As I mentioned earlier, I had a challenge to complete. I was given the letter D and asked to think of 10 things beginning with this letter. Some Psychoanalyst would have great fun delving (now there is another D word!) into my mind wouldn’t they?
Delicate - a beautiful song by the Irish singer songwriter, Damien Rice - see music player.
Daughter - My sunshine. My blessing. My mini-me. Apparently she is like me to look at as folks often remark on the resemblence. My friend. My little encourager. As I said, my ray of sunshine. But I feel similarly blessed by our son.. but that is an S not a D isn’t it?
Dog - Our daft greyhound. He is a rescued dog. The whole litter were abandoned as puppies as they were not good enough to race despite being pedigree stock - he has the tattoos to prove this. He is the ideal pet for us. 5 minute bursts of intense speed while out on one of his two walks a day, combined with 23 hours of sleep or repose - a typical “30 mile and hour couch potato”.
Daffoldills - Bright yellow and reminds me of the sun.. our national flower and to me, along with lambs,their appearance, heralds with their joyful golden trumpets, the first triumphant sign that Spring is just around the corner.
Drowning - “not waving but drowing” - the title of a poem by Stevie Smith
Not Waving but Drowning
by Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Dagger - “Is this a dagger that I see before me, a handle towards my hand? Come let me clutch thee. I have thee not but see thee still in form as palpable as this which now I draw” - a quote (though I can’t say how literal it is after all these years) from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, which is lodged in the recesses of my memory and just leaped out like a released convict!!
Dreams - “are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, wish it would come true” - ah memories. I am back in 1970 something, staring at the huge picture of David Cassidy that shared pride of place with Donny Osmond on my bedroom wall. (Obviously I had a thing about big white smiles..lol) . I think that song was on the B side of the Puppy Dog song in the days of 45 singles - am I showing my age - yes! do I care? No! I am enjoying wallowing in the nostalgia! - actually that reminds me of a funny incident of when our teens were small. We showed son one of our old L.P Vinyl records. His eyes widened in wonder and he said, “Dad, how do you fit in the slot of the CD player”!!! - well, we though it was funny!
Da Doo - a few years ago, actually a good few years ago, it was our son’s favourite and only word. Everything was a Doh! He would point to a dog and say “Doh” - yes logical. He would point to a cat, horse sheep, gate, whatever and say “Doh”. He then was able to say two words, “Dat Doh” as in that dog, cat, horse, sheep, whatever. His cuddly/comfort item was a brown velveteen dog which he called “Dat Doh” which then got shortened to DaDoo. DaDoo had to go everywhere with him, and he would not sleep unless he had Dadoo’s long floppy ear between the fingers of one hand or in his mouth. From the ages of 11 months to 18 monts he had to be admitted to hospital on far too many occasions and he became understandably very attached to this particualr toy. The trauma we had when it had to go in the washing machine. The smellier the better as far as he was concerned. Nice freshly laundered Dadoo was better than no Dadoo though and you can imagine the distress if he went missing, as he inevitably would. He was usually found, stuffed behind something but one year, after our summer holidays, he went missing. We hunted high and low. Poor son had to go through cold turkey as he had to be dramatically deprived of his addiction. He did get over it. We told Son that Dadoo had enjoyed our holiday so much that he must have stayed in Devon. PS we found Dadoo the year after, stuffed at the bottom of a sleeping bag that had been put away the previous year after our camping holiday. We were only saying the other day that we had not seen him for some years now. I wonder where he disappeared to this time.
Dark - I used to be afraid of the dark and had to sleep with the light on. I now actually quite like the dark. I love to lay in the dark in our loft room, and as my eyes gradually adjust to the change, I start to see the thousands of stars that are framed by the rectangular skylight that we have just above our bed. Watching the stars, satellites and shooting stars is a wonderful way to drift off to sleep. (Shame it does not have the same effect if I wake up at 3 or 4 am though!
It also makes me think of a poem Ed wrote many years ago inspired by something said by his 5 year old nephew about something being “pink dark not black”. I wonder if I could persuade him to turf it out and blog it for you?
Dripping - just like the sound of this word. Makes me think of food. Big fat globs of pure Welsh golden yellow butter dripping off a tasty corn cob, or luscious fresh strawberries dipped into melted chocolate, dripping the hot sticky brown lava flow all over your fingers and down your chin. Yum Yum!
Well, that was fun. If anyone wants me to choose themselves a letter, then please let me know and I will allocate them one!
