosebumps.

More Rain...

That's right, more rain. We had a brief reprieve and some lovely blue sky was spotted through some clouds, and like I said, it was brief. Even the crazy guys on The Chaser's War Against Everything, sat on their set in the last show, with water pouring down on them.... in the studio. No, the roof wasn't leaking, they really are just crazy. If you live in Australia and you haven't seen the show yet, you're missing a treat. It's a little like "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" on steroids, except there are five guys who play host. These guys will do anything. They will say anything to anyone, they will do the most outrageous pranks, and nudity is expected if it will get a laugh. In the last show, one of the guys went from door to door as a porn star (one woman said he looked like a cross between Elvis and Borat). He started out as "Tool" porn guy, then "Pizza" porn guy, and then "Pool" porn guy. That was my favorite because he actually stripped down to a g-string with exposed, but very cute, buns. Many of the women he met knew what was going on and played along, but the poor elderly women were pretty shaken up - can you blame them?

Check out a video - you'll want to watch them all! http://video.google.com.au/videoplay?docid=2765149300516224817

These guys are all talented - they can sing, dance, and act. One of my favorite bits is "When Life is Like a Musical." In the last show, two guys were in the emergency room of a hospital awaiting treatment, and suddenly stood up singing and dancing about having to wait so long. You have to see it to appreciate it.

Some interesting balcony news:
I have some regular lorikeet visitors and they almost always arrive in pairs. They are so cute snuggling on the "roost" and preening each other. Of course, all that lovey action disappears if I offer one a grape. Then it becomes "every lorikeet for him or her/self." One lorikeet, in particular, has stolen my heart. It's strange, because I love him for his orneriness. If I place grapes around the roost for him to pick off for himself, he'll go to each one, grab it, and throw it on the floor. He actually wants the grape, but he wants to be sure no other bird can get it too.I keep telling him that grapes don't grow on trees and he should be more grapeful, but .... oh well.

He also tries to peck my hand when I put food up for them. He just assumes I'm trying to take the food away - you have to admit that this is pretty cheeky behavior for something 10" tall. I then wave my finger in his face with him laughing and saying (to himself) "Hah! You don't scare me!!!" Two days ago I took out the cup of seed and held it for him to peck a few seeds out of it before I poured the rest on the plate. When I started moving away, he chose not to let go of his prize, and rode over to the plate perched on top of the little cup. He wouldn't let go until I had almost emptied the seed onto the plate. I've got to come up with a good name for the little guy - any suggestions? ....hmmmmmm.... maybe "Bird from La Mancha?"

And territorial? This little bird will fight, at one time, with one wing tied behind his back - crested pidgeons (one particularly persistent pidgeon), two king parrots (timid despite their size), two crimson rosellas (timid as well) and the occasional noisy mynah. The PPP (particularly persistent pidgeon) was almost as tough as the lorikeet. Unfortunately for the PPP, however, the lorikeet has help. Its mate flies up to the roof, looks down, and distracts PPP, whilst Mr. La Mancha charges head on for the attack. PPP doesn't stand a chance!

Finally, Tim and I had a nice Queen's Birthday last Monday. We took the dogs up to Pie in the Sky and had Devonshire Tea under the trees and overlooking the Hawkesbury River. Then we drove down to Brooklyn and walked along the water viewing the wrecked sailing yachts that didn't survive the recent storm. We saw five good size boats - one mostly submerged. Later we had a lovely fresh fish "tea" in an outside cafe (yes, the weather was perfect!) and strolled around the little town of Brooklyn. Well, the weather was perfect until we were almost home... and then, rain.

This is a recent not too horrible photo of me with long hair:



Last note: I just had a run-in with my little feisty feathered friend. He's getting more vicious, but maybe the weather is just getting to him as well.

Hugs,
Judi

Great versions of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah

1. Choir of Hard Knocks (easily #1)
2. k.d. lang
3. Jeff Buckley
4. Leonard Cohen
5. Allison Crowe (even #5 is still really good)

One of the great songs of the last half century.

Hallelujah – Leonard Cohen (from Leonard Cohen Live in Concert)

I've heard there was a special chord
that David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, Do ya?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor Fall, The major lift,
The baffled king composing, hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne
she cut your hair and from your lips she drew a halleujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Baby I've been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone here before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
But love is not a victory march
No it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
Ah but now you never show it to me, do ya?
Well remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath that we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there's a God above
All I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
No, it's a cold and it's a lonely Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch
I told the truth; I didn't come (all this way) to fool ya
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand right here before the lord of song
with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

The view from our window

Graduate Gavin!!

He did it! Gavin recently graduated from the University of Texas at Dallas. He had an academic scholarship for the four years and kept his grades up to maintain it. His degree is in Chemistry, and he is looking at options for medical school, research, or whatever other interesting opportunities come along. Wow.... to be almost 22 and have the whole world at your feet.... ugh! How terrifying!

Congratulations Gavin!! We love you!

Dad and Judi

Rain Rain Go Away and...

...go rain someplace that really needs it. If I sound morose, it's because it has rained for two days straight. I know I shouldn't complain, but it isn't just dark and cloudy. Water is actually falling from the sky and has for some time now. It always seems to catch my laundry on line (har har). I guess the clothes will just get extra rainshower fresh.

The leeches, familiar creatures to Tim on his walks after rain, are stretching their little bodies up trying to grasp onto the next warm-blooded body strolling nearby. They really are disgusting little creatures - they can crawl right through your sock -- just stretch their bodies long and skinny... Yuck. Tim wanted to throw away a good pair of socks because he had several in this configuration. I guess that's enough leech information. Although they say they use them in heart surgeries due to their anticoagulant properties. Visions of Alien I, II, ....

Speaking of creatures, but of a much more charming nature, are our possums visitors. I made a real breakthrough with one little guy who allowed me to feed him some bread - actually holding it for him while he munched away on it. You can't see in the photo below, but one eye is blind (I think), because it has a white disc covering the pupil. This possum usually has to combat a mum and her adolescent for the food, but he's smart enough to be showing up earlier and earlier in the evening. (BTW, the bread was whole grain and homemade, but they also like paw paws, apples, bananas, etc.) (photo will be added when site allows)

The colours now in Sydney are Autumn - bold reds, yellows and oranges. It's quite beautiful. However, since the weather is so mild, you will also see roses and other brightly coloured flowers. Despite the leaches, it's actually a nice time to walk this time of year -- warm enough to be comfortable and chilly enough not to get overheated. The dogs are a lot more active as well.

Tim went on a walk with two friends last weekend. I didn't go, because it was at least 10K with some difficult vertical bits. Let's be honest, I am not in that good shape. The walk was part of the Great North Walk and it spans between Cowan, NSW and Brooklyn, NSW.



The area is the Hawkesbury, a beautiful winding river that cuts in from the ocean less than an hour's drive north of Sydney. I thought you might enjoy seeing a couple of photos that Tim took on his outing.

I have two pairs of wet and bedraggled Lorikeets huddled together on the balcony. At least the roof gives them some shelter. Actually, that's why I built my little aviary in the first place - they always look so miserable in the rain.

Cheers! Judi

The Rattrap of the Future

Rats, cont…

I discovered that rattraps are poorly made. It doesn’t matter if they are wood or plastic. – some part will break right away. Some traps last for “the one big kill” and that’s it. Others decompose if left outdoors for a night or two. Like I said, “in search of a better rattrap.”

Then, as I cruised the web (as I am wont to do), I came across “The Rat Zapper.” What a great idea! The rat walks into the blue container in search of the treats you’ve placed in it, steps on a metal plate, and kaboom. The device is humane and hygienic. I only wish it had worked.



First of all, the Rat Zapper sells for $29 in the US. Australia customs won’t allow you to import one, because it is used to maim or destroy an animal. Well, yuh! So, I bought a Rat Zapper from an Australian distributor. $125 (AUD) later, plus the $20 special AA batteries it requires, I was on my way to rat-free-dom. So I thought.

I’ll skip a bit through the process and jump to the results: two mice and a whole bunch of electrocuted slugs. An electrocuted slug in a Rat Zapper is a little like have your KY Jelly explode in your dresser drawer. ‘Nuff said.

My Rat Zapper is back with the distributor who is testing it. I will try to remain optimistic. My friends now think I'm crazier than I really am!

Next: A trap, a mouse, and a bucket of water.

Cheers, Judi

In Search of a Better Rat Trap....

In search of a better rat trap…

Have we discussed my rat problems? More so, have we discussed my rattrap problems?

Feeding birds on a balcony tends to attract rodents – where there is seed, there are rodents. I’m not exactly a mouse fan, but I have to say the rats are really really getting to me. I’m not talking about the cute little hippety hoppity bush rats – nope, these are your common, not so very cute rat rat.

I started out with such high ideals. My first rat elimination technique was going to be the catch ‘em and let ‘em go kind of trap. I even found a man who makes the devices and only lives a few burbs over. They were cheap. My mind was swayed after talking to various people about rat problems. My neighbor, who is a really, sweet and gentle guy, would just as soon destroy them all and if they suffer, all the better. Ian is not a rat fan. Besides, what do you do with them after you catch them? Take them to the bush down the street so they can journey to and frequent someone else’s house? Is that fair?

Most people I spoke with use rat poison. They say that ended their rat problem. But I just can’t do that! First, it makes them suffer – they dehydrate and die or seeking water, they drown. And then what about the poor schmuck who then eats the poisoned rat? It just goes on. It offends my environmental sensitivities.

So, I go to the store and buy your basic (plastic or wood, wire or coil….) mouse and rattraps. I convince myself this is the most upstanding solution. We had immediate success – two rats in as many days. We were on a roll. Except, rats are not stupid. In fact, I think rats are pretty darn smart. Even when I set the trap directly in front of their little cartoon-like entrance – they must jump over it or something…. To be continued…

Cheers, Judi

Poem Below...

The poem I wrote yesterday is not very good, but it helped me get in touch with what was bothering me. I was anxious and sad and wanted to hide from the world. After writing the poem, I realized it was the Virginia Tech shooting that had jolted me. I found that I was angry that it happened, angry that someone didn't see it coming and sad for the beautiful people who lost their lives. All over the world people are being murdered in war or genocide... a classroom should be a safe place, but then again, that mold was broken long ago.

Mostly, I feel powerless to make the world any better or safer.

Hugs, Judi

The Conversation

Weapons of mass destruction kill thousands or thirty-two.

How can you measure the forces of sadness, loss and grief?

How does it feel standing - facing - a bullet-exploding door

Trying to save your own life?



Sometimes we think that wouldn't be so bad

But scary even with our approval.

I wonder if we would take it personally,

That someone wanted to kill us - whoever we might be?



I like to think that my heroism would bust out saving all

Even if it was time for me to go away.

It's easy to be brave and heroic with words.

How does it feel facing steely dead killing eyes?



I would have, of course, tried to talk to the shooter,

To help him work through his anger issues and anxieties.

We would sit together over a beer and chat.

I would tell him why it wasn't a good idea to kill people.



I would of course request all people go safely elsewhere,

So that the shooter and I could talk without distraction.

I would ask him why he wanted to kill others

When he could just commit suicide and float gently away.



He would tell me they all deserved it, those people,

And why he was angry with them and they had to die.

I would ask him if he wanted company during his death;

I would ask him why he felt that would help, him.



The shooter and I would relax more from the beer

And from our good conversation about anger and hate.

The shooter would lean back and sigh, perhaps he would look confused;

I would ask the shooter how he felt.



The shooter would tell me he felt better and he wished he had talked to me before

Before he decided to kill those people who walked by his life

I would feel the shooter's pain deep in my gut and my heart would hurt

And then I would kill him with his own gun.


-judi

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Being Multiple

“Multiple Personality Disorder” (MPD) is the outdated term for the currently accepted term “Dissociative Identity Disorder” (DID). I use these acronyms interchangeably. I usually refer to myself as “multiple”, so I’ll stick with that.

Trying to write about my multiplicity is no easy task. How many people find it interesting? Who finds it interesting? What do they think is interesting about it?

For entertainment value, there are lots of good jokes about multiples. For example:

How many alters does it take to change a light bulb?

As many as will: one to change the bulb, one to change it back, three to argue over whether they want it light or dark, one to throw the light bulb against the wall to hear it crash, one to clean up the mess, four to go shopping for new bulbs and come home with stockings, licorice, Disney movies, popcorn and masking tape, one who insists it "IS" the light bulb and doesn't understand why everyone always wants it to change and can't it just be itself???? etc....

How many alters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

“4” --- 1 to screw in the light bulb, 1 to watch the screwing in of the light bulb, 1 to deny the screwing in of the light bulb ever happened, and 1 to repress the memory.

A difficult thing about living multiple is that many of my friends cannot understand when I am having a hard time. For friends who knew me “before diagnosis,” it is particularly confusing. In fact, it might be as difficult for them to accept my multiplicity as it was for me when first diagnosed. It’s a “concept” that is just difficult to “get your head around.”

It is also hard for friends to understand my need for solitude and quiet. Due to the extra activity in my brain, I become over-stimulated quickly. I can only tolerate being around anyone for more than 2-3 hours at a time… to say nothing of the many times I need to be alone. How can I expect a friend to understand that I have “someone” crying “inside” causing me to be sad or anxious?

It is also difficult for an “SPD” (singular personality disorder – ha ha) to understand my concept of time. I guess that “concept” would best be described as “variable.” For example, a couple of months might feel like a couple of weeks to me. I’ll try to explain more later. I don’t want you getting bored!

Hugs, Judi (et al)

What is going on?

Perhaps you have read the recent story in an Australian newspaper (SMH) about five teenage boys who raped a seventeen year old girl and filmed it on their mobile phone. This isn't the first story like this, and it is unlikely to be the last. What hit me with this story is the incredible lack of respect the boys have for this girl (or any). They get her drunk, they take her to a bedroom, they rape and otherwise molest her, they laugh at her, egg each other on and film the incident, and they toss her onto the front steps of her home without some of her clothing.

What is going on? I'm not sure... is it testosterone run wild? Have people become so used to seeing and hearing about inhumane acts that kids have embraced that immorality? I can't read about the various "wars" in Africa without hearing about the rapes that occur and the incredible brutality (using guns to physically rape) women and the physical and longterm damage that does to a woman.

We find ourselves in a world where lopping off a person's head is commonplace. This doesn't happen just in the war zone, however. Yesterday I read about two men who beheaded a seventeen year old boy and bowled with the boy's head.

Hello?????!!!!!

I can understand the mentality in one sense, because the various "powers that be" use their religious beliefs to justify atrocities. Our overtly "christian" president Bush appears to have no problem killing countless people (for whatever reason he chooses at any given moment). I'm sure he prays for them. Islam does the same in that they justify suicide bombs and beheadings as the will of Allah.

There are many explanations why the teenage boys came to rape and humiliate the girl. We can blame it on the media, on the internet, on the breakdown of the family, on childhood abuse and neglect, and so on. It sickens me, however, to hear a boy's grandfather blame the victim and provide excuses for the boy. Accountability?

How much responsibility belongs to the boy's family (especially good ol' grandad)? How much to the boy(s)? Society? Media? Internet?

It's hard to be optimistic. Are we all "going to the dogs?" I wish we would - they are far more sensible and less brutal than humans.

It's just so sad.

With love, Judi

On the Paws Front - Good News

We have guardedly good news about Sammy. Last Saturday morning, I took him in for his check up with Kay, our wonderful vet. The bad news is that Sammy has Lymphoma. The bumps and lumps I was concerned about turned out to be just fatty cysts (one calcified). The vet, however, found a little nipple like growth on Sammy's tummy. We are fortunate that she found it, because it is the nasty one and as with most cancers, the sooner it's found, the better to be able to treat it early.

Kay took more blood and sent it to pathology. The pathologist, who did the original test, said that with some slight abnormalities, everything important was within the norm. I say she's wonderful, because she called me at 8:00 PM on a Saturday night to let me know the test results - less than seven hours after the blood was taken.

So if Kay got the whole cancer with the little nipple-like thing she cut out, we might be in good shape. But nothing is for sure (except death and taxes as they say), so I will need to check Sammy for enlarged lymph nodes in certain areas of his body on a monthly basis. We will also have regular checkups at the vet's, because some of the changes can be extremely subtle and easily overlooked by inexperienced hands - mine!

So after a good flow of tears, I am somewhat stable again (everything is relative you know!) and my main worry has been keeping Sammy from licking his wounds. I got chastised for not making him wear the funny lampshade thing, but he looked so uncomfortable in it and kept bumping into everything!! Anyway, our next appointment is Thursday, and the stitches will come out. Things look like they are healing well.

Unfortunately, I came across a couple of lumps on Karma. One lump is small and I first noticed it about 6 months ago (I'm not very good about time, so I'm guessing here.) The other lump looks to be a small wound caused by a nasty twig jab. The small sores on this lump were slightly infected, so both dogs are on antibiotics.

Taking Karma to the vet is not fun. As soon as anyone tries to touch him, he goes ballistic. He tries to bite the vet when she is simply listening to his heart. For this reason, I have become expert in applying a muzzle. He doesn't like it, but it sure cuts down on some of the stress - and doggie bites.... and he is not kidding. I think he has some abuse issues as a puppy, so touching him in certain ways will incur doggie wrath and teeth. Thursday, the vet will try again to biopsy the one bump, and hopefully, it will be a fatty cyst.



I wonder at times, why people bother with health insurance without insuring their pets. In the last couple of weeks we have spent an easy $1k (AUD) on doggie health. Even my health expenses haven't been quite so dear! Oh well. What else to do? Sammy and Karma are my best buddies!

Luv and Hugs, Judi

Red-bellied black snake

Almost stepped on a Red Bellied Black Snake today out walking by the Fishponds west of Hornsby. What a great name - it really rolls off the tongue - Red -- Bellied -- Black -- Snake. Wow. He looked pretty cool as well.

Tim

No Body No Pain

My body would hurt so if I had one

Instead of my head bobbing and bobbing
In the air like a helium filled balloon
Because the pain sometimes feels

Would feel, unbearable.

But, since I am just a head
When I feel this bad
My body feels no pain
No body, No pain.

Sometimes I feel that a body
Might be better than a head
Because the body hurt can go away
Pain in ones head is eternal.

Or so it seems

Why is it that head pain
Is called pain as in the body?
Or is it pain in the heart?
Of course, the heart is in the body.

Should it not be called something else?
Like poison of the soul?
And body pain is a symptom of illness
From which one can die.

So, can one die from soul pain?
Heart or head or soul – pain.
I guess that might be suicide
Or the body just finally giving in.

Are they tied together
This soul and this heart, head and body?
Such that for one to live
They all must thrive or at least try.

When my body disappears,
It gives my soul a time to howl
Without worry of death
Or of not trying hard enough.

Saturday, June 10, 2006
Judi and internal artists

"THE SCREAM"

Oil Painting 1980, Judy Castelli

"The Scream" was painted well before my diagnosis of multiple personality disorder (DID), and before my understanding of what exactly was going on inside. It was painted without the knowlege of alter personalities, and before any memories fo child abuse. It is an accurate view of what I felt like inside, almost all the time.
MPD DID, survivor art.

http://www.multiple-personality.com/gallery11.html

Sammy's Day at the Vet

I thought you might be interested in Sammy's condition, so here's an update. We picked him up from the Hornsby Vet at 5:00 PM (we had dropped him off at 8:30 AM). I was surprised how much energy he had as he came into the room where we were waiting. You would have thought he just came in from a walk in the park. This is good. Our Vet, Kay, is great. She actually talks to the dogs, like I do. This is a positive sign and something to look for in a good vet.

It sounds like Sammy is covered with all kinds of bumps - good, bad and who knows? Several of them are the fatty cyst type lumps that you don't need to worry about. But he had some of the not so easily brushed aside kind of lumps too. She showed us two vials with biopsies destined for the pathologist. One was the hard lump she removed from his "rump" and the other had appeared like a nipple on his belly - I never even noticed it. We don't know what's going to happen. He seems healthy and with luck, Kay got all the little (if there were any) nasties that need to be removed. Judging by the five inch incision with stitches on his rear leg, I hope she got at least most of it. He also has incisions on his tummy and his foreleg. Our test will be how to keep Sammy from wanting to go "walkies," which means "runnies" in doggie language. I told Tim I should just take him to the dog park - he never does anything there - just hangs out! Take away the fence though, and he's outta here!

For the next week, he is supposed to walk slowly. He is also supposed to wear one of the collars that juts out about a foot from his neck. Experience tells me that Sammy is not going to like that, but we need something to keep him from licking his stitches - and I can understand how stitches can get to the point of needing to be licked! Kay found more bumps on my little guy, but she's sure those are fatty cyst type lumps - no worries. Bottom line is that it's pretty much "wait and see." Ugh. Well, right now he's sleeping soundly on the floor in front of me. I think he's a little confused about what happened, but who isn't after surgery? I found some lumps on Karma too - of course, after their annual exam. I might bring him in during Sammy's follow up and have the doc check them out.

Well, that's all I know. We should get the biopsy results by next Saturday, and hopefully, earlier. Think good thoughts for my little bud.



Hugs, Judi

My Lumpy Dog

Sammy went to the vet this morning for surgery. They are going to remove two lumps from his hind leg and send them to be biopsied. One of the lumps has been there for quite a while, but the other is fairly new and harder. Lumps are fairly common on dogs (as people), but there are evil ones that must be watched. I'm a wreck and I cried when I left the vet's office. Sammy was a trouper until I started to leave, then he got a bit anxious. A friend of mine from the dog park works at this vet and will be working today. I'm glad that Sammy will have Nicky around - someone he knows. Nicky volunteers doing pet therapy by going to rest homes and visiting the elderly with her dog, BJ. I am convinced that BJ is a horse wearing a dog costume - he's huge. But the old folks love him. There is a funny photo I have showing Sammy and BJ together at the park. It might not be in the best taste, but it shows Sammy's optimistic spirit and BJ's calm nature.


On other matters....
The poem that I posted yesterday might be a bit too obtuse for general understanding. It's actually obtuse for me too. Instead of another poem right away, I'm going to post one of the many collages I've done (with inside help). Unless you zoom in, it will be difficult to capture some of the finer features of the art, but I hope you can appreciate them regardless of the limitations of the image. I believe this would be referred to as black art, so please don't expect a lovely, calming landscape.





I have many more collages, but these are two of my most recent works. I'll post some of the others later. My earlier collages are quite different to these.

Apologies for the somber tone of today's post - but I'm a bit down. Feel free to comment on anything you see or read on our blog. We only have two regular commenters, and we love to hear from them.







Oh, I forgot to mention. We had a black turkey right outside our bedroom door this morning. Tim heard flapping noises during the night, but had no idea what was causing the commotion. I'm not sure why he chose to visit us - perhaps he heard we don't eat meat or poultry!

Peace and hugs,
Judi

PS: We'll find out in a few hours how Sammy is doing. Send him healing thoughts please. :)

Poetry and Inside Cheerleaders

Tim asked me why I haven’t blogged yet, and I think it’s because I have so much to say, I don’t know where to start. I want to talk about mental health issues so we can all get them out of the closet (rather than hiding them as the dirty secret). I hardly know anyone who is not taking antidepressant medication. So, it stands to reason that at least a few people have mental health “issues.” This is one reason why I want to write about my DID/MPD. People need encouragement to talk about their personal problems and challenges. If more of us open up, perhaps that can happen.

Isn’t it fascinating? The human mind is amazing. At one point in my therapy, we identified 60 +/- “alters” – my inside people. I have male alters, women alters, child alters, partial alters, a cussing teenage girl alter, I’m sure I have a dog alter... I have one alter who has poor hearing and my eyesight varies as to “who” is seeing at the time. It is now possible for scientists to watch a person’s “switching” happening on a brain-scanning machine. Incredible!


Not long after my diagnosis in the 1990’s, I would have alters write poetry for (and to) me. I would do the physical act of writing, but it was as though I was channeling someone else’s words. I could write a five-page poem with complex metaphors, etc. in under 20 minutes. During the writing process, I would think, “this doesn’t make sense.” But at the final reading, I was always amazed how everything came together. I would like to show you some of my/our poetry. Some of it is simple, some of it is complex, sometimes it’s a little too sing-songy, but it’s always interesting. I will cut some parts out due to triggering images or if the content is too “sensitive,” but here’s a sample:

March 8, 2000 - Untitled

Pushing petals in the snow
Flowing waters whilst I go
In whose heart I barely tread
This I know I must be led.

To the point of my dismay
After which down I lay
On to heaven I will soar
Seeking justice ever more.

For the truth is hard to see
But it’s she that beckons me
Only I will rejoice for it
After which I’ll wearily sit.

Kindness grabs at my right hand
Scratching figures in the sand
Dismay will catch me this I know
But truth from heart will surely flow.

Kindness dupes the ones who hide
Pushing forth those who lied
Send me on to those poor souls
Drop me down through heaven’s holes.

Catch me now for I do sink
Buffeting winds force me to think
Cautious watchdogs we sit back
Waiting waiting for the attack

All I know and this I pray
Wonder will come to me this day
Hoping hoping for all to rise
Struggling not from those despised.

So, this I tell you as we sit
Truth unravels bit by bit
Push ahead and trounce the wall
Waiting waiting we heed the call.

I am Christopher hear me out
I’m a gentle soul and not a lout
Embrace me with your arm so tight
And hold me close with all your might.

And when I hide, you beckon me
You cannot wait and let me be.
You call me forth and make me talk
From your request I cannot walk.

But treat me kindly this you shall
And I’ll remain your sainted pal.
Kindness works of this I know
So step along and forward we go.

I bid adieu to you and yours
And go ahead and do your chores
I will work on what you ask
Preparing for the tedious task.

I won’t leave you don’t worry now
In your honor, this I vow
We’ll step ahead and get to know
From our hearts, knowledge will flow.

The rest of the poem I will omit due to the sensitive content and triggering images. Christopher, who is an older and wise “part” of me, writes the poem. I’m sure it’s not written by the “traditional me,” because I don’t use words like “whilst.” He understands that I want to know what happened to me (the trauma to make me DID). It seems he has help writing the poem. In the section I cut out, he gives me some of the information.

The final two stanzas are:

She is strong she knows such sorrow
From other moons some souls she’ll borrow
We came forth to walk the road
The seeds we planted, never sowed.

I will end this sad sad tale
Sometime soon, we’ll need to wail
But til then we’ll suffer strong
And peace I know will come along.

Blog written by Judi

Does DID exist?

Having said that Judi has DID, we'd better dispose of the idea that DID doesn't exist. If you read enough on the topic, you'll find that some people believe that DID is either a fantasy indulged in by self-absorbed people or something unwittingly taught to patients by doctors. I know a few DID people and have read a fair bit about it and I have no doubt at all that it exists. I've lived with a DID sufferer for about ten years now and have seen the effects over and over again. Either Judi is the best actor the world has ever seen or she has multiple personalities.

Unlike the Monkees, I'm not a believer. I find it hard to believe in anything - I have to see it to believe it and even then I wouldn't call it belief to accept what your eyes tell you, I'd call it knowledge. Given something strange, I'd far rather find a simple explanation than a complicated one. In the case of DID, the simplest explanation is that people can have multiple identities. To understand this, we have to reflect on what a personality is. To me, it's a pattern of behavior exhibited by a person that is repeatable and predictable. As a physicist, I like to think of a personality as being indicative of non-linear dynamics but if that means nothing to you, don't worry. Here's an analogy - in the days of long playing records played by a needle running around in a spiral groove, they used to make trick LPs with multiple but separate grooves. By choosing the starting point at random, you could select an entirely different song, or by nudging the record player, you could skip from one song to another. When DID people get nudged, they can switch personalities. This analogy isn't quite right but it's suggestive.

So why do people not accept the idea of DID? I can think of a number of reasons:

• It's pretty strange - if I haven't lived with Judi, I probably wouldn't have believed it.
  
• Some people have a very straightforward view of how the mind works that doesn't accommodate something as strange as DID. As a long time meditator, I know that my mind is really strange anyway so it doesn't bother me.
• DID is supposed to be caused by the severe and persistent abuse of young children. This is horrible to even contemplate so for some people it's preferable to deny DID.
• For the same reason, some parents or family members implicated even indirectly may wish to deny DID.

So, yes, it exists. As I said, it's the simplest explanation of what Judi and I have experienced.

Tim

Being dissociative or "MY DID"

Sheesh, what to say now? Ever since we started this blog, I have wanted to talk about my DID…. Now that I can… I’ve got BLOGFRIGHT!!!!!

The real problem is that I have too much I want to say. I want to tell you about my DID, but I also want you to know more about DID in general (i.e., How does it start, how long does it last, is it curable, how many people have DID, etc.) I remember when I was diagnosed in 1997, well, some things I remember. For example, I remember not being able to comprehend that I had +/- 60 different parts/alters in my head. I remember going to work and wondering if anyone could see how fragmented I was. I used to be so secretive about the DID – (in little, backward Socorro, NM) that I was convinced if people found out, they would burn me at the stake as if I was a witch.

Most people would not ever know when I was “switched” (i.e., someone else). A lot of my “alters” were regular people who did specialized jobs for when I could not. Stephanie was the professional worker (mostly the Human Resource Manager). I also have various “professional” drivers, so that I am probably a better and more consistent driver than most people on the road (I think I had one parking ticket, but I’m not sure). There are others. You probably recognize some of these “people-types” – you probably have your own set. The difference is one of degree and level of dissociation. Common dissociation is spacing out as you drive down the freeway. Not so common dissociation is spacing out so much that someone else comes out to deal with life, while you’re perhaps hiding in a corner of your own mind.

I hope you are as impressed with my husband as I am. How many men could sit and talk to their 40-something wife (after recent marriage), and still sit and talk to that woman when her seven year old alter comes out. Think about it. Actually, I was probably more freaked out than he was. Tim has been incredible during this entire ordeal. Since he met Patricia, he has chatted with numerous alters of different ages and temperaments. Surely, I would never have made it without his support over the last ten years. As difficult and challenging as it has been, he still has fun watching me (and my little folk) watch “kid” movies. When I was watching the movie, Alaska, about two kids looking for their father in cold country (the father had crashed his plane on a mountain). The kids were adopted by (and adopted) “Cubby” the polar bear cub. Of course, these children got into all sorts of frightening and dangerous situations, during which my little one, “Tanya,” would holler out, “Cubby, save boy!!!” or “Cubby, where girl, go find girl!!” I have to say I’m incredibly cute as a kid.

There’s so much more to say, but I have time.
Judi, et al

Judi's DID

Some of our friends will know that this blog has omitted to say much about one very big thing in our lives - Judi's struggle with Dissociative Identity Disorder. We've kept this private until now but both of us think it's time to be more open.

Judi and I are approaching the tenth anniversary of our first date - April 27, 1997. That night was wonderful and something that we both remember. I also remember well the next date - we drove out into the desert east of Socorro to a waterhole that I knew about. We walked around chatting happily but then it started to get dark and the stars came out. We decided to leave but as we got up to go, Judi told me that she'd had many difficult times in her life. The increasing darkness of the night matched her mood shift. It was a striking moment - too dark to see much of her face but I could hear something unexpected in the tone of her voice.

Shift forward 6 months, and we're married, sitting on the bed in the evening. It's been a wonderful 6 months and we're really happy. There have been some tough times - she occasionally goes into a strange state that I don't recognize - sometimes crying inconsolably. An ice pack on the neck will bring her back. So there we are, talking on the bed about something - but I can't remember what. All of a sudden I realize that Judi's voice has changed, and that she sounds like a young girl. I don't mean that metaphorically - I mean that she really sounds like a young girl. I realized almost immediately that I was talking to another person so I asked her name - she said "Patricia". We had a reasonably long conversation. The key to talking to alters, which is what Patricia is, is to respect them and treat them just like a real person. I did that and she talked. I can't remember much of what we talked about.

Shift forward a few more months, and I'm in a taxi looking out the back window at Judi. She's standing at the window of the in-take office of a hospital in Dallas, watching my taxi drive away. It's a terrible moment. I have to be back in Socorro but she needs to stay there for intense therapy. She's really broken down into fragments - bit and pieces of a person. There are many, many alters, most of whom I have met over the last few months. Meeting an alter is not always as easy as meeting Patricia since some carry huge amounts of rage and anger.

Finally here we are now in Australia. Judi is much, much better. She and I have been through some really tough times together and honestly still expect to have more in the future. I've had one episode of really bad depression since we met but I feel good now. We have a wonderful relationship as we always have had despite our problems.

Judi is still in therapy. She still cannot work and I don't know if she ever will be able to. I hope so since I know that work means a lot to her. It's important to her to feel that she's making a contribution. And she has a lot to contribute.

So that's the story from my perspective but it's mostly up to Judi to tell about it. I'll chime in with my own recollections and thoughts but it's over to her.....