(Howell Creek Radio address for Feb 23, 2013 -- ) # Small Place It is winter. The snow has been accumulating a few inches at a time every other night. The weathermen are calling it the Clipper Parade: a long series of snow clouds that swing down from Canada, drop a few inches of show and swing away again. Right now the temperature is 1 F and -19 F windchill. I read an article the other day about the practice of "cocooning," holding up in your house in your free time, settling in with your laptop and your tricked-out entertainment system, rather than leaving the house to seek amusement in groups and public venues. The author alleged that this a resurgent, modern phenomenon, driven by technology and post-9/11 insecurity. Who knows, maybe this is true on the coasts; but in places where heavy snowfall is common, "cocooning" is not a fad but a timeless way of life. Hibernation is nature's norm. In the struggle to overcome nature's norms, the morning cup becomes all the more important. The price one is willing to pay for fresh varieties of beans rises in proportion to sunlight deprivation. Get up, drink coffee, read, work, drink coffee, come home, drink tea, write, drink tea, watch a show, sleep, repeat. The dark liquids moving through my system gradually cause a thin film of coffee fines and tea-leaf particulates to accumulate on my cornea like a third eyelid, filtering out UV rays and helping to prevent snow-blindness by day, and filling the long nights with many-colored ideas, lucid technicolor Rorschach stains sliding around on the periphery of my eyeballs; things that should have been, or that may be. * * * That feeling that your mind and your body are peeling away from each other: is there a word for that besides "February"? Looking back over my journals and past podcasts, it seems to me that the things I think and write about in winter specifically tend to get a bit samey. They're all about the cold, the repetition, the slush, the greyscale scenery; and if when they're not, they're about the most abstract, intangible things -- life paths and grand future choices; short stories involving my granddaughter coming back in time to tell me off; uninformed analyses of large groups of people I don't know; how to make a machine that makes books. You've probably seen the movie Groundhog's Day, which depicts the practical, ethical and philosophical implications of being trapped into reliving the same day over and over and over again. I don't think it's any mistake that that movie was set in the dead of winter; not the dead _center_, but the truly dead dead, when winter has ceased to be tragic or beautiful or soft, and is just plain old _old_. Even the sunlight in that movie has that cold, tired, grey, slushy feel about it. And it's at that time of year that we often let ourselves be plagued by the most impossible paradoxes. That's what winter is: like being in a cell or a cave. Every day is the same. It can get really hard to tell, without some kind of anchor of sanity, whether your thoughts are actually adding up to anything, or whether you're just spinning your wheels. For myself, it's when Trixie and I hold each other close in our cave late at night, with only the dim glow of the fire to draw outlines on our faces in the dark, and we talk in low voices -- that's when I feel my feet touch ground again. Your mind isn't looking for traction or speed in the winter; the pulse of a hibernating creature isn't meant to get you anywhere. The mind, the pulse, they're _just there_, that is all. They'll get you through to the thaw. Winter is your chance to be still, and to know yourself. * * * Thanks for listening to Howell Creek Radio. I'm not dead yet, as you can see. For the second year in a row, I've put up a short form with some questions for you, asking your opinions on this podcast. Last time I did this, even though only seven people responded, I found it very helpful. All the same, I'm hoping to get more than seven responses this year. Make sure your perspective is included: you can find the utterly anonymous survey at , along with links and notes for this, and all past and future episodes. Synopsis ------------- Radio address for Feb 23, 2013. Winter gets repetitive; it is a prison, a cave, a cocoon. Mention is made of [an article about cocooning's "resurgence" in USA Today][usat]. Music is [_Homesick_][hkc] by Kings of Convenience, and [_Towards the Sun_][tts] by Alexi Murdoch. Don't forget to add your responses to our [short, sweet survey][surv]! [![Hibernating Boats](images/2013-hibernatingboats.jpg)](http://www.flickr.com/photos/hugovk/4248239492/) What appear to be houses are seen to be boats, on closer inspection. Taken by hugovk, Helsinki, Finland. (CC License) [![Snow Cave Inside](images/2013-snowcave.jpg)](http://www.flickr.com/photos/scottmark/3327618285/) View from inside a snow cave. Photo by Scott Mark (CC License) [![Snow Cave near Byron Glacier](images/2013-snowcavebig.jpg)](http://www.flickr.com/photos/wideanglewandering/7155714218/) Snow cave near Byron Glacier, Alaska. Photo by WideAngleWandering (CC License) [usat]: http://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/personal/2013/02/15/internet-tv-super-cocoons/1880473/ [hkc]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000TGVYEQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000TGVYEQ&linkCode=as2&tag=joelsimprpers-20 [tts]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004NA3SW0/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004NA3SW0&linkCode=as2&tag=joelsimprpers-20 [surv]: http://joeld.wufoo.com/forms/howell-creek-radio-listener-survey-2013/