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Dawn Downey's Blog: Stories About Mindfulness, Gratitude, and Transformation

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Dawn Downey's Blog: Stories About Mindfulness, Gratitude, and Transformation

Rated: 2.91 / 5 | 1,707 listing views Dawn Downey's Blog: Stories About Mindfulness, Gratitude, and Transformation Blogging Fusion Blog Directory

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  • Dawn Downey
  • December 01, 2014 11:49:52 AM
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A Little About Us

My outlook on daily life will inspire you and make you laugh.

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Witty Words

I love words that do what they say. With some words, you can tell what they mean as soon as you pronounce them or see them sprawled on a page.POLYSYLLABIC is polysyllabic. It's a syllable quintet.REDUNDANT shoves in a second dun sound right after the first one, which is totally redundant. REPETITIVE has the same attitude. How much tuh tuh tuh tuh does it think we need, to understand the point?TALL is a tall word.SEX. Say it slowly. So slithery. Oooh, baby.ONOMATOPOEIA is just a bunch of...

I love words that do what they say. With some words, you can tell what they mean as soon as you pronounce them or see them sprawled on a page.

POLYSYLLABIC is polysyllabic. It's a syllable quintet.

REDUNDANT shoves in a second dun sound right after the first one, which is totally redundant.
 
REPETITIVE has the same attitude. How much tuh tuh tuh tuh does it think we need, to understand the point?

TALL is a tall word.

SEX. Say it slowly. So slithery. Oooh, baby.

ONOMATOPOEIA is just a bunch of noises pretending to be a word, which is what it means.

BOMBASTIC starts out with a big important bang, but ends in a petty-sounding bastic thing.

SEGREGATE stops the flow. Hard Gs keep the syllables apart, and then they slam the gate shut at the end. Good God, can’t we all get along?

I stands there all by its lonesome. Looks wobbly. Watch out; it’s going to fall over any minute.

TIME needs the I in the middle, because everybody has their own. A red light is a couple of seconds to me, but a couple of hours to my husband.

YAY opens your mouth in a great big grin when you say it.

YIPPEE is only halfway committed to the grin.

FORLORN hardly opens my mouth at all. Forlorn understands that when I feel this way, I can barely make the effort to speak.

PRESTIDIGITATION pops a million sounds out of a single mouth. It's magic.

PERSEVERANCE throws obstacles at me. Is the first syllable pre or per? Should there be another R in the middle, as in preserve? I doubt myself. I stumble. I double-back to the beginning. I need perseverance to reach the end of the word.


Thomas's Last Day

Computer on my lap, I sit in my writing room, participating in a Zoom meditation group. Over a hundred of us from around the globe gather every morning for half an hour. We tune in from bedrooms, kitchens, back porches—strangers, who share intimate spaces.After we stir out of silent contemplation, some offer up joys and sorrows to our collective consciousness.A man’s face grows larger on my screen, as he leans in to his computer’s camera, a murky room in the background. Lines...


Computer on my lap, I sit in my writing room, participating in a Zoom meditation group. Over a hundred of us from around the globe gather every morning for half an hour. We tune in from bedrooms, kitchens, back porches—strangers, who share intimate spaces.

After we stir out of silent contemplation, some offer up joys and sorrows to our collective consciousness.

A man’s face grows larger on my screen, as he leans in to his computer’s camera, a murky room in the background. Lines crease his face.

“Hospice nurses,” he says, “are usually very good at their jobs.” He touches his cheek. “And today … they tell us this is Thomas’s last day.” He takes off his glasses, wipes his eyes, and then sags back into the shadows.

I sag, too. His absence leaves me in suspended animation until the meeting ends.

I carry the laptop to the living room where my yoga mat is already rolled out, sandwiched between the couch and a bookcase. In the virtual class, the teacher directs us into tree pose. I tighten abs, engage the muscles in my left thigh and calf. My left foot is firmly planted. Stretching toward the ceiling, I’m a redwood, or at least a birch. Toward the end of class, she tells us to lie on the floor. My lower back kinks—an unexpected ache.

And this is Thomas’s last day.

In the kitchen, I pour cereal into a bowl—whole grains, fiber, and protein, according to the box. I eat it because it’s sweet and crunchy, like kettle corn for breakfast. I wash down vitamins with a glass of orange juice. It’s a noisy meal in the early morning quiet. Spoon clinks against bowl; crunch explodes inside my skull; orange juice glugs down my throat.

And this is Thomas’s last day.

Our master bathroom is barely big enough to fit the shower stall, and even then the translucent doors don't slide open their entire width. I turn on the shower, starting the water on it’s long trip from the water heater. I stick my foot under the stream, a cat who doesn’t want to get her paws wet. The bar soap lathers into a whipped cream froth. The scent of lavender rises in the steam. Lavender lulls me into a sense of well-being. As the foam slips down my skin and swirls into the drain, I bend forward to let the water pound my lower back.

And this is Thomas’s last day.

I drag the hamper out of a closet. It’s heavy. Clothes weigh a ton, and require all this upkeep, week after week, year after year. I toss jeans into a pile, but there aren’t enough to make a full load. I go scavenging for more laundry and add a thick velour bathrobe to the pile. Descending three flights to our unfinished basement, I traverse varying terrains: fuzzy bedroom rug, smooth hardwood, spongy linoleum. At journey’s end in the basement, the unforgiving concrete floor shocks my slipper-clad feet. Leaking through a crack in the foundation, tears of rain trail down one of the walls.

And this is Thomas’s last day.


Worst of Times?

It was the worst of times. It was the best of times.It was the new normal. It was business as usual.It was a pandemic. It was a hoax.It was cataclysmic. It was dynamic.It was historic. It was history repeating itself.It was reimagining the future. It was destroying tradition.It was the end of democracy. It was democracy in action.It was a riot. It was civil disobedience.It was the wild west. It was the right to bear arms.It was isolation. It was solitude.It was a disaster. It was a...

It was the worst of times. It was the best of times.

It was the new normal. It was business as usual.

It was a pandemic. It was a hoax.

It was cataclysmic. It was dynamic.

It was historic. It was history repeating itself.

It was reimagining the future. It was destroying tradition.

It was the end of democracy. It was democracy in action.

It was a riot. It was civil disobedience.

It was the wild west. It was the right to bear arms.

It was isolation. It was solitude.

It was a disaster. It was a meditation.

It was an invitation.

It’s always an invitation.


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