Joyce and I get into the elevator of the Drury Inn where I will stay the night.  We had visited in my room before our three-hour dinner.  She had left the package of her Christmas present on the dresser.  Now we both felt exhausted but warm, comforted, pleased from our reunion.  She would get her package and we would say goodbye.

A family crowded into the elevator after we did.  Two boys, a heavy-set blond mother, assorted towels and accoutrements of their New Year’s Eve. Joyce turned her face to them, light radiating from it, her teacher’s instincts rising with her maternal ones.  Have you been swimming? she asked the older boy.

A grin broke across his face.  You should see the pool, lady! he crowed.  His mother spared me a weary, pleased smile.  The younger boy giggled and shook his bundled towel.  A couple beside me, checking in toting champagne, exchanged glances.  The woman placed her hand on the man’s arm.  We rode the rest of the way to the second floor in giddy silence.

It’s the first day of the twenty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  The old year falls on the cinders of forgotten complaints.  Newness unfolds.  Life continues.