Mindful Mopping

Lately I have been dry mopping my floors instead of lugging around an energy-sucking vacuum cleaner. It has been a tranquil turnaround—from an activity that once quite literally sucked, to one I now savour.
I turned to the mop as a way to save energy, but even though I came for the efficiency, I stayed for the pure enjoyment.
In the quiet of my home, each sweep of the dry mop becomes a moving meditation. Each stroke feels like a slow breath; each movement, a small act of care.
No roaring machine disrupts the stillness—only the soft swish, swish, swish against flooring, a quiet dance around the space I inhabit.
Lately, after more than a year of mindfulness practice, I am finding that a blissful state can arrive quite spontaneously in these ordinary moments. What used to be a chore turns into an opportunity to simply be here in the moment. 
I hold the mop handle lightly, feel the subtle gentle tug of the dusty floor on the cloth, notice the rhythm of my own breathing syncing with the motion of back and forth, back and forth.
In our hurried and chaotic world, it's easy to rush past the simple things. But when I slow down, cleaning becomes a chance to wake up—to really be alive right where I am. 
Here is how I let mindfulness deepen the simple act of mopping:

1. Begin with presence — Stand for a moment with the mop in hand. Take one easy breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Whisper to yourself (or just think): “I’m here, now. This is all there is.” 
2. Move with intention — Hold the handle loosely, like holding a friend’s hand. Let your strokes be slow and flowing: I like figure-eights, or infinity symbols, if you prefer. Forget about time because there’s no hurry; let the mop move as it will.
3. Rest attention lightly — Tune into what’s happening right now: the slight resistance as dust gathers, the quiet swish-swish, the coolness of the handle against your palms, the rise and fall of your breath. When your mind wanders to to-do lists or worries (it will), gently bring it back—no judgment, just return.
4. Pause and release — When the pad fills, stop. Step outside if you can, shake or rinse it, and watch the dust fall away like autumn leaves leaving the tree. Let go of what’s collected, just as you let go of intruding thoughts.
5. End with gratitude — Step back and look at the cleared space. Notice the light playing on the clean surface, the calm that settles in the room—and in you. A quiet “thank you” (to the floor, the moment, yourself) closes the moment.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.
This is one quiet path to the gifts of simple living and mindfulness: finding peace and presence in everyday moments. 
A mop isn’t just a tool—it is a gentle teacher, showing us how to move with ease, to do the work, to let go of the accumulated dust of life.
Let each daily task become a small meditation. Washing dishes, folding laundry, sweeping corners—these aren’t interruptions to life. They are life, when we meet them fully.
And don’t worry, spiders—my mop doesn’t go that far.

Walden-ish: Our Peaceful Rural Life

Snowy day in the backyard woods.

Since I can remember, I've dreamed of a cabin in the woods—far, far from everything—as the ideal life for Linda and me. 
But as these things often turn out, you may not get exactly what you want in the way you expect.
Although we don't live in an isolated cabin deep in the forest now, we basically live like we do.
I’d bet Henry David Thoreau had more visitors at Walden Pond than we get here—unless you count the rabbits, owls, snakes, hawks, eagles, deer, and our resident crow family that’s adopted us (as long as we keep the peanuts coming).

We rarely have human guests, and we rarely go out. Like many of our neighbors in rural Nova Scotia, we choose to stay on or close to our property most of the time.
We don’t run errands on a whim—especially since we said goodbye to our car. That means we’ve honed our planning and preparation skills to the point where true emergencies are rare, and we only need big grocery orders about six times a year.
Friends kindly pick up those bulk orders and deliver them to our not-quite-cabin in the not-quite-woods. For everything else that we may require from town, I hop on my bike with a backpack to fill with fresh food or other needs.
Our isolated backcountry dream cabin wasn’t meant to be—at least not yet. We still have time and would never rule it out entirely.
But we’ve pulled off our own Walden-ish version: living deliberately in a peaceful place away from the fray, surrounded by nature, just the way we like.

How have you carved out your own dream of simplicity? We’d love to hear what works for you.