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.

What Does it Really Meme?

Organized clutter is clutter that is less cluttery. I am more of the “let it go and free your mind” camp, in an ongoing multi-decade crusade against harbouring things that do not add to my life, material or otherwise. 

Makes sense to me. Instead, today we are normalizing all the wrong things.

This is the clock I have been on since about 2001 when I semi-retired at age 40. This face is as accurate as I need. Even better is another favourite clock face that shows just the seasons on it.

We are the agents of our own destruction, and will do anything to save ourselves except stop, accept personal responsibility, and change.

Why does this need to be said at any time, anywhere on this planet?

When our intention is crystal clear — free from confusion, doubt, or conflicting motives — the path forward naturally reveals itself. It is about shifting from wandering passively through life, to a focused alignment that leads to action and beneficial outcomes.

Simple Luxuries

Having a bunch of garden grown squash all winter feels very luxurious.

“The art of being happy lies in the power of extracting happiness from common things.”

— Henry Ward Beecher

It sounds like an oxymoron, but there is such a thing as simple luxuries. And in the gentle rhythm of my days, I like to treat myself to these small, accessible special moments. 

It is not because I “deserve” them, but because they speak the truth to me about the bountiful universe: there is enough, and more than enough.

A steaming mug of tea by the window as the warm morning light spills in, spreading beams on my face, and filling my heart.

The perfect bite of a red-ripened apple, its sweet juice running down my throat like liquid joy.

A nap in an afternoon sunbeam just because.

Fresh towels that smell of sunshine, or giving yourself the permission to take five unrushed minutes to doodle without an agenda.

These aren’t grand gestures. They’re tiny, truthful moments that proclaim: 

“Scarcity is just a story we tell ourselves. Abundance is what’s here, just waiting for us to notice.”

And in those sweet moments of savouring, something magical happens, and I feel reconnected. 

Not just to plenty, but to the very source of creativity, playfulness, and deep, bubbling joy. 

It’s like the universe nods and says, “I’ve got your back, always have, and always will.”

So today, I invite you: choose one small, luxury that works for you. Let it be ridiculously simple, and endlessly joyous.

Let these moments remind you that you are supported by a generous world, and that you only need to notice, make a request, then graciously receive its gifts.

Let the moment spark that delighted “yes” inside. Because when we recognize and receive the bounty with open hands and open hearts, joy doesn’t just visit — it comes to stay. 

What’s your favorite little reminder of abundance in your life right now? As usual, we’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Burn Wood, Bank the House With Snow

Full moon outside my window.

It is a frosty winter wanderland out there. Instead of chop wood, carry water, it is more like burn wood, bank the house with snow. 

Also, mend wool socks, go snowshoeing. 

Or stay warm, eat comfort foods. 

House banked with snow for extra insulation against the cold.

It has been so cold that I had to bring in the apples, potatoes, onions, and garlic I had stored in our attached garage because it had uncharacteristically gone below zero during our prolonged cold spell.

The brook is high and flowing fast now, but was frozen over not long ago.

With all the snow that has fallen over the past week or two, I have been able to log my first, second, and third snowshoe hikes to wander down into the valley to the brook back behind our home. 

The deep snow reveals tracks and signs of all kinds of critters, and you get some idea of what they are up to when you are not around. Looks to me like they are having some fun snorkelling through the deep powdery white stuff.

Old growth trees cloaked in a coating of puffy snow.

I got out to enjoy the snow just in time, too, because the cold snap is about to relent, and rain is on the way. The forecast is for plus temperature highs during the day, meaning the snow will vanish over the next two weeks of warmer weather.

Until that happens, a nice bowl of hot pea soup sounds like just the thing as the light fades on another wonderful frosty winter day.

How about you - are you chopping wood, carrying water, or burning wood, breaking ice? 

Let us know how your winter is going in a comment below. Or conversely, tell us about how it is summer where you live, and make us warm and snuggly.