On Competitiveness

One Wednesday morning, not that long ago, I was sitting at my desk early in the morning. As I peered out my window, I noticed that it was a bit foggy outside – not a usual thing for mid November. 

While I was working away, I heard the distinct sound of fog horns. The timbre of the horns sent a wave of melancholy through me. I had a sense of aloneness but not loneliness, like I was the only person awake in the world at that point in time, yet God was hovering near. It felt like one of the “thin times” between me and God. The sound seemed to travel for miles and miles, almost like an echo. 

I am not certain how far along the Seaway the ship was before I couldn’t hear the sound of the fog horn any longer but it sure seemed like quite some time had passed.

Later on in the day, I was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea, and I heard the clear sound of a helicopter flying over. For some reason, that I have yet been able to figure out, I am fascinated by the sound and sight of helicopters. So I rushed outside to look for it. 

There I saw a very large chopper flying west. It wasn’t one of the recognizable orange helicopters that indicate someone being air-lifted to a hospital. It appeared to be a military helicopter that might well have been heading to CFB Trenton. 

As I looked up, I wondered about the people who were in that aircraft, marvelled at the fact that such an odd shaped machine could actually stay up in the air, prayed that they travelled safely to their destination and gave thanks that it wasn’t someone being flown to a hospital.

Sometime that afternoon, I was walking across the lawn returning home from the church when a small flock of geese flew overhead. There were only about eight or 10 birds flying and only one of them was honking as they flew. 

It wasn’t the noise of the call of that one lone bird that caught my attention so much as the sound of the air rushing through their wings. It sounded like a swoosh with every beat of their wings. The sound from such a few birds was quite loud so I can only imagine what it would sound like with some of the larger flocks that I see in the sky from time to time. Swoosh.

. . .that reminded me of how I thought Holy Spirit would sound when I was a little girl. The presence of God was evident to me once again that day.

As I think back on that day, I am reminded that we are blessed in so many ways. Being blessed with the ability to hear those sounds is something that I give thanks for because there are so many people in our world, our community, who cannot hear these things. 

Each time I was drawn away from my own thoughts to the world around me and I found myself entering into a time of prayer, drawing closer to God – marvelling at all of creation. The sounds of this November are not something that I will forget any time soon. Thanks be to God!

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Do you know what actually proves spring is here? It’s not the robins, or the dandelions, or the leaves on the trees. 

It’s all those ambitious people, inside and outside of their homes, up to their elbows in that ritual known as “spring cleaning.”   

Actually to my mind, that’s really a misleading description. It seems to imply that people only scrub out their homesteads four times in an entire year: spring, summer, winter and fall. 

Oh, wait a minute. 

That is how I do it. And I may have inadvertently overlooked winter this year.

However, like everyone else, I do have my cleaning rituals. 

First, I line up all the magazines I have purchased and carefully pull out those cardboard “subscription” inserts either stapled or tucked into them. Then I throw them all out. Task done.

Second, I go through the refrigerator and decide what needs to be cleaned out. I always try to toss those products which have a “best before” date prior to the First Gulf War. I move from those to  containers filled with whatever I was trying to cook last week and also dump those into the garbage. Generally, I can’t identify the remains anyway. Task done.

I do dust. However, I must admit that the messages visitors regularly write on my tables and chairs are usually really amusing, and it seems a shame to use furniture polish to remove them. 

I tried cleaning the oven once. It was not a particularly successful undertaking. I won’t go into a lot of details, but that smell like charred tortoise lingered in the house for days. 

And really, I don’t cook that much anyway. Tasks done.

I painted the spare bedroom one spring in a poorly conceived plan to brighten up the walls. I dropped the gallon of paint, which wouldn’t have been that much of an issue had the can not been open at the time. I also had a little trouble with the ceiling. Seems that paint will splatter if you are using a long handled brush and I soon found myself trying to work through a confetti screen of paint dripping on my face and glasses. Consequently, I may have missed a few spots here and there. But if you put furniture or pictures over them, hardly anyone notices. Task done.

Yes, I think the Canadian ritual of spring cleaning is a wonderful one. 

When I see people scrubbing barbecues and patios, staining decks, beating rugs, painting walls, washing windows,  emptying the garage, weeding and hoeing and planting, I find it truly inspirational.

I go straight to my front porch.  

I find that after two hours in my deck chair, and maybe a drink, that urge to roll up my sleeves and get busy always passes. 

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Ontario is poised to implement a carbon pricing Cap-and-Trade scheme after the Liberals forced a vote on Bill 172 in the House on Wednesday. Earlier this week, the Globe and Mail had received a leaked […]