The wild weather swings have driven my neighborhood to schizophrenia.  But yesterday we threw off our covers and called it quits with gloom.  People walked their dogs in sandals and shorts.  I heard the distant clang of an ice-cream truck.  Children rode down the sidewalk on their bikes and scooters; parents pulled babies in wagons over the broken concrete, skirting the vines sprouting on the parkways.

While I chased the dust bunnies from under the dining room table, the man next door hauled cedar chips and azalea bushes from the local lawn store in a frenzy of planting and clearing.  I did not make it outside, but attacked the staleness of my dwelling.  I threw the doors open and  dragged furniture from the stuffy corners where it had huddled through the cold months.  I worked for hours without relent, all in aid of lifting the weight of winter from my soul.

Early in the afternoon, I discovered that I could not relocate the television without a huge commotion.  I took to the internet and within an hour, someone whom I previously knew only by our shared Social Media connections pulled into my driveway with a bucket full of tools and a dogged determination.  He arrived a virtual stranger and left a friend.  Last evening, in my newly created sitting room, I drank hot tea and idly watched the flickering television screen.  So tired my hair hurt, nonetheless, I felt hugely satisfied.  Spring seems to have come at last and I am keeping pace with its freshness.

I  contemplated the many golden threads shot through the tapestry of my life, interwoven to create the beauty of the whole.  The phrase twice-blessed unexpectedly echoed in my mind.  How many new beginnings am I allowed?  Have I exhausted my allotment?   Our little dog in her brand-new bed eyed me when she heard my jagged sigh.  It’s okay, Little Girl,  I murmured.  Satisfied that nothing needed her attention, she fell back asleep.  I finished my tea, set the alarm, and climbed the stairs to my serene retreat.  Silence fell around me.  I chose to take it as a silence born of peace.

It’s the tenth day of the twenty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Here in Brookside, in Kansas City, Missouri, a mourning dove coos outside my window and the sun has emerged from beneath the night’s thick storm clouds.  Life continues.