Perhaps I was way too ambitious thinking I’d be walking this week – outside that is.

In my mind’s eye, I only thought about those upcoming balmy 40- and 50-degree temps, and how delightful it would be getting back into my normal walking regimen again.  Of course, all those delightful degrees are happening in the middle of the afternoon, so it’s definitely not doable for me since I’m “minding the store” (albeit virtually), while my boss is incommunicado in the boonies.

I really didn’t hold my breath about walking this morning since WWJ’s traffic reporter was utterly breathless with his list of fender benders and multiple-vehicle crashes, and, what vehicles didn’t slide into retaining walls, or each other like bumper cars at a carnival, were getting flat tires after driving over tire-eating potholes during this mini thaw we’re having.  The weatherman, who follows the traffic reporter, kept reminding us since we’ve been in the deep freeze for the past two weeks, that ice-cold cement was going to be slippery after yesterday’s snow melted.

So, as I suited up for my daily trudge to the garage, I didn’t hold out much hope for a walk.  On the bright side, at least there was not three inches of wet snow to shovel like yesterday.

When I opened the door I saw 30 degrees on my neighbor’s thermometer, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and, yes, even a bird was singing joyously in a nearby tree.  So it was all good, except for one small detail – the sidewalk and driveway looked like the glaze atop a warm Krispy Kreme donut.

I stepped out of the door and walked gingerly to the garage to start the car and returned on the same path, still taking baby steps, but, then happy to be inside the house and trade my lug-soled snow boots for Sherpa-lined slippers, and the ability to walk without hesitation.

Of course I wanted to mutter that Winter is for the birds.  Sure, that little bird was singing its heart out, but then again, it did not have to walk, or worse … drive on this slippery stuff.  I tried to whistle back and sing along with this bird as I often do, matching note for note, but all that came out of my mouth was a poor rendition of “Slip Slidin’ Away” – believe me, Simon and Garfunkel did it better than me and my fine feathered friend.