My dad and I used to celebrate, usually via telephone, our very favorite day, which was June’s much anticipated summer solstice, i.e., the longest day of the year. was a triumph of sorts — hard-earned proof that we’d survived, nay conquered, the pummeling from another unforgiving northeast winter.

Our second favorite day, affirmation that we were the two greatest optimists on the planet, was Dec. 21. Although the very beginning of the deep freeze, the winter solstice and the promise of longer days were for us the harbinger of once again emerging victorious.

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