That night had the amazing peculiarity of having both rain and snow falling for the majority of the evening. Later, the weather conspired against me once again and switched from rain and snow to just large swollen flakes hitting the ground with impressive force. The weatherman had called for snow six days in a row and last night he finally struck gold. My grandfather had the odd habit of calling it a “shotgun snowstorm.” His logic did not extend farther than a snowstorm that covered a large area and appeared suddenly. And, despite my better judgment, I tried to tell him that this storm did not just appear but it had been predicted to occur by the fine people down at the weather station. Before I received his answer, I found that he had turned off his hearing aid.
No matter. Whether the snowstorm was of the shotgun variety or not, it necessitated a vast amount of shoveling. A duty for which I was best suited. Indeed, as the night progressed, the snow fell to greater and greater degree. It fell with such ferocity that I thought it best to begin shoveling through the night instead of prolonging my misery.
Sometime before midnight, I grabbed the snow shovel and went to work removing the unwanted frozen particles from my driveway and sidewalk. It was then that I heard a scream. It was muffled through the earmuffs, but I was sure I heard something. I turned to look at my neighbor’s house, which seemed to be the origin of the scream, but saw nothing out of the ordinary and decided it was merely a trick of the wind.
A full hour later, while I was still removing the unwanted precipitation from my environs, I heard not just a scream but also slamming door. I turned to see my neighbor Miranda forced out of her home by her husband. She screamed and screamed and kicked the door to no avail. While I stood there, trying to work up the courage to intervene, Miranda suddenly left her front porch and relocated to her car and proceeded to drive through the thick blanket of snow.
Relieved that I would not have to intervene in a marital squabble, I returned to my shoveling duties. I may note that at this point I was making adequate progress. But, my headway into this devil of a snowstorm was rudely interrupted when I heard the advancement of a car coming down my street. The car swerved down the street in away that I did not know whether it was due to the inclement weather or the inebriation of its driver. I realized, though, it was Miranda as she swerved into her own yard, bypassing the driveway entirely, and pulled to within steps of her front porch.
This was the night that I learned that Miranda had bought a shotgun