The longest day
It’s 4:16 p.m. on Sunday, November 2, 2025 — the first day of Standard Time — as I sit down to write this. Every year when the clocks change, this day feels like the longest one of all.
The dogs woke me at 7:15, which was either 6:15 or 8:15 yesterday time — I’m not sure anymore. In my younger years, I always knew whether the time was moving forward or backward. Now that I’m retired and have no real schedule to meet, I don’t care.
The one thing I am sure of is that I’ve accomplished quite a bit today. Not that I’ve discovered a cure for cancer or anything, but I’ve already:
Fed both dogs. Making breakfast for our dogs takes a while. Russell, our Jack Russell, has pancreatitis, so he has to eat Hill Prescription Science Diet kibble that must be measured carefully. It looks so unappetizing that I mix in a couple of spoonfuls of Science Diet wet food. Russell weighs just ten pounds, but I spend more on food for him than I do on food for my wife and myself. I don’t know how people with big dogs on prescription diets afford to feed them. Rupert, our dachshund, gets a Danish dog food specifically made for dachshunds plus a quarter can of Cesar’s wet food. Both dogs get half a mini muffin cup of poached chicken. Every month, I buy six pounds of chicken breasts, poach and dice them, portion them into muffin cups, and freeze them. No Dryden dog has ever tasted dark chicken meat; I’m sure they’d turn up their noses if I tried to serve them cheaper cuts. Russell eats in the pantry, Rupert eats on the lanai. When they’re finished, they always check out each other’s bowls to see if, by chance, a nugget or two was left uneaten. But the bowls are always licked clean.
Spent an hour drinking coffee and cruising the internet. Visited my favorite news sources — Wall Street Journal, New York Post, The Free Press, and “X” (formerly Twitter). I do that every morning.
Solved The New York Times’ Wordle puzzle. Got it in three tries instead of the six allotted. Times management bought the super-popular puzzle from its inventor, John Wardle, and uses it to sell subscriptions to its newspaper for a dollar a week. I wouldn’t read The New York Times if it were free — not because of what they report, but because of what they don’t.
Talked to our oldest son. He calls every Sunday morning to fill us in on what’s going on with him and his family. Today he called earlier than usual, saying he got up early (or did he say late? I’m not sure). He often goes into the office on Sundays, so our talks are usually short. Someone on X recently asked, “What’s the saddest song you’ve ever heard?” I replied immediately, and was surprised at how many men agreed: Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle.” I get a lump in my throat every time it comes on the radio. I spent too many Sundays in my office when my boys were growing up. This one has grown up just like me.
Walked the dogs. I took Russell and Mugsy, a neighbor’s West Highland Terrier, on the same two-mile walk to and from the tennis center we take every day of the week. Between them, they hike their legs on every bush. By the end, nothing comes out — but that’s what male dogs do. I’d bring Rupert if he showed any interest in exercise, but like all dachshunds, he prefers to lounge around looking like a weiner.
Made breakfast. Ham, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast for my wife and me. I couldn’t taste it — COVID destroyed most of my taste buds years ago — but she said it was good.
Took Russell to Home Depot. The moment I ask, “Do you want to go in the car?”, he starts spinning in circles. We drove the seven miles to the store and wandered the aisles to see if we needed anything (we didn’t), but I did find a Blue Daze plant in the garden section and bought it.
Dug up the dead Blue Daze plant in the yard and replaced it with the new one.
Taught my wife how to play bridge on my iPad. She already knows bridge, but the Neuroplay Bridge app on the iPad is better than the BridgeBase website on our laptops. She played four games with a “bot” and won them all. When she finished, I played a dozen more.
Went to the gym. Walked two miles on the treadmill — everyone there is my age, so nobody runs — then spent 45 minutes on the weight machines and gouged a chunk of flesh out of my thumb which was bleeding so bad I had to go to the front desk and get three Band-Aids. I try to go to the gym four days a week. “Try” is the operative word.
Picked up a prescription and some chicken to grill for dinner at the supermarket.
Ate a late lunch. Despite losing most of my taste buds, I can still taste foods that are salty and/or sweet. So I ate half a bag of Fritos I used to scoop up leftover queso from a neighborhood party earlier this week. One handful of Fritos contains more calories than I burned at the gym. I probably consumed ten handfuls. Not to mention a cup or so of warm queso. What the hell, I’m old. My mother ate whatever she wanted and lived to be 102.
Wrote this blog post. And re-wrote it. Then proofed it. Changed it. Proofed it again. Edited it down because it was too long. Stopped to make dinner for the dogs. (My wife said Rupert was hysterical because it’s 5 o’clock and the dogs always eat at 4 o’clock during Daylight Time so she and the dogs clearly understand the time change better than I do.) Then I put back the two paragraphs I cut knowing nobody will have read this far anyway and it’s my blog so there.
So, what should I do with the rest of the longest day of the year?
