Emerging…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight, I finally left the house after almost four days. I have been very sick, so I have not been wanting to go out, but once I finally did, I felt a little more human. Since Cody will be gone for Valentines Day, we had a date early so we could still catch a little personal time before the beloved day. We went to a Hibachi grill. It was our first experience, and it was pretty neat. I enjoyed seeing the dexterity of our Hibachi chef, and I loved the food.

Our chef was either having a bad day or was a more pensive, no-nonsense personality because outside of smiling once when he tossed a piece of broccoli very far from my mouth, after challenging me to catch it, he cooked our meal very skillfully and bid us a good night at the end. However impressive his cooking skills were, I was feeling like the other chef was a bit more “fun”. He was joking with the guests and keeping them entertained even as he cooked. Then I thought for a minute about myself. Am I the fun type or the serious type? The answer is very easy…serious. I actually remember someone telling me in high school that they thought I was boring. Mean, right? After my experience tonight, I have to admit, maybe they are right. 😉

However, in defense of my own kind, however “boring” we may seem, there is depth and mystery to us. It is going to be harder to peg me into a category because I keep lots back, sometimes on purpose and sometimes because I don’t know how to reveal more. Serious people keep the “skippers” grounded and however “boring” that is, somebody’s got to do it! =) I may never be a center stage act, but I can keep the act running.

I do have a good time with people I am close to. My mom and siblings would tell you they can’t shut me up and that I am Crazy…with a capital C, but it generally takes me awhile to loosen up with everyone else. I am a very deep thinker who spends a lot of time observing.  I certainly feel uncomfortable being the “life of the party” or the “center of attention”. When I look back on my closest friends, they have been people with few inhibitions. They pull me out of my shell and challenge me to take risks and “live a little.” I am grateful for those friends. My husband Cody is more “fun” than I am too, but he also has his shy moments. Thankfully for us, we are usually not both shy and awkward in the same situations. At least we don’t think so.

Which are you? The down beat or the up beat?

Whichever you are, own it and use it.

When I was a counselor at EFY (Especially for Youth: a weeklong spiritual camp for teens), I had a slight nervous breakdown after the first week. I thought I was the fun, energetic counselor that everyone was going to be so excited to have, but come to find out, I was quiet and reserved. I should have known that about myself, but I guess I didn’t because after that first week, I was ready to go home and forget it ever happened. My identity was shaken… The head counselor convinced me to stay another week and I am glad that I did. I embraced who I was and what I did know and tried not to worry about what I was not and what I did not know. I ended up having a good experience and seeing that I was best when I was me, boring, serious and corny.

Our first Habachi grill experience.

I’m glad you are you. I hope that you are all having good health and that lots of love is headed your way.

Best,

Lucy

I love John Milton, so here are two of his poems that relates to my post. Which of Milton’s poems do you relate to best…the L’Allegro (the brisk tempo) or the Il Penseroso (the serious man)?

 

L’Allegro

HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
   Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born
In Stygian Cave forlorn.
   ‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,
Find out some uncouth cell,
   Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-Raven sings;
   There, under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Rocks,
As ragged as thy Locks,
   In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But com, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as som Sager sing)
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,
Zephir with Aurora pIaying,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on Beds of Violets blew,
And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew,
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksom, blith, and debonair.
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrincled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Com, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastick toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crue,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the Lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-towre in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to com in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine;
While the Cock with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darknes thin,
And to the stack, or the Barn dore,
Stoutly struts his Dames before:
Oft list’ning how the Hounds and Horn
Chearly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of som Hoar Hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Som time walking not unseen
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,
Right against the Eastern gate
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Roab’d in flames, and Amber light,
The clouds in thousand Liveries dight;
While the Plowman neer at hand,
Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land,
And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the Mower whets his sithe,
And every Shepherd tells his tale
Under the Hawthorn in the dale.
Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures,
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren brest
The labouring clouds do often rest:
Meadows trim with Daisies pide,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide,
Towers, and Battlements it sees
Bosom’d high in tufted Trees,
Wher perhaps som beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged Okes,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met
Are at their savory dinner set
Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her Bowre she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead,
Some times with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the Chequer’d shade;
And young and old com forth to play
On a Sunshine Holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pull’d she sed,
And by Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,
To earn his Cream-bowle duly set,
When in one night, ere glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend,
And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of dores he flings,
Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings.
Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Winds soon lull’d asleep.
Towered Cities please us then,
And the busie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies
Rain influence, and judge the prize,
Of Wit or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique Pageantry,
Such sights as youthful Poets dream
On Summer eeves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonsons learned Sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde.
And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of lincked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that ty
The hidden soul of harmony.
That Orpheus self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowres, and hear
Such streins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regain’d Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

Il Penseroso