The Wonder Of Yule

I got such a wonderful opportunity today and I would love to share it with you on this Yule day, if I may.

I was returning from a car service, several hundred pounds poorer, but relieved my big blue beast was running well, when I felt an urge to head off to the pottery showroom in a nearby village. Ordinarily, I will do my best to avoid this place; the works are wonderful and I can spend like a lottery winner, but mostly because the potter doesn't ever stop talking! He's an interesting man, well read and thoughtful, but he rarely pauses long enough for one to break into his musings to make one's excuses to escape.

Whatever drove me to go there today, the Goddess, or my forgetfulness at quite how verbose this lovely man is, I was meant to be there. In a futile attempt to pre-empt the two hour chat that accompanies any purchase, I mentioned that I was in a dizzying hurry, stressed and behind schedule. Then I made my mistake. I asked the potter how he was. I saw the diaphragm expand, the eyes roll upwards for a moment and I knew I was lost. I was meant to hear the story.

To cut a long, convoluted tale to the bare ones, my potter knew of a Polish potter who is over in Somerset, working as a care assistant to survive and who is living in a tent in a camping field near Taunton. Living in a tent in these temperatures! I know I felt horror after the earthquakes in Pakistan knowing that the homeless people would have to survive sub zero temperatures, but this close to home?

Well, that was the reason I was meant to go to the pottery. I have an empty house that I can't decorate and finish off because my back is so rubbish and here is a fit person who might, just might, want to trade some labour and decorating for a warm, dry place to stay for a month or two. Serendipity? No, the Goddess testing me. Would I trust my gut instinct that this was the perfect thing to do, even when there were all sorts of potential pitfalls that could occur if the person were not decent? Would I do something rather than go away and dither about it?

I rang my beloved, more in an attempt to be seen to be doing the right thing than because I needed him to agree; he agreed. The potter and I drafted an agreement to protect us and to set out a fair trade, shelter for some work, and I handed the keys over. There's a part of me that feels I should be regretting such haste and impetuosity, only it's not happening. There's a part of me wondering if we will end up with a squatter and all the problems that entails, but I just know, in my bones, that none of the bad things are going to happen.

I have yet to meet the man. I have spoken to him on the telephone and he's very polite. Apparently, he spent time as a Zen monk and wears a Cossack hat and a Rasputin style beard, so I'm just hoping that his eclectic skills stretch to wielding a paintbrush and garden fork. We shall see. You know, this has made me smile so much - not for the smug satisfaction of having given someone shelter, though that is a nice feeling, but more for taking the risk and trusting my gut. Somehow I feel more alive for taking a bit of a risk and doing something I've never done before.