Oh the pleasures of thought, idle speculation until I “cut to the chase.”

That endlessly possible interior dialog, were I say to myself, “You’re too clever by half,” and I answer, “And the other half?” and I answer myself back, “That’s for you to find out, don’t expect me to do everything.”

So I picked up my speculation where I had left it.

It was revitalized by a visit to the new neighbors who invited us over for an evening dinner and get-together. We had already become good friends of like mind, and were honored to be the first guests in their new home.

The food was, of course, wonderful (you know me and food), the endless display of nearly every imaginable that you could ever want, plates you could refill, shrimp of the large expensive kind, marinated artichoke hearts so dear to my own heart, a pink pate that must have been salmon, sliced sausages in honor of German, and oh those olives, and the crackers and breads and cheeses, a platter of offered variety which, upon a second visit, revealed a layer I hadn’t even noticed the first time around, and, and, and

And of course drinks. A recited list, and I, still re-learning to drink, chose instead a grapefruit beverage, and as we all retired to the chairs and couches and coffee table, and I sipped my drink and exclaimed, “Am I drinking wine now?” because the hostess had inadvertently switched glasses that looked alike and we laughed and switched back.

And the talk! Endless, effortless, artesian, articulate, stories lovingly retold but new to us, worth retelling here another time, and then the reason for this blog entry.

Talking about, “How did you two meet?” and our hostess, looking at her smiling husband, said, “We were in love then, but we’re even more in love now.”

For me everything stopped, because that was me and Shirley for sixty years.

Back home next door, out of sleep, I continued my train of thought, my chain of speculation.

I thought about a lot of things. About the way people are and can be.

I thought about the way people have to learn how to allow themselves to be themselves. About the way external systems impose our limits. “In public, there are two subjects you must never discuss, religion and politics. Talk about the weather.”

“Polite society,” done correctly, means not only do you not talk about certain things that “aren’t proper,” you don’t even acknowledge them to yourself and never think about them, “not even in your wildest dreams.”

So of course I saw again the levels of life and love. It’s a ladder, a staircase, rising plateaus. The higher you get, the more you can see. Your world gets bigger and you expand with it.

How metaphors help us “wrap our heads around it,” “get a handle on it,” so we can handle it and go from the simile of “seems” to the metaphor of “is.”

So, at the dinner’s end, preparing to leave, getting ready for the hug, I thought some more things, like “touch.”

I can’t always wrestle the metaphors to make them work, but I see “us” as entities co-existing, bubbles floating on an environmental sea, and when we touch, something happens.

Men and women are drawn to each other like magnets, designed to fit together like a switch that closes a circuit.

Friends hug, and realize how close they are.

I remember Shirley, how we touched, how our lips met, how we hugged, endlessly, and never let go. Two became one. So, even apart, we two were still one, we took the hug with us.

Some people say they are “not huggers” and, maybe out of fear, miss out on life in all its fullness.

I, who climbed the ladder of love, reached the heights of knowing, that it’s enough just to be together, like the old couple holding hands, or sleeping in the afternoon holding each other close, that the hug which made us one, even with you gone, I hug you in my heart and you are with me still and always.

So thank you, neighbors, for hugging and reminding me.