I swung into one of my favorite restaurants last night, toting my computer bag, planning to nosh while working on the new Art @ Suite 100 webpage.  The owner told me that they have a “no laptops after 5” rule.  I nodded and turned back to the door, telling him, I need to work, I’ll come back another day, and dragging my burden back to the car.

Two blocks later, I saw Brenda marching down the street, head into the wind, intent on getting home.  I snagged her up; took her to feed her cat; and ten minutes later, work forgotten, we sat in front of glasses of petit sirah at District, laughing, because you-know-what had happened and Brenda had been a good sport about it.  (I won’t tell, but it involved her chair and a flight of stairs to the mezzanine at District, while I sat innocently watching.)

At that exact moment, the penny dropped; my chest tightened; and I realized that I had made it through one of the most difficult times of my life.  (Not the most difficult; no, but among the top five.)  Now the ocean spans before me.  I know that I might encounter more storms and raging wind, but a certain calm surrounds me.

It’s the first day of the twenty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.