On Friday I had a leisurely lunch with David--in town from Boston for a friend's wedding--at the Indian restaurant a few doors down. It was a sparsely filled, but brightly lit room: white linens and golden fixtures. It was so easy for the two of us to catch up after minimal contact for eighteen months and fall right back into similar conversations and stories and laughter. I had a 1pm conference call that could not be missed that he had to continually remind me of since I was content to let our stories spill out all over our afternoon.

It wasn't until we were getting up to leave that I remembered to tell him the story of Chief Ike's and the White House Deputy Director of Communications that I meowed at-- something that would interest him in its twists and turns since the punch line of the story involves a mutual acquaintance of ours.

And after we hugged and smiled and laughed and parted at my gate, I ran inside remembering that I never told that story to all of you, either. The curse of the last-minute-Lucy... I really am a story tease. But a promise isn't forgotten. Just delayed.

There are so many kinds of new year's kisses. Little promises. Hopeful trinkets. Glittering surprises. Glimpses into a new year. The first in a trillion new adventures. Simple resolution. A new beginning. Magic.

Last night at midnight, I was asked for a new year's kiss by a random stranger. My mind-- melted inside of champagne and sangria and merlot and general confusion-- could barely fathom his request. And with him stumbling inside of anticipated rejection and me lost in chaotic disbelief, the result was something of a chaste peck on the cheek, described poetically by Laine about 15 minutes later on our walk home: "You looked as though someone were forcing you to eat spinach."

Spinach does not equal magic.

Back in Laine's apartment, finishing off a pumpkin ale I'd started six hours ago and cozied up on the sofa, Laine set off a chain reaction by mentioning her computer... my computer... email... after midnight... January 1... white rabbit. Mere minutes to plug in, dial up, and download my waiting emails from the server. A shipping notice from Amazon.com. A sweet email from B. And a flight itinerary from Hotwire. But nothing from Todd. I was about to--

Wait. I reread the subject lines. Flight itinerary. Flight itinerary? I scrolled frantically. Departing IAH, Arriving BWI. All in less than two weeks. Six perfect days. Five peaceful nights. I jumped. Gasped. And immediately began to cry.

Laine gave me a hug while I began to read his message over and over and over again. Trying to find the hints in his words. Trying to figure out when his mind made the decision. Trying to fathom the enormous surprise that was tingling all over my body.

While I was overtaken with joy and overwhelmed with surprise, Laine appropriated my laptop and my email account to send B an email. I read over her shoulder, happy tears blurring these words:"That's one of the nicest new year's kisses that I have ever witnessed."

A magic new year's kiss in the form of words and ideas and the future knit up in electronic ether, filled with all kinds of promises, trinkets, surprises, glimpses, adventures, resolutions, and new beginnings. "Each passing moment is another chance to turn it all around."

Whose new year's kiss has turned you all around?