But this morning, with the world outside my door on ice, it means changing weekend plans.
No trip to the Cities.
No basketball game with Shannon.
No fish and chips at Cooper’s.
No visit to my sister.
I’ve been up for two hours and have only seen one vehicle drive past my house: a sanding truck that sprays a little swoosh of sand by all the stop signs so that cars have a fighting chance at coming to a halt instead of sliding through the intersections.
Even if I could safely exit my front door and step out onto my welcome mat . . .
And even if I could safely back my car out of the driveway . . .
There’s still this . . .
I see one brave soul out walking, taking tiny little baby steps with arms outstretched, like a tight rope walker teetering precariously on a narrow wire. Where in the world does he need to go so desperately that he’s willing to risk a broken neck? A fractured hip? A concussion? He must be a neurosurgeon on the way to save someone's life or a trekker practicing for an excursion to the North Pole. It's a good day to stay home and keep the dent-free car in the garage. And it’s definitely an on-the-treadmill 2 to 4 miles today.
The weekend is officially “on ice,” literally and figuratively. Disappointing. But it's definitely a weekend to hunker down and hibernate.