Thirteen

I heard something today that has been ringing in my head ever since: "you can't be brave unless you're scared".
Brave isn't just fighting in a battle, because many warriors have no fear. Brave isn't just facing cancer, because not every patient is scared of death. Brave isn't just moving to a new town, because some people are stellar at making new friends.
Brave is not something you can be unless you're shaking in your boots. Brave consists of doing the very thing your racing mind and sweaty palms are screaming at you to not do. Brave makes you be strong because you're doing the very things you know you are weak at and could very well fail. Brave is not allowing yourself to back out because you know it's easier. Brave is doing the right thing even when everyone else is wrong. Brave is your will being strong when your body is weak.
I wish for my will to be strong; I wish to do things I know will stretch me; I wish to grow in a way you only can when you're brave.
I wish to be brave enough to be brave.

Weekend at the Farm

Here are some pictures I took of the weekend I spent at my friend's farm. She will be moving into our house for March because Miriam is moving away.
I caught my first fish... you can tell I am a city girl from the look on my face. But I was thrilled... still am... and have quickly converted to being a country chick.
Sorry some of the pictures are sideways... I don't know how to fix that. If you do, please tell me.

The Never-Ending Battle

Cleanliness is a luxury. I am now realizing that as I am fighting against a bazillion multiplying dust bunnies and 3 roommates who aren't aware that they are even there. I am going crazy.
It was nice being home for the Christmas holidays, but I got spoiled. For those 3 sweet weeks it was so easy to fall back into the life of no responsibilities, not having to make my own meals, and my mom's ever-clean house. A good smelling house I might add.
I came back to Calgary and my wonderful home had been turned into just a house that wasn't homy for me at all... the tenants downstairs had decided to start smoking in the house, so our upstairs smelled like an ashtray, and my roommates weren't expecting me home for another few days and they hadn't had a chance to clean up after themselves.
So now I know I have the title of 'cleaning nazi' among my roommates based on how many times they apologized for the mess and promised to clean it up 'soon'. I don't know if I should be flattered or not.
I now wish I hadn't taken for granted all those years I spent at home with my parents in a nice clean house, where the only battle was my mess. Not crusty dishes, not clutter that doesn't make sense, not sticky fridges, not crunchy floor, not crumby counters... just my stuff in piles in various places. No dirt underneath, just piles.
I'm not sure if I should continue cleaning their mess or if I should give in and concede defeat to the army of dust bunnies breeding in our house.
All I know is that when I have a house of my own it will be impeccably clean and I will be living with no one who ruins my efforts after 5 minutes of being home. I should be a hermit. In a very clean place... like a mental hospital.
On the plus side I bought an air freshener about the same time the people downstairs reprimanded from the landlord for smoking in a non-smoking house and I no longer get headaches from breathing in toxins all day.
Life is looking up. Maybe this never-ending battle has an end after all.