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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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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I am sick again – for the third time this season.

The first time was a cold, the second time was the flu and again I am battling with a cold. It seems as if no matter what I do I am destined to be always fighting off some bug or other. I comfort myself that it’s just that my body having been dried and burnt out in Texas for 2 years and not being used to this cold and wet climate. That it is just overwhelmed and that sooner than later it’ll be able to withstand the constant barrage of germs. That pep talk isn’t working.

I know that the greatest part of my problem is being sedentary and as much as I would love to run – yes, I think I would love to run – I just can’t do it now. I can barely walk. Yoga was a problem. Just going the 300 or so feet to the mailbox is an issue. Sometimes just carrying a laundry basket up the stairs here at home makes me winded. I am in bad shape.

I have never been very active. High school was the last time I was physically active and without batting an eyelid, I will tell you that high school for me was a good 30 years ago. Yes indeed. I am that old. And lately, I have been feeling it. Lucky for me, I think I finally figured out what is wrong with me and I am going to get it looked after. I sincerely hope that once this treatment kicks in I can actually climb the stairs here at home, at a brisk trot and not feel like I’ve run the marathon when I get to the top rung.

That being said, I refuse to let this cold keep me down for much longer. It’s kept me mostly stationary all weekend. There are so many things I should have been doing this last month. Not the least of which is spending time with my friend and her newborn. I am tired all the time, and I am sick almost every other week and I just don’t feel well. It has got to stop NOW.

School starts next month again, and hubby will be gone for 6 weeks starting the first. I need to get myself sorted out quickly. I can’t be alone and sick for 6 weeks whilst I take on extra work and school. So I’ve vowed to also include a dose of airborne everyday with my one glass of lemonade too. I think in a little while work will require me to be up for far later at nights and awake far earlier in the mornings and I need to prepare myself for that.

(P.S. By the way, I am loving After the deadline. )

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I think I finally know what I want to do.

I have always loved writing. As an avid reader, I have dreamed on and off all my life about writing thrillers along the lines of Stephen King and Dean Koontz.

My first Stephen King was “It”. I read it the weekend before my high school examinations were to start – examinations that made the determination whether I was going on to “sixth form” (pre-university level studies) or not.

My mother bought it for me in the hotel gift store where we were staying for one of Dad’s annual meetings. She bought it on the agreement that I would promise to only read it once all my studying was done.

Now that I look back, I realize that my mother was no fool. She knew exams had only just begun. If I was to wait until all my studying was done, I would have waited at least 3 months to start reading. She knew that once I had the book in my hand, I wouldn’t be able to resist reading it. And read I did. The book was bought on Wednesday evening. By that Sunday, I was done. When I say I was an avid reader, I wasn’t kidding.

I used to write a great deal too – in my journals. I wrote tons and tons and tons of words in my journals. A lot of it was stream of consciousness – just random thoughts jammed onto the paper as they occurred to me. A lot of it was repetitive anger and frustration. A lot of it was obsessive musings on situations that I had no control over. Ranting to myself gave me a sense of peace.

I even tried writing poetry and short stories. There is one story that I am holding onto because deep down I believe it’ll make for a wonderful story. But for some reason, I can’t get started on expanding 1400 words to a full fledged story.

I write articles – when I get the motivation and the subject matter to write about – but I feel blocked most of the time. In fact, the state of my blog demonstrates just how blocked I am. I haven’t been able to really write for a long, long time. I tell myself that it’s for this reason or the other … but I really have no idea why I am so blocked. And I spend a lot of time agonizing over why I am blocked.

Then I stumbled on a career description today that just sort of … “spoke” to me. It’s the description for the copy editor; an editor that edits for spelling, grammar and factual integrity.

It is the career that goes with my never decreasing need to correct every single grammatical and spelling error I see or hear. It’s the career that goes with my need to know the meaning of and usage of each and every English word ever created. It’s the career that goes with my love of researching random facts and always knowing what it is someone is talking about so that I can determine whether they are full of shit or not. It’s home.

And, as luck would have it, I am in the perfect program at the University of Phoenix to help me attain such a career.

Whether it’s too late in my life now or not to make a change like this remains to be seen – hell maybe I’ll set up my own service. We’ll see. All I know is that I want to help people put out their best when they write. I want to help writers sound like they know what they’re talking about and to actually write English with some accuracy. It might even help me eventually write for myself – someday.

But … I think I finally found what I want to do when I grow up.

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