Dear people who live on street corners

You really didn't think the winter would go by without a "Dear People" letter, did you? 

Really? 

Ahem.

Dear people who live on street corners:

I walk my dog Ben every morning, mostly up at Comstock Park, but on occasion I stray into The 'Hood. I'm the one with the gray dog -- and shredded quad and hamstring muscles after attempting to scale the Himilayan peak (also as known as a berm) you left at the corner in front of your house after the plow came through.

Where's a sherpa when we need one?

Look. Let's be honest here. I am too old for this nonsense. I no longer leap tall buildings in a single bound. And my membership in the Bolshoi Ballet's Grand Jete Club has expired.

Those were the days, weren't they?

So I implore you: Could ya dig K2 out just a little? Just a teensy tiny little bit?

I don't mind a step-up or step-down the least bit. I am not i.n.f.i.r.m. after all.

Nor am I landing a Boeing 747 on your corner sidewalk, for pete's sake. I'm just tryin' to get across the street.

And all I need is a little walk-through.

I ask you, Is this so complicated?

Oh, just go around to the driveway and cross there where we've dug out, you say, waving your hand Downton Abbey-style after a sip of organic, fair trade, gluten-free, paleo Folgers.

My friend, when I "go around," there's a pretty good chance you'll (1) watch me go down like the Titanic when my foot hits the ice -- cleverly disguised as 2 inches of new snow -- on your driveway or (2) get a postcard from Wallace, Idaho, because that's where I am still trying to figure out how to cross the bloomin' street.

And please don't say the exercise is good for you. I could say the same about snow shoveling.

So let me lay it out here. We lived on a street corner, circa 1987-1992, here in Bermtopia. (23rd and Monroe. Say it loud and proud.) I feel your pain. It's double the work, I know.

But let's not lose sight of the stream of humanity who traverse these sidewalks of ours and need to cross -- safely, I might add, without teetering on the brink of broken ankle oblivion -- at street corners: School kids, dog walkers, runners, seniors, mail carriers, meter readers, and god help us, solicitors whose sole mission in life is to help us bundle our TV, phone and Internet.

So I shout from the roof tops: Dear people who live on street corners who create those wonderful, berm-defying street corner walk-throughs, THANK YOU!

You are my heroes.

And I promise. There will be buckets of yellow squash (organic, fair trade, gluten-free, paleo) on your doorsteps this summer as a token of my undying gratitude.

You're welcome.