Winter stuff

A week into January and we’ve now had the first real snowstorm. There appears to be six to twelve inches of light powdery snow out there. I’m going to drag myself out for some shoveling soon. The first time is often the hardest. Your body forgot how to move properly in order to accomplish the task, you’re slipping around, you feel as thought you’ve never done any physical labor in your life, and you are quite likely to have a heart attack and not be found until Spring. Coffee first. A good, long sleep again last night. Besides the shoveling, there are a few other things to accomplish today.

Move into the kitchen. I’ve let the dishes slip and have fallen behind on keeping the counters clean so I remedy that. I keep the used coffee grounds in an old plastic dishpan now. I put the food waste in a Grillo’s pickle container. This distinction is both a sign of life and of forward evolution. In the past, I threw it all together and wouldn’t think about taking it out until I was horrified by what I noticed growing out of the container or the smell dictated that I address the issue. What happens, see, is that it’s supposed to be compost. You know, to avoid sending food scraps to landfills. Food waste puts good nutrients into the soil. I don’t really have a garden, but it’s a nice thing to do anyway. Here, at the hermitage, it’s really an offering to the wild things. Whatever I compost gets scavenged - no matter how rotten, fuzzy, stinking, or moldy it is. On top of that inconvenience every food item was encrusted in rancid coffee grounds. What wild thing enjoy that? For the sake of my neighbors now, I separate them. I vow going forward to offer you tastier scraps, my animal friends. 

She recommended I sit on my sit bones. This means to put your feet out in front of you, flat on the floor, toes pointed forward, and you rock your pelvis forward. Don’t strain. Alignment. 

Out the door to shovel for 15 minutes while it’s still falling down. I’m thinking there’s a little more than a foot. By the end of fifteen I was mildly staggering, and my low back was considering greener pastures. We’ll go back for more later. 

Now, I’m on the internet and, because of the falling snow and that insulated silence that comes with it, I’m thinking of the radio program Hearts of Space: Slow Music For Fast Times. It features “ambient, space, and contemplative” music from around the world. The show is one of those personal treasures that come at you on the car radio when you’re spinning the dial alone on a highway after midnight. This one played, I believe, on a Sunday night on the public radio station in Fairbanks. 

It was winter and my entire waking life was spent in the dark. The temperatures were down as low as minus 40 and didn’t come up much from there. The cold there was very dry. It dried and froze the mucous in your nose on your very first breath when you stepped outside. It has an edge to it, a serrated blade on your skin and in your lungs. I had the feeling of living in a freezer. Frozen sparkling vapor for air and everything covered in a dry frost that appears almost fluffy. Meanwhile the ground and the Chena River’s waters froze solid as rock down several feet. 

Coming upon this music at 2:00 AM in such conditions, under a brilliant starry cloudless sky and the Northern Lights was a sacred thing. I’m lucky to have experienced it. You don't need to take an expensive cruise in order to see it. Just drive a cab on the night shift (6p-6a).