Happy New Year!

It's New Year's Day: Time to...breathe.

Don't get me wrong---I love Christmas. But sometimes I get tangled in tinsel, trying to be the best elf ever. See my latest post on my long-form blog, "A Moment's Notice," for details. (www.ritafinchpettit.blogspot.com)

Christmas also packs an emotional wallop.  The season is bitter and sweet. A trip down the baking aisle in the grocery store brings back memories of Mama's marathon baking sessions and Daddy's role as chief taster. A Christmas song on the radio takes me back to when our sons were young and I'm struck by how quickly the years have flown. Then my heart pivots and I'm overwhelmed by how blessed I am today. Family arrives for a visit: Joy. Family departs: Sadness.

I'm not complaining about my ride on this Yuletide rollercoaster. I think an acute awareness of my loved ones---those who have passed and those still with me---is a most special Christmas gift. But just as I need a good night's sleep to recharge my body I need a time of stillness to recharge my heart.

As I thought about the new year this morning the image of a expanse of untouched snow came to mind. Still. Peaceful, yet brimming with possibilities.

The events of 2016 will soon come crashing in like unwelcome guests but for now I'll pause and get my bearings. Reevaluate. Recalibrate.

And breathe.

November Song

November slips in on tiptoe,
The shy sister to October's blaze
And December's daze.
Bare branches without snow.

Harvest gathered, fields at rest.
As night falls early with a hush,
My heart turns from my daily rush
And whispers I am blessed,
I am blessed,
I am blessed.

 October Song

 

The colors of October
Blur on the distant hill.
Orange, red and yellow
Stirred together until
They fade to muddy green,
Waiting to be seen.

 
 
It's only when I draw close
That I hear the palette sing.
Each leaf a grand finale
Of the show begun in spring.
My heart fills with the tune,
Over too soon.

Back from the future

I'm a time traveler.

This summer I spent too many moments in the future, wondering what this fall, this winter, next year, the next five years will hold. Not that I can make any impact there---I wander through those tomorrows like a ghost, unable to grasp anything.

Today summer's haze lifted, and as I walked through the dry, cool evening I came back to the present, to the moment. I listened to the cows in the pasture across the road and the crickets chirping in the tall grass on the shoulder. I saw the mountains in high definition, covered in the green tweed of countless trees. The wind picked up and the rustle of leaves made me long for autumn even as I know she's approaching.

Sometimes the road leads you home.

The world has been on fire this week.

The death toll from an earthquake in Nepal continues to grow.  Iran is testing its boundaries in the Gulf of Aden while refugees flee Libya in overloaded ferries.  And in Baltimore, just a couple of hours away from my home, rioters used one man's tragic death as an excuse for assault, arson and theft.

So tonight I'm thankful for kindergarten.

I'd had the substitute assignment scheduled for some time.  Just a half day, but my to-do list was long, and I couldn't help but think of all the items I could cross off in that three-and-a-half hours.

But a promise is a promise and so I showed up.  I thank God I did.

Singing "Days of the Week" (mix "The Addams Family" theme song with, well, the days of the week), reading about the instruments in an orchestra, and helping a group of five-year-olds write about big dogs and elephants reminded me of life's sweetness.  By the time we danced to "Happy" by Pharrell Williams I really was...happy, that is.

The world has been on fire this week, and to some extent it always will be.  But yesterday I remembered that beauty is just as present, just as real as ugliness---I only have to look for it.

And having a five-year-old's perspective doesn't hurt.

Happy School Year!

The pencils are still sharp and the glue sticks still have their caps.  The crayons are whole, the tape around the desks' name tags isn't curling and the backpacks contain no overdue permission slips.

Welcome to the first day of school.

Students from kindergarten through 12th grade returned to class today in my little corner of Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.  I'm a substitute teacher at the elementary level (My motto:  "Sometimes a freelancer, sometimes a mercenary") so "back to school" makes me think of washable markers and "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
" lunch boxes, not lockers and student parking.  But whatever their grade, each student today opened up the gift of a bright and shiny new year...and tonight some are thinking of returning it.

But they'll be back tomorrow (we hope) and so will their teachers, whether today was marked by exhilaration or exhaustion.  I'm blessed to count a number of teachers, assistants, administrators and support staff among my friends---they're clever, resourceful, funny and dedicated.  They give their best to their students day in, day out.  Here's to you, my friends:  May your year be marked by serendipity and grace.

I'm also pleased to know quite a few students, from a brand-new kindergartener to a college junior.  My words to the young ones:  Don't worry about who is first in line; everybody gets to the cafeteria about the same time anyway.  Close the bathroom door all the way.  And never, ever say "I can't," before you've even tried something.

To the older ones:  Do your homework.  Keep showing up.  And remember that most bad stuff is temporary, like thunder---it rolls through and fades away.

Here's to a great 2014-15!

Traveling Mercies

Thirty-six years ago today Mr. Pettit and I got married. Thirty-six years---I remember when I considered that an age, not a duration. But I'm not here to moan about getting older or lament the erosive power of time. Instead I'd like to celebrate the fact that God doles out our moments one-by-one, fully aware that we can't juggle past, present and future all at once as He does. (Although that doesn't stop us from trying...)   My time as a military wife taught me to savor the journey, since that's all we have. Destinations aren't guaranteed; we can plan for them and hope for them and dream of them, but they may turn out to be as elusive as rain in West Texas.

So, happy anniversary, Mr. Pettit. We've been blessed to have 36 years of moments, one stacked on top of another, building the life we share today. I'm thankful to be taking this journey with you.


I didn't get to fly this T-38; instructors and their spouses were
allowed to taxi only.  But that was mighty fun!