When we moved to Chesapeake Beach when I was ten years old, Mr. Bob lived on our street.
Mr. Bob drank Natty Bo every day starting at 5 pm. He always had to leave out of whichever
door he had come in. He liked to fix old clocks, and he was a top notch
couponer. He was a ball turret gunner in WWII, and he bought me my very first piece of furniture to refinish. Once he made me a spaghetti sandwich with tofu cheese. He let me and my sisters swim off his pier to our hearts' content, and he was the nicest old man I had ever met.
When the autumn started to get dark and cold, he started counting down the days. 22 days. 16 days. 4 days until winter solstice. He taught me that solstice represented hope. The solstice, the shortest, darkest day of the year, marked the day that things start getting lighter, brighter, longer, better.
The darkest day is the turning point.
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