How to Make Spagitte

The very first thing you do is get done work.
Then secondly you go to a fitness gym and do some intense strength training so that you can beat Jeremaih in an arm wrestle. Then after that you put your winter coat back on and walk home. Don't slip on the ice.
Now this is where it gets extreamly complicated so I'll use numbers, letters and some brackets to help you.

1.
find the pot you used to cook spagitte in yesterday and pick it up.
2.
a) Put cold tap water in the pot so it's half full.
b) Put the stove burner on MAZ. I mean ZX a! X...
a)---> Put the pot on the hot burner so that the burner and the pot are touching.
3.
The water is going to boil pretty soon so hury up and get the spagitte sauce and parmazan cheese from the fridge. Get a plate and a fork too.
4.1)
When the water boils (you will see bubbles and steam) get some spagitte and put it in. (Snap the spagitte in half because the pot is small).
4.2)
Turn the stove burner to half way.
4.2)a.
Watch your spagitte cook and swish it around with a fork.
5.
Now eat about two strands of spagitte to see if it's cooked. Nevermind how hot it is.
6.
When it's cook good use the lid of the pot and try draining the hot water out. Don't let any spagitte get out. The steam might burn your arm.
(7.)
Mix the spagitte with the spagitte sauce and put lots of parmazan cheese on top.

Broken Cell Phone

This is a story of the day my cell phone broke.

I was wearing a necklace with a small silver cross. It was a gift, new, but not shining. Not now. There was no light, it was dark out and I had just arrived at the end of my rope. The end of the road where everything just. . . couldn't end. There had to be more.

The day began after work with a weekend in Edmonton ahead of me. I was in a hurry, making last minute decisions trying not to forget anything. But the sun fell faster than I could hurry. For an hour and a half I drove against the lights of oncoming traffic and my need to drift asleep. I was tested, drained and sapped of patience but now with the house of my destination within eyes reach I could almost. . . almost. . . and just like that the same flow of traffic that brought me so close was now drawing me away. The white dotted lines that once guided me now trapped me. I was in control of nothing and far away.

I hated it.

I hated who I had become. I had become a calendared man with no room for adventure. A man seeking approval from ever changing inconsistent opinions of people and a man who kept looking at his stupid cell phone as if hoping to find something. And that is when my cell phone broke - in half.

The Beard on my Face

About some days ago I started growing a beard and it has gotten to the point where people have started making comments about it. To my face, out lound and in english.
It's as if people are just simply tired of making "I like your shirt" and "nice shoes" comments. They want something different to comment on. Something new, unpredictable and exciting. My beard gives them this oppurtunity.
Now as exciting as it is to get a comment about my face hair, the peoples lack of experience commenting on the topic really shows. And it's not their fault, there just arn't many people with hary faces out there.
For example: Maybe a casheir looks up and I'm standing there. She's caught off guard. In a panic she forgets where she is and what she's doing. . . "BEARD!" "BEARD!" "RED BEARD!".

Now maybe I've used the word "beard" too much in this entry.
And maybe the whole thing doesn't realy make sence.
But really, it doesn't matter.
GoodDay.

The World Is Your Home

As my time in Edmonton staying with the Stewarts came to an end the travels back to Jeremiah's Crossfield began.

A pit stop in Drayton Valley saw us attending a morning church service. Afterwards with the diminishing cheers of the congregation behind me I struck out on a walk. With no particular destination in mind I wandered through typical "what if" scenarios.
"I could just stay here".
Seems like a nice place...it's not a city, theres a hip happening church, a handy GreyHound Depo and a good town name.
With nothing but reason standing in my way the thought of staying developed into what Jeremaih once described as the "sharp joy...of extream change."

I ate an egg. It was a nice restaurant, good food, clean washrooms...
I cracked a slight smile as Uncle Peter made mention of my ramaining travels south to Jeremiah Town. "Good" I thought "He has no idea". I had a sneeking suspicion Uncle Peter somehow knew, but no, of course he didn't. Could no one see my thoughts of staying written in my subtle facial expressions and unspoken words?
The looming departure time had now arrived as I closed the car door. "You know where to go from here right Mom?" I asked holding the map. "Because I'm going to stay here". Mom hesitated putting the car into drive "You're going to stay right there in your seat are you?"

It was a morning of suprises.
A couple pastors got Harlys.
Benjamin stayed in Drayton Valley.

The Pit

The Pit.
A sea of flat table tops cluttered with works in progress. A common ground for us who study drawing and painting.
We're already artists.