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Happy St Lucy Day to all in Selling Festival Food and John Donne
St Lucy's day Dec 13th "The eyes have it !"
Lucia ( Lucy) was a fourth century noblewoman from Syracuse, Sicily who denounced the Roman authorities as a Christian after refusing to
marry her pagan suitor. Being a Christian in the 4th century were
dangerous times .
The story bit
In 304, being identified as a Christian meant that the authorities
could rip your eyes out, then stab you in the throat - which was the fate she
Amongst other duties St Lucy is the Patroness of
Salespeople. I guess her story teaches salespeople to be true to themselves. The first sale you make is to yourself. Believe in what you sell.
A prayer in her honour even mentions the word 'PROFIT '!
“Hear us, O God, our salvation, that, as we rejoice in
keeping the festival of Blessed Lucy, thy virgin and martyr, so we may profit by the tender devotion we gain through her
example. Through our Lord. Amen”
The Food bit. Cucuia porridge , St Lucy Buns, and St Lucy’s
A hearty Breakfast for Salespeople
An additional history bit
In 1582, a terrible famine swept Sicily. In Syracuse,
starving people prayed fervently to Santa Lucia ( St Lucy) for salvation and,
lo, into the harbour did sail a boat laden with wheat. The story does not mention who the merchant( salesperson) who sold the wheat was.
The starved populous were
so desperate that they didn’t even wait to make bread, and instead boiled the
wheat for immediate consumption. They thanked Santa Lucia ( St Lucy) as their
saviour and, ever since, Sicilians have eaten a dish made of boiled wheat
called cuccia on December 13th
Two Currants represent her eyes
Maybe for your mid morning snack ( ‘Elevenses’ in England)
try a delicious St Lucy Bun.
Finally, for supper those, those of you with elder
daughters can be presented by her entering the room with a coronet of candles
and a tray with St Lucy braided bread. This still is celebrated by Swedes and
Norwegians who honour St Lucy so I am given to beleve.
A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.
by John Donne
John Donne was Dean of St Pauls in 1641
the one before Wren's Cathedral
'TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent,
and now his flasks
Send forth light
squibs, no constant rays ;
world's whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every
In whom Love
wrought new alchemy.
art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love's
limbec, am the grave
Of all, that's
nothing. Oft a flood
two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that
I were one
I needs must know
; I should prefer,
If I were
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,