Posted January 4, 2017, 7:00am:

Today, dear ones, I’m grateful for…

Planning for abundance and not just disaster

The hairbrush in my purse

A touch of whimsy in our living room decor

The scent of a freshly-peeled clementine

People whose hugs leave no part of you unhealed

What are you grateful for today? Look up at the sky and wonder…

You know what I miss most right now?

Whispering.

Because it requires closeness. Being right up next to someone.

And that’s rather thin on the ground at the moment, if you’re trying to be that domino that steps out of line to break the chain reaction of infection.

I’m lucky—I live with another human being, a fantastic human being who is rarely more than an arm’s length away. We hug and whisper and hold hands and pass the salt and fold the freshly-washed bedsheets over the blanket chest that serves as our coffee table in the living room. If twelve a day is still the recommended hug prescription for health, we’re there.

I come from a family that embraced embracing. Respectful, ask-first embracing (especially important with new folks and friendly co-workers). We understood that the relationship determined the kind of hug given, and still do. But once all that is settled, future encounters and greetings are likely to include a warm measure of affection, the reassurance that who you are in that moment is fine and safe in my arms.

Children get this. They understand the value and mechanics of closeness, sometimes to near-annoyance, but we forgive them or coach them if it’s over the top, and they keep coming back for more. My nieces and nephews were practically monkeys in their toddler/youth years, and I loved it. The minute one of us elders presented a lap (i.e. sat down), they climbed in, took up residence and filled us in on the important stuff of their little lives. It was an honor to be deemed worthy of such proximity, and to be considered a safe place for their weight and words. I can’t remember the last time I held a small one and heard about her day in one rambling unpunctuated sentence…

As someone who still gets up in front of folks to deliver information, convey some sort of message intended for continued reflection (see also “yammer”, “reflect”, “pontificate”, “lull to sleep”), I’ve used the whisper to helpful advantage. There are moments in the telling of a story where a drop in volume and a careful modification of tone and inflection is the essential delivery vehicle for impact. Paired with the ability to move about the room, place a permission-given hand on someone’s shoulder or lock eyes kindly, and folks tend to walk away from those conversations with a lasting impression that makes them happy they came.

I look forward to being close to people again.

Back on the home front, Patrick gives great hugs; I could take a sandwich and stay for the day, and isn’t that what a marriage is for? But I miss the wide and varied buffet of hugs and closeness that others in my life provided prior to March. The anticipation of greeting someone I haven’t seen in a while always included a flash image of that open-armed “hello—it’s so good to see you!” crushing wrap-around embrace. Or the gentle walk-up approach to a friend in tears, letting him know it’s ok to fall apart, to put his head on my shoulder and just be a bit of a mess for a while. Take your time, I’m here, thank you for trusting me with your sadness. Grief sometimes need to be whispered in between those breath-catching sobs. What a place of honor, to be present to such trust.

And don’t some jokes just demand reaching out to slap the listener’s knee or give them a slight nudge when you get to the punch line? So much is lost now in the space between us, and I know it’s temporary. But we should still keep telling jokes. Somewhere in that exchange, the endorphins will come through and sustain us for another day.

Until then, my dears, let’s make grand plans for the days when we can be within arm’s reach of each other’s good will and acceptance. There’s a meme floating around that predicts how “it’s gonna be weird” when we finally can hug each other again. I can’t speak for your social circle, but where I live, it’s always been a bit weird, and I look forward to taking it up a notch when it’s safe to do so (family and friends, ye be warned).

I’ll ask first, of course.