Sunday shorts: Quiet shovels and racing minds

On Friday night, I fell asleep to Arctic winds howling outside, forcing the loose street sign underneath my window to squeak, mimicking the sound of an imagined Victorian ghost walking on creaking floorboards. I hadn’t checked the forecast, for it would be Saturday by the time the crashing, icy snow did its thing, and the smell of the weather had already told me it was going to be an “in” type of weekend.

I awoke at five a.m., as I have in the last few days, and walked over to the window to look outside. The blizzard was in full force. It blended with the colour of my curtains, producing a glowing light that emanated into the otherwise dark room. I had just under an hour before “second sleep” kicked in, so I managed a few pages of the book on the nightstand before my eyes closed again.

* * *

I layered up, triple-tied the laces on my this-is-serious-weather boots, and walked out into the quietude of a freshly snowed-in Saturday morning. Henry excitedly pulled at the leash, anxious to get to the nearby field, eating fistfuls of fresh powder along the way. I crunched along the road, as the sidewalks hadn’t been ploughed and were not worth the laboured trudging over the massively uneven boulders. Some neighbours several blocks down were waking up to cars stuck on the corner and, in time, emerged with their shovels to dig out friends and strangers and send them on their way.

Inches atop inches of fresh snow nearby

I let Henry off his leash and watched as he bunny-hopped his way through a vast territory, where the snow lay as it fell, smooth and untouched. The pines fencing the area swayed as though to dust off some of the powder stuck to their limbs. Absolute silence would only break when the wind picked up and swept away the top layer of flakey crystals, resembling a faint wind chime in the distance, or when I clumsily swooshed around in my winter getup.

* * *

There is something extra delicious in having snow fall on a weekend.

I write this as I watch inch-wide flakes shifting northwest like a polka-dot patterned wallpaper. The Christmas ornaments hanging from the tree outside are sporting little snow hats, and the resignation on the street is noticeable. The shovels quietly rest by the doors despite driveways overflowing with mounds left overnight. Except for house number 12, the unofficial agreement between everyone on the street is to come out at midday and dig our way out, collectively cheering on each other while exchanging January pleasantries such as “Well now, this is good snow” and “Finally, eh?”

I am not thinking about work, road conditions, travelling anywhere, or to-do and to-don’t lists. In fact, I’m not really thinking at all. I’m taking in the stillness of the morning outside and the calm I feel inside. And that’s what grows increasingly bothersome to me. This unprecedented calmness seems a privilege. For all the wonderment and beauty that winter brings in these here corners, it wreaks havoc on skin*, and subtly shows certain advantages enjoyed by the comfortable. I don’t know where the drivers stuck on the road were rushing off to so early in the morning on the weekend, but I’m willing to bet it’s for work or reasons that cannot be helped.

And it’s this sense of guilt that is troubling me because I wasn’t rushed today. I have enjoyed every moment until just now, when I realized that even writing about the tempo of my weekend feels antagonizing to those who, by circumstance, have to venture out, hustle, rush, get stuck and unstuck, and miss the weather ballet outside.

I’m not sure when exactly I’ve decided to take responsibility for the rushed pace, which many of us have propped up for years intentionally or unwillingly. I see the hypocrisy of preaching mindfulness in environments where the mind is preoccupied solely with providing basic needs. And I know slowing down is a benefit, perhaps even exclusively belonging to a specific socioeconomic group. But this can’t possibly go on much longer, can it? Whatever the last three - now four - years have shown, it’s perhaps the extent to which we are all deeply and profoundly exhausted from hurriedness, false urgencies, and aimless busyness.

Maybe it’s just me.

* * *

*Here’s an easy recipe for a peppermint body scrub to help refresh dull winter skin and perhaps afford you a minute or two of quite blissful solitude in the shower.

• 1/2 cup coconut oil

• 1 cup cane or refined sugar

• 15 drops of peppermint essential oil

In a glass container, melt the coconut oil (either by microwaving or steaming it over a hot pot), add the sugar and peppermint essential oil, and store in an air-tight jar. Apply on dry skin before washing, and scrub in circular motions before rinsing off.