Long week, part 2: the dog walk at midnight.

It's 11:45 p.m.:

Me, calling from the other room: Sweetie? It's 11:45.

The historian: [who has been watching television stroke resting: stirs]

Me: Shall we go for a walk?

The historian: YES.

[rustling, then light cursing from the other room:]

The historian: [to himself:] I left my shoes in the car. I have to get them.

Me: If only you had a pair of back up shoes. Like some people in this house.

The historian: Do you have back up walking shoes?

Me: [PLEASE.]  Of course I do. I have back up pretty much every kind of shoes.  [pause:] You need a new pair of shoes. [knowing perfectly well that a shopping trip is a horror to the historian:] You could get a new pair of shoes tomorrow.

The historian: I had a plan to get a new pair of shoes once...

Me: ...I remember...

The historian: ...then I found that pair of shoe laces...

Me: ...and you were all, New pair of shoe laces? That's practically a new pair of shoes!

When we stepped outside, we could feel the storm-edge in the wind, me in one of my billion pairs of walkable shoes, him in his new shoe laces. 

The historian: Feels like it's going to storm.

It really did. And on the back-home half of the walk, snow started to evidence itself out of thin air.

Me: See? You can see the flakes up there--look, in the lamplight.

The historian: No... [and then:] Yes. 

[For anyone who's interested, Friday Poem Day will occur on Saturday this week.]