1. Mitch says, “Come outside, the sky looks like a waffle.”
2. I say, “No, it doesn’t.”
3. “Seriously, it does.”
(I should tell you the thermostat inside says 89 degrees because our fire-stove is a little, dynamo, outta-control, heat blaster. We don’t know how to moderate it (and I like it that way). So, I’m wearing a tank top and PJ pants.)
4. I feel like a little fresh air might be nice, and decide to step outside for 5 seconds.
5. He makes sure I have on footwear. “No really, you should put your boots on at least. It’s cold.”
6. So, I put my boots on and step outside. It is 5 degrees (plus or minus 20. I don’t know. It’s below the freezing degree, trust me.).
7. I look up at the sky — and sure enough — it is like a waffle. Somehow the clouds are grouped together and it looks like an aerial view of the desert with dried up rivers running though the translucent clouds. It’s all speckled with a thousand stars. I don’t know if that explanation really even makes sense. But that’s ok, because that isn’t the point of the story.
8. I turn around to run back inside … and,
9. Maybe it was the frozen tears on my cheeks, or maybe it was that he had to open the door to go and get more wood for the fire.
10. Either way, I’m inside now. And you know what? I think he’s gonna be out there getting firewood a little longer than he planned on.
Can you hear my evil laughter?
And I thought we would pass the Alaskan nights playing boggle and banana-grams in front of the fire. Silly me! This is so much better than that.