I met Paul the Wood Guy today.

Paul is your quintessential red-cheeked, cheery old man. He’s a few inches taller than I am, he’s sturdily built, salt and pepper hair balding on the top (more salt than pepper), twinkly blue eyes and the most contagious smile I have ever seen. He knocked politely at my front door about 2pm this afternoon. And I am not one of those people who regularly qualify emotionless actions such as knocking too often. But just the way he knocked sounded very polite. He didn’t ring the doorbell as most people would, he knocked – three times, softly enough that it wouldn’t startle me yet loud enough that I would have heard anywhere in the house so long as I wasn’t playing loud music. It was polite.

I had called Paul yesterday when I realized that it was getting colder and that 2 bundles of firewood a day was not going to cut it – especially if I needed to go get those 2 bundles everyday. I googled for firewood near where I live and ended up with Paul’s number from the recording of another guy. You see, the guy I called had stopped doing residential wood but he recommended to other guys who still did.

Paul was the second number he suggested. Oddly I didn’t take note of the number for the first guy. Just Paul.

I called Paul and he was all “Gosh! So nice of you to call! What can I do for you?”

He put an instant smile on my face. I said, “Well, I got your number from…” and I could hear the smile in his voice when he said “Oooh! You need firewood! Golly!”

I swear. Paul is all about “Gosh!” and “Golly!” and “Geez!” Jolly is a real understatement.

Paul patiently explained to this Caribbean newbie all about burning wood. He explained wood sizes, shapes, age. He explained why we call it cord and what a cord is. He explained different types of wood and what they meant. Told me the type of wood they provided. We discussed fir trees for a while because in Jamaica, we have pine trees, which is a kind of fir tree. Here in the Evergreen state, they have a ton of different kinds of fir trees. He explained that he would deliver the wood already chopped and help me stack it and explain why we stack how we stack and explain to me how to get it ready to burn.

Paul and I talked about me being from Jamaica, and hubby being from Michigan. We talked about how we met, how long we had been married, the fact that we were military and asked where we had been assigned before Fort Lewis. He talked about being in the military himself and that he and his wife still shop at the post commissary. And then he would extend a discount to us because we’re military.

And this was just the “introductory” call. Paul draws you out.

Paul said he would get my wood out to me as soon as he could. Probably in the afternoons because they use the daylight hours to chop and stack. He said he’d call when he was coming and could I give him directions to where I was. I warned him that my directions have been known to suck royally and end up causing people to get lost more often than not. He laughed and said that I couldn’t be all that bad because I sounded like I could give him perfectly good directions. He said to give it a shot and he’d do the rest. And I did.

So when Paul knocked politely at my door today I was surprised that he had arrived here without any issues. When I asked him how my directions turned out, he said they were perfect.

While Paul was here, he chatted to me. We talked about hubby and the course he is doing. What it implied about how his superiors felt about him. And he invited us out to his place to “commune with nature”. He described it to me and it sounds like a real woodsy heaven. And Paul asked me whether we were interested in finding a church to go to. He explained what his church was all about and I talked about the Methodists and that they were an offshoot of the Anglican church.

And when Paul was done stacking my wood for me, he asked to pray with me. He asked if I would be offended. I said that I wasn’t Christian but that I wasn’t ant-Christian either and that I sure wouldn’t mind if he prayed with me. And Paul did. An impassioned prayer for my health, hubby’s health, our success and our happiness. And he thanked the Lord for bringing us into his life.

When Paul left, I was smiling like I don’t think I had smiled for 24 hours. He lifted my spirits like I can’t begin to explain to you. He is a blessing. He is a glorious and angelic soul. And I thank the Goddess for bringing him into my life today … just at the point when I was feeling down and alone and in despair.

Who says miracles don’t happen?

Edit to say that when I told my Mom this story, she said I’d been touched by an angel.

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He opened his eyes and saw the world sideways.

Everything was blurry and there was a pounding in his head that felt as if someone had hit him with something large.

He blinked and winced. Blinking made the pain worse. He tried lifting a hand to his head. He wanted to know what on earth was causing his head to pound so badly. Lifting his arm hurt too and he realized that it wasn’t just his head that hurt, but his whole body. And he winced again.

The moss-covered stripe that he had drooled onto seemed to be some sort of demarcation. He couldn’t see where the end of the line was, but he could make out a building in the distance. There were people standing around too. Why weren’t they paying him any attention? He was lying on the ground, clearly hurt. He could feel the trickle of blood down the back of his head, and down his neck.

He winced again and wondered whether he might give sitting up a try without causing a blood vessel in his head to burst from the pain. He put his palm on the ground beside his cheek and noticed that it was covered in dirt and blood and flakes of what looked like gravel. He couldn’t see if there were any cuts or bruises so he pushed hard against the ground, trying to raise his body upright. It worked right up until he tried to use his other arm to support him. A red mist of pain fell over him and he screamed loud and long.

There was a rush of footsteps coming towards him.

‘Ha! They finally noticed me, did they?‘ he thought to himself.

Someone fell to their knees beside him; he heard the impact on the concrete and managed to think, ‘That must’ve hurt.‘

“Dude! What happened? Where do you feel pain? What’s the last thing you remember? Where did you come from?”, someone babbled at him.

“I don’t remember …”, he started to say and realized that the only sound he made was a loud moaning.

And that started the images. He remembered!

There was a building behind him, he remembered that now. He had been standing on the edge of the roof on that building contemplating life. The roof was slippery and his foot slipped. He had fallen off the roof! Three stories! He had fallen three stories and lived! Amazing!

The red mist cleared enough for him to realize that there was a crowd gathered. He could hear someone yelling something that sounded like a description of injuries. There was a woman probing his right leg. Someone else was holding his head in place, saying something that sounded like “Should we be moving him? Let’s wait for the ambulance.”

Through all the confusion, one question nagged at him: had he jumped? He wasn’t suicidal. His life was fine. Did he really just slip? Or did he jump? He couldn’t remember.

It was going to be a long climb upwards out of the pain, through the healing, to the answer.

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This conversation transpired between myself and a very good friend just now.

It’s weird enough that I had to sanitize and share it because … well … see for yourself:

(WARNING: extremely geek-oriented material ahead; typos are original to the IM conversation)

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It’s election time in Jamaica.

Everyone I spoke to just after the announcement was irritated that the politicians had chosen to announce elections at Christmastime – as was I. Elections in Jamaica are traditionally tense with activities such as avoiding wearing certain colours, being excessively careful not to mention any political affiliations (or lack of) and staying away from certain parts of the cities and towns.

I won’t go much into the why behind the tension and violence that has been known to surround Jamaican elections. Suffice it to say, the politicians themselves in the early days were the ones specifically responsible for introducing violence into the process. That it has perpetuated over the years is the result of ignorance, and a most unhealthy glee at besting political opponents.

Early on too, colors and symbols became very closely related to the political process – green for “Laborites” and red for the “Socialists”; the “bell” for the Jamaica Labour Party and the “head” for the People’s National Party.

Which brings me to the point of my post today. A friend stated on Twitter that he had put two of his favourite shirts away for the season earlier in the process. Another friend claimed, this morning, that she found herself signing along with one of the election jingles. I responded by saying I hoped no one in “red” had heard her. And it hit me: red and green! Those are traditional Christmas colours, aren’t they? And if they work together at Christmas to help add to the cheer of the season, then why couldn’t the work together in the political arena to help demonstrate harmony? You would have thought those two colours could do nothing for each other – and normally you wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit that had both prominently featured. Yet at Christmas, everyone is adorned in one or the other and sometimes both!

I wonder how much influence that symbolism had on the decision to schedule elections at this time of year?

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It’s Yule!

What’s that, you say?

It’s the Winter Solstice; the shortest day in the year, the day that signals the return of the sun to the northern hemisphere; the day that pagans celebrate with light and cheer and that was used to pattern some Christmas celebratory symbolism – the tree, the yule log, hot apple cider, lights, gift-giving, family gatherings, and egg nog.

I am a simple being. I despise pomp and circumstance, drama, and excessiveness. I don’t like the limelight (odd, I know; being that I am a Leo) and I don’t like expending more energy on time on things than are necessary. One of the reasons I strayed away from your typical church-going is that for me, 6 hours at church on a Sunday morning just doesn’t seem to me the best way to show your faith, commitment, or loyalty. I’d rather live that faith, commitment, and loyalty all day, every day of my life instead.

This morning, I lit 3 candles and a pine incense cone, then I lit a fire and spent a few moments thinking about the sun and it’s warmth and the coming year. And then I lit the house and started my day. The candles will burn all day – until sundown – and I shall spend this day doing what I would normally be doing were it yesterday or tomorrow.

Regardless of what you believe, or how you practice your beliefs, I am wishing everyone a warm and bright Yule. I hope that warmth and brightness carries you through the next year and helps you keep your truth.

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