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.

South Common Mall

It was cold.
I pulled my hood up over my head as I stepped off the transit bus.
South Common Mall, my transfer point.

Not to deviate too far from my story but I remember when I first came to the realization of just how simple an idea public washroom hand dryers really are. They're just heat and wind. I could probably build one with toaster elements and fan blades. Get an electric motor to power it.

I've done my research.
See:

Some of this, because

and the motor...

some...cats

So my story at South Common Mall actually starts with a hand dryer. And I mean exactly that. A hand dryer, singular. Just one.
"You'd think they'd have more than one hand dryer" I said to the man behind me as his waiting hands let drops of water hit the floor. “We should complain about it” I suggested. At this point I was ready to end the conversation and get out of there.
Leaving him and the roar of the wind machine diminishing behind me I soon approached the Muffin Lady. How might I get in contact with the Mall people? I asked. She answered and pointed over my shoulder to the door between two big signs.
“Good”. I thought.
As an unspoken thank-you for her help I bought myself a red berry muffin. And said Thank-you.

I was still eating my muffin when I was talking to the office secretary lady about hand dryers.

Three Drawings

The Kitchen, drawn in pencil and altered on PC (Personal Computer).


Why are there so many straws?


Watching T.V. and doing my homework.