In this season of cheer, joy, love and peace, I discovered the warmth of a hug. A gesture that encompassed other tender sentiments in its hold. Mrs. T has the warmest hug. I wish my mother had it. It’s a full-bosomed, tight hold that makes one believe all is well, all can be fixed, all solutions exist within the circle of that grip.
I am not a touchy, feely person. Infact, I discovered the social hug pretty late into my adult life and the air-borne half kisses, which are quite the rage, is still alien to me. I fumble around awkwardly, when an opportune moment shines bright.
It was in one such awkward moment, when I was merely following the leaders of our meet that I stumbled upon this most warm hug. It was evident from the moment go. It struck a chord. I perceived its quality as I entered its embrace, and I could sense a masterpiece emerging through the fuzz. The instant transfer of love, the feelings of warmth, openness, welcome and an all encompassing trust and honesty; much like apricity. The emotions overwhelmed me, and I dislodged immediately. I was wary of displaying a childish greed, losing propriety, cutting out a source.
The next time I met Mrs. T, I saw her hug the others of the group. From the corner of my eye, I looked, I hoped, I pulled back. I wanted one, but did I have the right to it? I was merely an acquaintance. I lined up, anyhow, and pretended to be part of the queue. And, I got my turn. This time, I confirmed my analyses. My assessment of the quality had been perfect; she did give the warmest ones.
By the third instance, I was eagerly standing in queue and was thinking of writing this piece, as well. And then, I spilled the beans to Mrs. T. I’m glad I did, cause now I get hugs that are warmer than the warmest. Sometimes, that’s all you need.