Connie Schultz WASHINGTON — It was around 8 o’clock on a recent Monday night, and my husband was yelling at the neighbors. “Jackie! Kate! Jackie! Kate!” “The lights are on.” “Yes,” I agreed. “Because it’s only 8 o’clock, and they aren’t 90. But they’re likely watching TV.” This was the last leg of our walk in a gentle but persistent snowstorm. A half-hour earlier, Sherrod had looked out the front window and began lobbying. “Look, it’s not bad at all.” “It’s been snowing for hours,” I said. “You like snow,” he said. Fact. Fact, again. “Franklin and Walter need this walk,” he said. “Look at them.”