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The Tea Party Snow Job

Our conversation began agreeably enough.  I had stopped at the hardware store to pick up a couple of chains for the chain saw that I had left to be sharpened.  He saw my dandy aluminum cane.

"I know all about that!", he said.  "I have one just like it at home!"

We showed each other our scars, almost, and swapped war stories.

Then, as often happens while making innocuous conversation, things turned ugly.

We speculated about the snow that was due to arrive that evening:  last night.  It arrived.  Just a couple of inches, but good substantial, wet stuff.  I said that my snow blower was still at the shop, being installed, and that it would probably not be home until well after the snow; maybe not until our second snowfall.

I joked about sharpening my snow shovel.  He said that I should bring it in; that he would do it:  he had just sharpened his.

"Huh?", I thought.  "Sharpen a snow shovel?  Why?"

"Yep!", he said, Minnesotan.  "I take the snow right down to the concrete!  I don't allow no snow on the driveway!  No, sir!", he went on, "Nobody drives on our driveway until I have it right down to the concrete!"

I didn't ask where he lived.  I didn't tell him where I lived.  I don't want him moving in next door.

Instead, I log on to see what the weather is going to be, today and tomorrow.  Maybe the snow will melt.  And even if it doesn't, once the snow blower is installed on our little lawn tractor, I can take it over the driveway, and peel the snow right down to whatever the runners allow.  Neither the snow blower nor I want to stop at every crack in the concrete to change elevations.

I think of it as a willingness to compromise with my adversary:  take a little, leave a little.  That is why I turned in my Tea Party membership card.  They wanted me to take it right down to the paving.

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