The longest day

All year long I wait for the longest day of the year. I love living in New England, but the price I pay are the dusks that fall at 4:30 p.m. in mid-December. But I feel like I missed it this year. I look back on last week. June 21: a morning appointment to help Marissa with family history research, early afternoon facilitating at DBSA-Boston, my manic-depression and depression support group. Supper with Jim, then a panel of entreprenuers speaking in Jim’s office in the evening. So, as the late dusk fell, I was in a small group, fully absorbed in a fascinating presentation.

Next morning, I was up at 5 a.m. to drive to Worcester and be with Matt for his surgery. Saturday was spent with our daughter and friends. Busy days, that’s wonderful. The last two days have been busy too. And suddenly it’s five days after the longest day and I can feel in my bones the days getting shorter.

Maybe I’m being morbid. Maybe it has to do with listening to The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. In beautiful and insightful prose, she chronicles the year after her husband’s sudden death by massive heart attack. Of course, I thought about David, especially when she mentions, several times, dilated pupils: a physiological sign of death. More on all of that in a later post.

I just looked it up: yes, my imagination is running away with me. The longest day was June 21st, but today was a mere minute shorter. And the latest sunset, at 8:25 p.m., occurs June 24-29 this year. I was out in my garden at dusk tonight, watering my tomatoes and tying back my red raspberries. I’m glad to know I was enjoying one of the latest dusks of the year.