January 20, 2015

Snowing out there now. Nice, lazy flakes streaming steadily to the ground. Won't surprise me if we have an inch or two by tomorrow.

The boys are all at school. Walt and Jack bearing up under the strain of exams, particularly tough for Jack this morning as he has Honors Biology, less so for Walt as his AP Psychology has proven less than rigorous, at least for him. Charlie's slogging through another day in middle school.

Snow has thinned out to a more fine-grained affair, and while still streaming, seems as though it may not be doing so in a half hour. Who knows. Not Gus, who lies on the couch, his head on a pillow, not sleeping, just thinking whatever it is they think when dogs sit with eyes open for minutes on end. I say minutes because now his eyes are closed, having slipped into the sleep of the just.

I'd sleep, too, but I have a whole lot of nothin' to record in this Midwestern, non-musical version of Brian Wilson's "Busy Doin' Nothin'" or so I wish. For instance: that snow has slimmed out to a fine, sand-like consistency, visible only when contrasted against the deep green pine tree across the street. The sound of a jet bound for Metro Airport is abruptly drowned out by the furnace kicking on.

I walked already this morning, darn near two miles trailing behind the Beloved Spousal Unit, if not gasping every step of the way, then a good bit of them, particularly to about the 3/4 mark. But I finished strong, and so I don't owe anyone anything. At least for another couple of hours or so, when Gus will let me know in no uncertain terms that I must take him for a noontime walk.

The snow may have left off for now, or if not, at very least it's faded to a sort of super-vague yet super-present thing, roiling the air even as it retains its transparency. Sort of the way I have retained what remained of my wakefulness when seen in contrast to the green pine tree of sleep threatening to engulf me. Please excuse the bad poetry, but it's quite miraculous I'm able to write at all, my eyes being closed as they are at present.

So forgive me the shorter than usual diary entry, but c'mon, Gus, let's go hit the sack, it's nap-time!