Sydney Bieber reads during the Uncanny Senior Symposium for Literature Majors was held in the Old Main Lincoln Room on Thursday, Feb. 27, 2020.

The Creative Writing Program at ASU presents author Jess Row in a reading from his work followed by a Q&A and book signing.

 

Row is the author of White Flights: Race, Fiction, and the American Imagination, as well as the novel Your Face in Mine and the story collections The Train to Lo Wu and Nobody Ever Gets Lost. White Flights is his first book of nonfiction. One of Granta’s Best of Young American Novelists of 2007, he lives in New York and teaches at the College of New Jersey.

 

Book Summary

 

White Flights is a meditation on whiteness in American fiction and culture from the end of the civil rights movement to the present. At the heart of the book, Jess Row ties “white flight”—the movement of white Americans into segregated communities, whether in suburbs or newly gentrified downtowns—to white writers setting their stories in isolated or emotionally insulated landscapes, from the mountains of Idaho in Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping to the claustrophobic households in Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections. Row uses brilliant close readings of work from well-known writers such as Don DeLillo, Annie Dillard, Richard Ford, and David Foster Wallace to examine the ways these and other writers have sought imaginative space for themselves at the expense of engaging with race.

 

White Flights aims to move fiction to a more inclusive place, and Row looks beyond criticism to consider writing as a reparative act. What would it mean, he asks, if writers used fiction “to approach each other again”? Row turns to the work of James Baldwin, Dorothy Allison, and James Alan McPherson to discuss interracial love in fiction, while also examining his own family heritage as a way to interrogate his position. A moving and provocative book that includes music, film, and literature in its arguments, White Flights is an essential work of cultural and literary criticism.

 

PRAISE

 

“Row has produced a thoughtful and timely meditation that serves as a call to white writers.”—Pop Matters

 

“This intelligent collection is often deeply engaged in realms of philosophy and literary theory. . . . There is something for every reader . . . in the message that fiction not only reflects but acts upon real life, and that each of us is obliged to act for justice, in reading and writing as in life.”—Shelf Awareness

 

“With these superb essays, Jess Row reveals himself to be an insightful critic of both literature and the American condition.”—Viet Thanh Nguyen

 

“Jess Row performs a much-needed analysis. . . . The landscape of the imagination, like the country itself, he argues with rich insight and brio, is neither equal nor free.”—John Keene

I shall plant

a tree

in green

for you

 

Hold my hand

a wee

wee bit

marvel at the blue

 

Sky’s like sand

you see

it bleeds

stars old and new

Love is not blinding, it just turns you around

So fast, that you can’t see the loved features.

You say, “This face, this beauty is renowned

Like the most stunning among human creatures”.

 

You spin, and you are twirled in a dance

Your eyes are fixed into the other’s eyes.

If you let go, for sure you’ll lose balance

Falling awkwardly as the laugh arises.

 

Around you, the entire world is in a blur

You feel a dizzy emotion quite upsetting.

Even your body is losing its contour

Because you’re giving more than you are getting.

 

It’s better to keep spinning, avoiding closer glances.

Another turn: bedazzled, you have no other chances.

 

(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)

 

dedicated to Zenwithin, one-sided answer to his question

 

As September 9, 2011 ends, I have 2,077 photos on Flickr. My “safe” photos number less than 180 of the 2,077. At the end of 9-9-11, my site has 5,906,730 “view counts” (photos, photostream, & sets). If you’re not a member of Flickr and you’re visiting here, welcome. You are viewing my “safe” photos. You can easily see my “moderate” and “restricted” photos of women if you take some simple steps: join Flickr (it costs you nothing to join and to remain a member); once you’ve joined, you can set your “safety settings” so that you can view all three types of photos. Flickr explains how members can be in control of their own Flickr experience, make their own decisions concerning what they want to see. I quote--in my “profile”--directly from the Flickr staff concerning how you can choose your own filter levels.

 

Grandma never made it to the Rock of Gold.

While we listened to her (saucered eyes, capitalOed mouths, hands clasped to our siblings’ hands) of course we dreamed to be there. But Grandma told us “never to not even dream of it”.

 

The river was dangerous only during the rainy season. More a brook than a river, through the endless summer days it was our swimming pool. We could sit in the sallow water, freezing our entrails, and imagining ourselves moored on a desert island. We did not care about Grandma’s stories as we climbed the mossy rocks, looking at the grey crayfishes running away from our wrinkled toes. We did not know why, but by the river we preferred to play together, very near to each other, almost touching. We walked home at night, one by one, drenched to our twiggy bones, our hair smelling of a swamp. And again we asked Grandma to tell us about the Rock.

 

It stood high by the river, and it was apparent only a few moments before sunset. Its walls were steep and shiny, painted with a slippery gold glaze that disappeared at nightfall, inch by inch, beginning at the feet of the rock and ending at its very top after sunset. Grandma said that it was the time for the fairies to begin dancing. They did not like to be seen by humans, therefore she never tried to look at the Rock at night. When she was a little girl, her now respectable waist leaner than ours, her best friend hid by the rocks during a summer evening, and was never seen back at the village.

 

Grandma told us to look carefully for little things the fairies left behind for us children to play with: a ribbon, a slipper, sometimes a jewel. I found a pearl once, the size of my little finger nail, and brought it home at night. Mama made me throw it in the water barrel by the backdoor. She told me never to pick up anything: it was a dirty habit and the thing could be cursed. I looked inside the barrel the day after and my pearl has disappeared. I never asked Mama about it.

 

During autumn and winter, in dry cold days we went to the woods to pick up twigs for the fire: even the smallest children had their small wicker baskets and helped the best they could.

In winter I preferred to walk by the river looking for the wood brought down by the stream. I did not realize I was so far from the village that day, and so near to the rocks, almost by the swimming pool of our summer plays.

She was sitting on one of the highest rocks by the water, her back to me. I could not see her face, only her green hair almost to her waist. She was looking at herself in the water, and around her shoulder she wore a wolf fur to keep her warm. Her left arm was bent under her hair, the hand at the nape of her neck to hold it away from her face, like a lady admiring herself in a mirror.

In a moment I could not breath anymore. I run away, the dry bushes flogging my bare knees and leaving dark marks on my tender skin. I thought I was falling. I was blind, and my feet touched water and ice a couple of times. Hearing the patter of the gravel on the road to the village was a blessing. My basket was nowhere to be seen. I must have left it by the water, and I realized it only when I was safely at home, my heart jumping inside my ribcage and in my throat. I never told Grandma of the fairy I saw just under the Rock of Gold. I would not hear her telling me about the curses and how unlucky it was to see a fairy combing her hair by the river.

 

In a few weeks it was spring again, and we children went to play by the river for the first time that year. I was sure I would never see the fairy yet again, but at the same time in a way I wanted to make myself sure I saw her. My best friend clasped my hand and tried to make me run to the rocks. I stopped and tried to make up my mind: was I ready for anything?

My friend smiled and gently pulled me to the water. She was leaning on her right side and her left foot slipped and nearly splashed into the icy water. I steadied her, pulling her towards me, and doing so I saw a turf of dried grass by her heel, almost hidden by a stone.

I looked over her shoulders and I saw the rocks. No one was sitting on it. There was a log near the biggest one, and some debris in the small pond over it, next to a discarded basket.

We moved towards home. I turned once, and even if it was not the right time of the day, I saw the Rock of Gold.

 

(Short story by SiRiChandra, January 2012)

Tonight I’m fairly sure the moon is cheese

And whales are fishes with a crooked tail.

You talk, but what you say is hollow breeze

And what I write I’ll have to read in Braille.

 

Confused, and sad, and bad, and tired, and strange

The Chinese moon is sailing up the hill

Not in a straight line, tonight, for a change:

Hopping and bopping, swallowing a pill.

 

The whale is loudly humming a silent tune

Riding around the moon, asking for more.

Two little stars are throwing a balloon

Fighting for scoring, running at the door.

 

A giant whale is hiding the Seas and moony Valleys.

The drunken moon is swaying, tripping dark bumpy alleys.

 

(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)

 

The Creative Writing Program at ASU presents author Jess Row in a reading from his work followed by a Q&A and book signing.

 

Row is the author of White Flights: Race, Fiction, and the American Imagination, as well as the novel Your Face in Mine and the story collections The Train to Lo Wu and Nobody Ever Gets Lost. White Flights is his first book of nonfiction. One of Granta’s Best of Young American Novelists of 2007, he lives in New York and teaches at the College of New Jersey.

 

Book Summary

 

White Flights is a meditation on whiteness in American fiction and culture from the end of the civil rights movement to the present. At the heart of the book, Jess Row ties “white flight”—the movement of white Americans into segregated communities, whether in suburbs or newly gentrified downtowns—to white writers setting their stories in isolated or emotionally insulated landscapes, from the mountains of Idaho in Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping to the claustrophobic households in Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections. Row uses brilliant close readings of work from well-known writers such as Don DeLillo, Annie Dillard, Richard Ford, and David Foster Wallace to examine the ways these and other writers have sought imaginative space for themselves at the expense of engaging with race.

 

White Flights aims to move fiction to a more inclusive place, and Row looks beyond criticism to consider writing as a reparative act. What would it mean, he asks, if writers used fiction “to approach each other again”? Row turns to the work of James Baldwin, Dorothy Allison, and James Alan McPherson to discuss interracial love in fiction, while also examining his own family heritage as a way to interrogate his position. A moving and provocative book that includes music, film, and literature in its arguments, White Flights is an essential work of cultural and literary criticism.

 

PRAISE

 

“Row has produced a thoughtful and timely meditation that serves as a call to white writers.”—Pop Matters

 

“This intelligent collection is often deeply engaged in realms of philosophy and literary theory. . . . There is something for every reader . . . in the message that fiction not only reflects but acts upon real life, and that each of us is obliged to act for justice, in reading and writing as in life.”—Shelf Awareness

 

“With these superb essays, Jess Row reveals himself to be an insightful critic of both literature and the American condition.”—Viet Thanh Nguyen

 

“Jess Row performs a much-needed analysis. . . . The landscape of the imagination, like the country itself, he argues with rich insight and brio, is neither equal nor free.”—John Keene

June, 1959, I ran away from home, Columbus, Ohio, and traveled Route 40, the National Road, to San Francisco. I followed Horace Greeley’s advice: "Go west, young man, go west and grow up with the country." Horace Greeley, editor New York Tribune. 1855. I joined the Army soon after arriving in San Francisco.

The first time I went for the glory, San Francisco, I ended up in jail in Salina, Kansas. I took this trip the summer before my freshman year in high school; great vacation. Mom came on bus, and I was released to her; we had a great trip, bonding together, on our way home.

The next time I went for San Francisco was in 1959.My granddad gave me ten dollars for graduating from Grandview Heights High School; ten dollars would be equal to seventy dollars today, 2010 dollars. I financed my trip with this ten dollars. Grandad Hayes also gave me a quarter for each "A" I got on my report cards, so I got a lot of A's. Muchly appreciated Grandad. Grandad laid brick for fifty years, an Irish bricklayer. I will give my three grandchildren incentive as my granddad did.

I stayed at the Salvation Army in Indianapolis the first night, breakfast was chicken noodle soup, and stale donuts much to my delight as I knew I was going to run short on money during my odyssey. The second night I slept in the bus station in St. Louis, Missouri, and encountered in a filling station bathroom the largest water bugs (roaches) I have ever seen. I thought we had large water bugs when we lived on Hubbard in flytown in Columbus, Ohio, but the St. Louis waterbugs beat the cake. The third night I stayed at the Helping Hand mission in Kansas City, Kansas. I mopped floors from nine p.m. to eleven p.m. for my bed. I was selected to mop the floors as I was one of the few able bodied residents of this flop house able to mop floors; however, I had to be taught as I had never used a mop bucket equipped with a wringer.

I kept my wallet inside my underwear band so that if someone tried to rob me, I would feel it, and stop them. I then lucked out with a ride with two teachers going to southern california to study for their masters. We stopped in Salt Lake, Utah, where they paid for a room for me. Then, onto the San Francisco Bay Bridge, and Treasure Island. I had twenty-five cents when I crossed the Bay Bridge. A black cleaning lady at a bus stop heard my story, and gave me one dollar.

I went to the Presidio Golf Course to caddy and make money to live on. See fn.1 for creative nonfiction about 2012 open at Olympic. But, finding out that military officers were cheap, I headed for Olympic Golf Course where the U.S. Open had been held the year before. I drew a good bag, and made a handsome tip. My Jewish golfer also gave me five dollars for a better pair of shoes and a promise that I would talk to a army recruiter. I traced the man down in San Francisco while in San Francisco for a weekend pass; however, his daughter thought I was there for a handout, so I did not get to thank him.

Most important to my odyssey was meeting a Jewish caddy who took me home with him, and his family put me up;otherwise, to this day, I have no idea where I would have stayed that first night in San Francisco. The family was paying forward. I first read of paying forward in my readings from the New York Times where I read a review of a book by a Jewish writer. The expression pay it forward is used to describe the concept of a received good is repaid by doing a good turn to others; for example: see the movie, Pay It Forward (2000) More at IMDbPro ».

I tried paying forward in 2010 and failed. I hired my sixteen year old neighbor to cut my grass, but he wore flip flops, so I gave him an additional twenty dollars for shoes, his mother went ballistic and I have not seen him or his brother again. His younger brother had also helped me. But, I will keep trying.

I have used the term Jewish to pay credit to a concept of the Jewish culture. I later in this story refer to a Lebanese soldier who I had big trouble with. Why is the race important? I was seventeen and being pushed around by this foreign noncitizen draftee so I have said where he is from. I use the term African-American when referring to Israel Garth to recognize his service; Israel is the only African-American in the picture. Eleanor Roosevelt ended exclusion of African-Americans from the Army in 1948, but the discrimination continued into the 50’s. Mr. Kelly, my instructor said my paper had a racial overtone. I used the names of the races as part of the story, not as pejorative terms. And to fill out the description of the people I met in the peacetime army. Our class was a lab class so my fellow members criticized my paper. We had three marine veterans from the mid-east in our class out of fourteen students. One marine spoke up and said conventional wisdom was not needed in my paper since the eras I wrote about, were different from today. SEMPER FI.I got a job as a mail clerk having scored the highest any person had ever scored. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my references fell through. I got a telegram that night telling me not to report to work.

 

I got a telegram the second night that I stayed with my Jewish friend. The telegram told me not to report to work, my made up references did not stand up.

Next, I went to the Army recruiting station. My recruiter implied that I could get into photography. I grabbed at the straw since I was leaving the place where I was staying. I did not get a recruiting guarantee, but thought my prior photography experience would be my entrée into my desired field of service to my country. Wrong. I never came close to being an Army photographer. Without the guarantee, I was dead in the water, subject to the needs of the big green machine. The recruiter taught me a good lesson: watch out for yourself in the Army, as no one else will; however, the recruiter did get me a room until my parents sent their permission for me to enlist as I was underage.

Snail mail was all we had in 1959. My five days at the Embarcadero YMCA were eventful. The queers tried to get into my room, but I would keep the chain on when I opened the door. The recruiter did not warn me of this bothersome problem.

Finally, the recruiter transported me to the Army, the Oakland Induction Station. I remember the Doctor who examined us for hernia. He went down a line of forty men in a New York minute telling us to turn our heads, and assume the position, bend over, and cough as he examined us for hernias. Then, the regular army NCO’s (noncommissioned officers) took over and proceeded to holler and badger us as we were prodded and tested. I realized I was now in the real Army. Every one stepped forward and took the oath, to defend our country from enemies within and without the United States. Fifty of the inductees were draftees. But 1959, was the Eisenhower era, not the hippie era. In the hippie era, some inductees did refuse to step forward. I do not remember what sanctions they incurred for their refusal to be sworn in.

Next, my new buddies and I were loaded onto a bus and delivered to Fort Ord for basic training. Fort Ord is located eighty miles south of San Francisco on Monterey Bay, and was commonly known as Fort Crud, as many of us caught lingering chest colds. Basic training at Fort Ord was known as eight weeks of sand and grass.

The weather in the late fall and winter is rainy, cold, and miserable at Fort Ord. My Brother, Allan also caught the crud at Fort Ord before going to Vietnam with the First Cavalry. Al went to OCS but did not finish. Linda A came to visit in Florida, and the Company Commander would not even let Al give his bride a hug; vision of things to come with the Army, the Army had also held Al in repo company for months waiting to send him to OCS, which time did not count against his twenty four month obligation. So, Al bit the bullet, and took the invevitable assignment to In Country.

Arriving at 11 PM, we were greeted by clerks hollering at us to move along and pickup our military issue clothes. The clerks eyeballed us for size, and made us keep moving; no arguments allowed.

At 5AM, a Sergeant came into the barracks banging a trash can lid hollering obscenities. So, this Sergeant was to be my leader.

Sgt Nesbitt was my platoon sergeant in basic training. I had been issued brown boots left over from the Korean War, and a bottle of black dye. Sergeant Nesbitt accepted no excuses. I couldn’t get a shine on these boots, but the Sergeant rode me like he had a saddle on me, and I was discouraged. The Army way, and my way intersected, and I had to adjust to the Army way. I did not have a choice. I had to get with the program.

One of my friends in basic training was a misfit. The Army tried to make a soldier of him, but it was like trying to pound a square peg into a round hole. My friend was discharged as unfit for military service, a section 208 discharge. The section 208 discharge would be a blot on his record for the rest of his life. A section 208 discharge will disqualify you for some jobs, and some employers will not hire you if you have a section 208 discharge. The army recruiter should have realized that my friend would not make it in the army, and saved the army and my friend a lot of grief. Yes, the recruiter made his quota but recked havoc on other affected people.

To a lesser degree I was a misfit: 17 years old, 1,500 miles away from home, family, friends, and girlfriends. Captain Lynch, the Company Commander called me in, and counseled me: he told me a metaphor about life in the army, and sucking it up; he was transferred with his family to another post, 1,500 miles away, so away he went with one car, one wife, and one baby, and his possessions on a 48 hour nonstop cross country journey. Life is a journey, some times rough. Professor Carney, Otterbein, similarly described his journey. He, also, was in the Army in 1955, and was transferred 750 miles away, so away he went with one car, one wife, and two babies, and his possessions on a 24 hour nonstop hour cross country.

Thanks, Captain Lynch, now 82. You paid forward.

We had forty-four recruits in 3rd Platoon, D Company. I had a Lebanese resident alien draftee in the bunk above me. He was arrogant, and mean. We did not duke it out. I wish he had gone for me. I almost never lost a fight. I had to accept the situation.

Israel Garth was the Company guidon, and drummer. He was the only African-American in the platoon. I wonder why? The guidon led marches signaling march orders and directions using the guidon, the company flag. The drummer kept the beat for marching ditties led by our NCO’s; for example, my sister lives up on a hill, she won’t do it but her brother will. The acting jacks were older men, typically draftees, and college dropouts around the age of twenty-five. They were called acting jacks because their stripes only lasted until basic training was over. I found that these draftees had good judgment, were fair, experienced in life, and good trainers for the young volunteers, and were men of experience. An acting jack shared a room with another acting jack. The rest of the platoon were double bunked in the bay. Rank has its privileges. On the other hand, these twenty-five year old out of shape men had trouble with the physical training. For example, the dreaded double time runs under Route 101 to the rifle ranges on the Pacific Ocean were hell on these draftees; also, we wore boots, not tennis shoes. On the other hand, the volunteers, known as regular army, were to a large part recent high school graduates, and still in shape.

Draftees only had to serve two years; volunteers had to serve three years; this was the last time I volunteered for anything.

I sometimes wonder how many of the soldiers in my basic training company stayed in the military and were killed in Vietnam.

Fort Ord was the basic training post for Alaskans who were kept in the same training company since language and culture would have been difficult to deal with if the groups were merged; however, I would have liked to have known them. It was quite a sight seeing a company of these short squat soldiers running around the area all dressed alike in their fatigues. They didn’t speak English.

My advanced training was clerk-typist school. I became friends with Robert Dallas, a resident alien, born in Scotland, immigrated to Australia, worked the South Pacific on tramp steamers, and immigrated a second time, to Los Angeles where he was drafted. If you seek the benefits of our country, you can defend the country was the government’s position. Bob was a world class long distance runner. He opened my eyes to the world with his stories about living in many places. Dallas was transferred to the 623d Quartermaster Company at Ft. Bragg, and we we were mates for one and one half years; Dallas being a draftee, got to go home after one and one half years in the 623d, I had to stay two and one half years: unfair, volunteer gets screwed over. Army way.

I was selected to play on the Company football team having played three years in high school. The coach had started for Southern California, and was assigned to the Company, not the training platoons. I was rewarded with weekend passes for being on the team. Well, the last week of clerk-typist school, we all got weekend passes. I told the coach I was not playing anymore since I could not earn any more weekend passes. Boy was he mad. He, in effect, said I was unethical using barnyard language to describe me. I didn’t care. I avoided a game and got my pass.

Lipps was in my clerk-typist school, and from Berkeley, California. His mother invited a few of us for Thanksgiving. I had a great time since I had no family in the area. Also, Lipps had a sister who was gracious with her time and friendship. I got to see part of America later to be famous in the vietnam riots.

After advanced training, I was scheduled to go to Korea; however, my mother did not want me to go there. I do not know why. I wish I had asked her. The army said if I volunteered for the paratroops I would not have to go to Korea. Hell of a choice.

Before I left Ord for Bragg, I was assigned to the Human Research Project at the Presidio of Monterey, Monterey, California. Yes, the army researching you is scrary. So, the army asked for a control group to go inside the isolation room in the locked pitch-black soundproof room with a chemical toilet for three days. Well, I volunteered for the control group which didn't go into the absolute solitude buried in the dark. I stayed in the barracks, periodically taking tests to compare my reactions to the control group. The Dr Sranglove people were scary shit. water boarding, and chemicals: I can't even read the rest of the article.

EFFECTS OF PROLONGED SENSORY AND PERCEPTUAL DEPRIVATION

 

Google: FKfECTS OF PROLONGED SENSORY AND PERCtfPTUAT ...

Google Article:

bmb.oxfordjournals.org/content/20/1/38.extract

I had turned eighteen, three months before, and had learned never to volunteer. I lesson I have profitably used in my life.

Next after three weeks I went to Fort Bragg, N.C. to be a paratrooper. Volunteering for the paratroops was the only way to avoid going to Korea. Jump school had a captain in charge. Well respected, and one day when I was at Myrtle Beach, I saw him on the pier, alone, looking sad, and lonely. The Army could, and was a lonely place since I had had no moves, and women were scarce.

January 1960 I qualified for the basic parachutist badge. Jump school, at Fort Bragg, N.C. was a cold, rainy, outside, experience in January. We completed our blood run, four miles, the last week of ground training. If you fell while running, the guys in the formation ran on you; usually the fallee was an out of shape NCO trying to get his wings for the $55 a month jump pay. Finally, I got my blood wings on Sicily drop zone, the largest drop zone in the U.S.: named after the 82d's drop zone in the Second WW in Italy.

Our unit at Fort Bragg, the 623d Quartermaster Company (Airborne), was put to the test to supply parachutes for the proposed jump into Cuba during the missile crisis. Our unit repaired and packed parachutes. Lieutenant Stockey was the shop officer. We were working ten hours a day, and half a day on Saturday since the 82nd Airborne Division did not have enough parachutes to make the jump.

Lieutenant Stockey was the shop officer and a graduate of Rutgers, and an airborne ranger. I always thought this was strange that a ranger qualified officer would be in a quartermaster company. I devised an accounting system to calculate how many parachutes we needed to pack and repair to meet our weekly goal. The riggers had their quotas done by Thursday afternoon because Lieutenant Stockey would let them go on weekend passes starting Thursday afternoon if they met their quota.

Lieutenant Feasenmyer succeeded Captain Stockey as the shop officer. Feasenmyer came up through the ranks and had a temporary rank as an officer since he needed to finish two years of college. Feasenmyer liked me: June 1962 I was scheduled to end my three years, so Feasenmyer called me into the shop officer's office and wanted me to go to officer's candidates school. I wanted to go go home. Even though I had run away three years before, and I did move back in the house after I got out June 29, 1962. Feasenmyer said I would not be able to make it on the block; that I would be fighting the bears for food out of trash cans. I said I wanted to try it. Lieutentant Feansmyer retired as a Major. I liked the guy; he was fair.

Master Sergeant Deason was the NCO in charge of the rigger shed. One weekend he came in on his own, and counted the actual inventory of chutes on hand. My books were off. Sergeant Deason was a street wise sergeant. Later, Sergeant Deason became the first pig; that is, the first sergeant. If you screwed up you dug a 6 x 6 which is a hole 6 feet wide and six feet deep. Sergeant Deason even set up keg lights so that you could work into the night. An obit tells your story: see my mentor, and friend, First Sergeant Waldo Deason's obit: three wars for our country: for the story of rigger school see www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-jVuK8YbCc#t=153

I learned to Cha Cha Cha at the enlisted men's club; the Cha Cha Cha is still the only dance I can do. The elderly thin as a rail instructor dutifully brought her record player and records to the club and a few of us showed and learned. I could not learn the other steps; what a wonderful person. Thanks, for the memories. Sergeant Zollie Stifel, was a small in stature, but big in heart platoon sergeant in our rigger company. He was a new york jew, and a cultural resource.

I took a thirty day leave, the maximum you could take at one time, in the spring of 1962, and came home to Columbus. Bored. So, I hitchiked to Dayton to Wright-Patterson AFB, and got a hop to San Antonio and visited my aunt Helen. Then, onto LA, and the World's Fair.

I did my three years on my enlistment, and got the hell out of Bragg.

I returned to Columbus and joined the 2d Special Forces Group (Airborne) stationed at Fort Hayes, Columbus, Ohio. The 2d was a reserve unit.

We used the basement of the Shot Tower. Bob Ruda was a civilian assigned as a recruiter at Fort Hayes; also, a sergeant in the unit. Again, a recruiter painted a glossy picture of service in the Army. He was selling travel to training schools, and friendship with other veterans attending Ohio State University. I joined.

The group commander was Lieutenant Colonel Ray Glaze. Colonel Glaze had been awarded the Distinguish Service Cross, the nation's 2nd-highest military decoration for valor in combat, the Silver Star,the nation’s third-highest military decoration for valor in combat, a purple heart, w/3d Ranger, Headquarters, Sicily, 1943, and three bronze stars for valor in the Second World War. He fought with the 2d Ranger Battalion, and the 3d Ranger Battalion; also, he is listed on the Vietnam Memorial. Colonel Glaze wore the 2d Ranger patch on his right shoulder signifying he had been in combat with the 2d. The patch is pretty, and not many people were still in the service in ninety sixty four who were authorized to wear the combat ranger patch.

 

He should be in the Ohio Military Hall of Fame, but no one carried the flame in subsequent years to get him admitted. The Hall is not for heroism, but for service to veterans. Awards ceremony and induction. 2011. Veterans Hall, Columbus, Ohio, remarks. unattributed.

Captain Mike Quinn, Mad Mike, the Irishman, was an officer. Mike's daughter was a prosecutor for Franklin County at Juvenile Court when I public defended.

The summer of 1962, we went to Camp Dawson, West Virginia. The army rented a beat up bus that barely got up Wheeling Mountain on route 40. In 1962, Interstate 70 had not been built.

Camp Dawson is on the Cheat River. The prior year, the unit used the bottom land of the Cheat River for the drop zone; unfortunately, two of the parachutists landed in the river, and could not get out of their chutes, and drowned; Capewell releases did not work, a Capewell is a modification to a T-10 parachute harness installed in 59-60 to allow the parachutist to release the canopy.

In 1962, we made a night jump with the drop zone being the top of a hill on the farmer’s field. We put out ham cans full of gasoline; the cans were lit and the C-119 pilots and pathfinders delivered us to the designated drop zone.

Active duty Special Forces troopers attended camp as advisors. One officer had been a German SS officer. He looked the part: blond haired, blue eyed, and in good physical shape.

Then, Tim Kelly and I went to jumpmaster school at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, over spring break 1963. What a strange experience: from college finals, to learning how to conduct a parachute jump. Tim studied geology, and explained the geological rock cuts on the highway as we headed to Fort Campbell. We went to Nashville, and toured the Ryman Auditorium, the Mecca of country music.

January 1964, I resigned from the unit. Having served three years on active duty I had the right to resign at my pleasure. April 1964, the unit went to Clinton County air force base for a jump. Unfortunately, the winds were too high, and the jump was canceled. The planes were recalled, but one plane turned the wrong way, and collided with a plane holding nine members of my unit. Eight died, including my bud Tim Kelly, and one was thrown free in the collision. Colonel Glaze made it through the Second World War, only to die on a training mission in Ohio one day before his forty-fifth birthday. C'

le vie. That’s life. Also, Bill Cornell was killed. Bill was a professional student at Ohio State University in anthropology working on his Ph.D. Bill’s claim to fame was that he was in the occupation army in Paris in 1947, and had an affair with Picasso’s wife. Bill was forty-four years old when he joined our unit, and went to jump school. Bob Reither, was a captain, and the group S-2, Intelligence chief. He was a vet of Korea 187th Regimental Combat Team, and a special forces trained korean vet. Bob drove a two seater jag, and was a sight, 6'4" sticking out of the jag. Reminded me of my Lt Stocky, 623d QM, Ft Bragg, Airborne Ranger, who drove a karma ghia sport car, panache. For colonel Reither's life story see www.legacy.com/obituaries/dispatch/obituary.aspx?n=robert...

Robin Priday was my high school football coach. He was a quarterback on Ohio State’s first national football team in 1942. Then, he left to join the Air Force, only to return in 1945 as a quarterback for Ohio State. "... The 1945 Ohio State team was again under the direction of Coach Carroll Widdoes, who was returning

for his second season at the helm for the Buckeyes after being named the Coach-of-the-Year in 1944.

A graduate of Otterbein College, Carroll had been an assistant coach at fabled Massillon (Ohio) High

School under the legendary paul Brown; before following his boss to Ohio State as an assistant in 1941.

With a backfield that included the 19 year old sophomore Cline (5’11” and 195 lbs), Paul Sarringhaus,

Dick Fisher, and quarterback Robin Priday, a veteran of 61 air missions during the War...." Google. When Robin, my observation, did not have a shirt on in the dressing room, you could see chunks out of his back where he had been hit by shrapnel.

I again caught up with Major Priday at Clinton County Air Force Base where he flew C-119’s, supporting our Fort Hayes, Special Forces, Group, on our jumps. In World War II he was a copilot of a B-25 bomber. He served with Lemay's might 8th Air Force, and the 9th Air force. The 9th supported the invasion rather than daylight bombing as the 8th did with their B-17's. Among other raids, he made bomb raids in support of the surrounded 101st airborne division at Bastogne. The 101st was known as the screaming eagles; also, in jest, the puking buzzards.

Once again Robin entered my life at Franklin county municipal court. Robin was a check chaser. A check chaser took merchants’ bad checks, filed charges, and attempted to get the money. Jail time or fine did not matter; getting the money owed on the check was the aim. Robin was a fish out of water. You needed a heartless person to say pay or stay; that is, I will dismiss if you can pay the check, but if not, I will ask the judge to put you in jail. Robin has a big heart.

My next enlistment was in 1972, when I needed a job. I applied to the Columbus City Attorney’s office, and was hired. The City Attorney was Jim Hughes, commander of the 166th infantry battalion. Jim called me into his office and asked me to enlist as his battalion legal clerk. What could I say? I replaced a lawyer, John Gall, who was finishing his eight year National Guard obligation. Jim Hughes position was that a lawyer in a battalion legal clerk’s job was a great deal.

I served ten months as the battalion legal clerk and resigned. I earned the following badges:

Thus, I ended my journey in the military. www.flickr.com/photos/lonesome1/6972443016/in/photostream

 

"Peacetime Soldier," Creative Nonfiction Class, 2011, English 268, Su 11, Ohio State University. For Bill Kelly.

  

What does the RFA and 3 and D mean on flag? Soldiers in front row are acting jacks. College draftees, college dropouts, and men of experience compared to me and others. Fourth row fourth from left. African-American in front row was the drummer: Israel Garth from Arkansas who had worked a mule and chopped cotton. Israel was one of the great guys. I just realized Israel is the only African-American in the picture.

 

Many eskimos went through basic in 1959, but were in the same company. I would have liked to get to know them, if they had been integrated into all the companies.

Language was a barrier. And, Racism. Artifact by Foster, Attorney. Private in this picture.

 

If you are in this Picture Post a reply.

 

Original Size is sideways when I scan 8 x 10 1/2 glossy. Flickr says that happens. If I go to Original, I can read name tapes if I turn my head sideways. Pass cursor over visual, and box will appear showing me.

 

Today, November 16, 2011, Route 40 no longer exists as I knew Route 40 in 1959 when I hitchiked to San Francisco. Route 40 is not Interstate 80 west of Salt Lake.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Route_40#Utah_2

 

And Then The Course Gets, Got, Gat Tough, Olympic, the golf course I caddied when I got to San Francisco in 1959.

SAN FRANCISCO — Just before 7 Tuesday morning, Tiger Woods pulled his driver from his bag and turned to face the first hole at the Olympic Club. The fairway ran out straight before him, then disappeared around a corner to the right. It leaned down the hill upon which the entire course sits. At the bottom, out of sight, sat the green, some 520 yards away, a wicked and punishing par 4.

Starting today, this will be the start of the U.S. Open.

And then this course gets tough.

Olympic’s first six holes set a tone for the tournament that is unrelenting and inescapable. There are par 4s of 520, 498 and 489 yards. There is a par 3 of 247 yards with nowhere safe to miss. Rarely does a fairway find a flat spot, with the entire course cascading down a steep pitch toward Lake Merced. And when the breeze picks up off the Pacific, just across the road from the clubhouse, watch out.

“The first six, if you play them for four straight days even par, you’re going to be picking up just a boatload of shots,” Woods said. “They’re just difficult.”

The U.S. Open annually bills itself as golf’s toughest test, and this year — particularly with the memory of soft and squishy Congressional Country Club in Bethesda, Md., rolling over for champion Rory McIlroy last year — it almost certainly will be.

McIlroy set records of all manner, finishing 16 under par, shooting four rounds in the 60s, slaying Congressional and all but embarrassing the United States Golf Association. The USGA says revenge won’t be a factor this week. Scarcely a player in the field believes that.

“With what happened last year, with Rory shooting a million under, they’re going to kind of torture us a little bit,” said Steve Marino, who is making his fourth Open appearance.

The most difficult U.S. Open in recent memory came in 2007 at Oakmont, Pa., where Angel Cabrera’s winning score was 5 over par.

“I think here matches it,” Masters champion Bubba Watson said. “Maybe a little bit tougher.”

That is not, however, a consensus. Olympic’s quirks — from that torturous opening stretch to a finish that could be relatively benign — will dictate how this plays out.

In the last Open at Olympic, in 1998, Payne Stewart hit a 6-foot putt on the viciously sloped 18th green, only to watch it roll 25 feet back down the hill. He eventually finished one stroke behind winner Lee Janzen. Since then, the greens have been overhauled twice. Some of those slopes have been softened. Lifelong Olympic member Johnny Miller, who will call the tournament for NBC, called the layout “the best it’s ever been.”

What that means for the tournament is up for debate. What’s not: The punishment of the opening stretch could be offset by the close. There are no par 5s at Olympic until No. 16. Another awaits at No. 17. And the closing hole, a 344-yard par 4 with a fairway not much wider than a crack in the sidewalk, will leave almost everyone in the field taking an iron off the tee, then a pitching wedge to get to a tiny, elevated green.

“It gives you a chance to finish off a round,” Woods said. “Generally, we’re just trying to hang on coming in and make a bunch of pars. But you’re trying to make a bunch of pars throughout most of the day, and then all of a sudden you’ve got to change gears.”

That could present an interesting dynamic: Survive for 15 holes, score for three, and see what washes out.

“All of a sudden it lets you in with a chance,” said Frank Nobilo, an analyst for the Golf Channel who played the U.S. Open at Olympic 14 years ago. “At least you get three scoring clubs in your hand ... to create that sort of weird finish and give you a little bit of hope.”

Hope, in U.S. Opens, usually comes in small quantities.

A great finish, a rough start and a U.S. Open-style course in between. Beginning today, Congressional is a memory. At Olympic, the Open is set to return, perhaps with a vengeance.

  

SAN FRANCISCO — The lead at the U.S. Open belonged to Michael Thompson. The buzz came from Tiger Woods.

Even as Thompson strung together four birdies on the back nine at The Olympic Club that carried him to a 4-under-par 66, Woods put on a clinic on the other side of the course yesterday morning on how to handle the toughest test in golf.

Phil Mickelson hit a wild hook for his opening tee shot that was never found, presumably lost in a cypress tree

After opening with a birdie, Lancaster’s Joe Ogilvie turned to his caddie and said, “Seventy-one more pars and we’re hoisting the trophy.” He shot 73

Luke Donald, the No. 1 player in the world, is trying to capture his first major. It most likely won’t be this one. He failed to make a single birdie and shot 79.

Beau Hossler used a practice round with his idol, Phil Mickelson, to build confidence this week in preparation for the U.S. Open.

Then, the 17-year-old in braces shot an even-par 70 in the first round at The Olympic Club and was six shots better than Mickelson, a four-time major champion.

Hossler, the first high-school player since the early 1950s to qualify for consecutive U.S. Opens, wasn’t surprised in the least by his own performance in front of dozens of family members and friends who made the trip from southern California.

“Not at all,” said Hossler, one of eight amateurs in the field. “I’ve been playing really well lately. I expected myself to go out there and get a lot out of my round.”

Oddly enough, he said Mickelson’s advice to him after a Tuesday practice round was “conservative lines and aggressive swings” and “taking your medicine” with pars on the tight, twisting layout.

Hossler, who recently took second at the state high-school championship as a junior, had 12 pars, three bogeys and three birdies. He said it helped having qualified and played in last year’s U.S. Open at Congressional, even though he missed the cut with rounds of 76-77.

“I was a lot less nervous,” he said. “Not saying I wasn’t nervous at all, because I was pretty nervous. But last year was pretty ridiculous.”

One golfer told his caddy, I shot a 73 today, one over par, If I can shoot par out for the tournament, I will win.

Holding the open is a burden on the members: course closed for a long time before tournament for making rough rougher, making greens faster,, club disrupted during tournament, dining, and recreational facilities not available.

  

Oliver Everette in his college football uniform, ca: 1934 - Concordia College - Moorhead, Minnesota

 

Anchorage Daily News – Monday - May 10, 1971 – PG 17

 

Poet Laureate Oliver Everette dies in Fairbank Special to the Daily News COLLEGE –

 

Alaskan Poet Laureate Oliver Everette has died at his home in Fairbanks. Everette, an English professor at the University of Alaska and a Lutheran clergyman, succumbed Friday night to a heart attack at the age of 59. He is survived by his wife Norma and their five children. Funeral arrangements are pending in Fairbanks. INCLUDED IN such lists literary notables as the “International Who’s Who in Poetry,” and “The Directory of British and American Writers.” Everette was crowned Alaskan Poet Laureate during the state’s Centennial Celebration in 1967.A frequently published poet, Everette held two master’s degrees, one in theology from Luther Theological Seminary in St. Paul, the other in arts from the University of Washington. In Washington, Everette studied under well-known American poets Theodore Roethke and John Berryman. In 1966 he joined the University of Alaska’s English department, to teach creative writing. AMONG THE seven books of poetry he had published were several inspirational works, including “God Has Been Northward Always” and “Under the Juniper Tree.” His most recent collection was “Green Peter and Other Poems.” In addition to his academic duties, Everette often served as critic and judge for state poety contests: he had only this week completed judging of entries for the annual McCracken Writing Contest. Last year, he was chairman of the Alaska State Poetry Contest. Among the many literary honors bestowed upon Everette were the Laureate Laurel Wreath from the United Poets Laureate International; the Select Poem Citation from the World Poetry Society Intercontinental; and the Centennial Poetry Award, awarded at the State of Alaska Authors Banquet in 1967.

 

www.loc.gov/rr/main/poets/alaska.html

 

news.google.com/newspapers?id=l240AAAAIBAJ&sjid=zaYEA... alaska&pg=2547,1609717

 

According to my father (Curtis Strand who grew up in Edmore, North Dakota) Oliver Everette left his home in Northern Minnesota due to the fact that there were many siblings at home and his family was very poor. My father stated that Oliver showed up in Edmore at his parent’s restaurant looking for work, or anything that would sustain him. I don’t know what year this would have been, but I would think Oliver would have been in his teens? My grandparent took him in, and he would have stayed with my father and his parents for several years. The legend goes that my grandparents wanted to adopt him, but his Northern Minnesota parents would not agree to an adoption, but were satisfied with Oliver living with my father and grandparents. There were a few stories about my father and Oliver working at manual labor jobs during the potato harvests near Park River, ND. It sounded like Oliver was protective of my father, and looked after him on several occasions. According to my father, my grandparents tried to help financially with Oliver’s schooling (college), but they would have been challenged financially to do so during the 1930’s.

 

Oliver did fly down from Alaska in the middle to late 1960s and had dinner with our family in Rugby, North Dakota. He was an impressive guy in all respects. He only stayed one day with us in Rugby, and then pressed on to his next engagement. We never saw him again after that.

 

¬Í_Ó´O/ù+Ì,G&­hòÜ`Üol¦á#'äWáÀQßwjþx³óF!MvÆÇZ¡ø¢ã

ÀÑXKby¬ÏZmÕ×µß3èɨyÃTH¢³I¢áe

´AàÆ[©Oò¾QkÅÓʽÅýò3#VX:¤[qàÿkgM'}óÇæ^¦¬M:`Ý}NÎÚÞ#jKX)$_

©ÏáÁë:¯æ¬Æú©}­Â;æC*$9&°Ø@ÒIóe×ÿ.¬µ[ÚðÞñ

>)"<y)NkG¦Q1M±6į,¬¥ÊhPuÅJ

ð­$ x¹)Jê$ª"ÇCâqê¨?g_ÿÐïÖ×Ñ®Ùq0*WG%9uÈË8óDÛ\¬«±ÌRåzáJÆ UKêñäEN*®ªØS

¡¾¡kR°½*|7À¯ÎO2Lfó©152Þ\9'¿)XåAÏ{y<PÅ<òK²·ÝcRjU4Q]踡G2¿Ë?$Íæÿ4ÛéÜXXEûýFU¨ã

Q_æsð.*R-{Ný­êvô³¹^´Ê÷*À®Â©ÿ^èjÇëèºCðSñ4ïtÜ©ü¨eeÿe)þ

åØì¼³cçûØVÒìõ

Ó®ôgä¸Ä.9(ÃÓzñãÇRO6ySó?/5½I¹»zðQDqHЫ&Ó?%Éä[8o5o2oî­8þÐ2Gs!ý©ç$1þÒ}§ÄÚE%^eóï5Y5¸á

ÙV8­í£X¡4HÑöTxüXH&ÒÄvGWSŤun0­²0yÎëZóT^fÚ(õmä¹PY£kp£SöCð^H2 P¤©ù¯é~bóE맬Ñ

D,×VóЧ§Daö£øACEÈÙM)|ßs ë7¼ìºuÔzÐWàõ¯OæÛC(Ù8ÎêÚÇÞkçhîËe#-+ òî¶×ÑÎU(Ñl­?ú«H7ȳôm

HÃH·L^ÒFyG×

¿ÿÑëɨq 9â;¯Þj{½°$ÆjAèFS"ߧPÕ¤¸?F1mË

ÆH1+YN¶*¹N*Ù;b

2k¬áCà¬~á/Í»Ësw=ÀzÒ<=~6'øå¬qW*³ªc°rN3ïÊ_Í6òýß«`¶oønc'ãûF¨ßkù"C GU¿±èwúÿø@¼ïLÖhîñP$Ñ£­ÊÉ[Lv*è¾l}3Ë`ÐÔ\A¯-­e.TÂöÕ@£æëß*ê~YÓÏ¢ÄÇZÔbDRP@¢3)s¸EkÇÍG$ëÉzG´müwæ!½H'0h¾_V

%Íâ\î@þêÚ-ÿ¿~ÏüdIèÞÃu}RëUÕ.µ+ âîVQ,hh¨´

¸@A-êZF§¥ËZ´²OÜE¼ZG*wÅY.«ù$Ú\ú6¢iÚ6<b'Há\²*d¹ÉkáÈð§­åk&ämüÃo<

®G"&·UqZ

~É7ä¶)#Êyùd£aÑoâ*ËQNÛlé̽F4¬Ê7ÁÛå¢ÝOP³*ñ«ã1ÃiEÁ2LT!Ki¥0¡ÿÒRåeñèrÞ&

Ù4(¡îEdpBé±;ò:+Ç1'±r#ÉÙL$x(!EFI¥ªoW¨ÅVq߶aWR­öX~GlPüóüÆò}×<éªè3ÆQ-gchMH{g<¡pOÚª_òùe¬~XÑ4ÍZù¡Ôµ«mÖ4.×W+,§ì¢D¬Y¿àqµê÷<¹¦Í¥ù7ÔÔµ;ôï¼Ñw¤Â2 4vZ}ùM'ïÿe±moB¸ÑÚÒ§_­Ü[¥Ì¶Ãí²üQ¬4|dáû·ªÙùjØ]\ê:]Õ¥ôd)"ÉÀiÙy2ʨ7ÂX3

Y­üɧy«Jk-,\jҲɦÙ^BJJdR##ð+ñÆõãÍp×QòÏìõß1ym'È×WåU¥¯§ñ±¯ÀpUÀ@ªE°½òÃÈ¿â;[«¤þõA/ZÒ?*tè·¤*:Ôa¤"É8ÒÄkt¯Ðl2·zWoVku©¦`ÈS

z¢£ZS|

ØAÛÓÿÓ[A%°¨p±fZRþâÃ

UßK3¸q±SÓ·ÂTÙ-ÈVéªevDÁL0.dß

Þ8¥p¦ZÀW¶<Kþr{òÇüMåó&-kCBÒª´Ö}]6êÑÞ'û5ý¬,H|qC?ò­÷åÇôÄ×nÙ¼Ç漬4s%

¤§uéÜ)¸xúúqþïü´]ýêZ

Û½Ýíô×3R¤³­EÄÌóÞ¦#Û­´nóÁFÅO¦T

×â¦ÅèþmÊZd0èz$Öþm»[{½^ô»ÕxZÛP%J2oÍ¿ÉÈlÁ¯zMäYü§§ùÝù¶Þ[¤=9WýèºWìÄÍýçú¼rEè_3ù·[ó'&×uɽ*°Æ¿ÝÅb8ÆÈþ%ºYuyyvüî§áÇFÙÏÞÄá

IyOѼÒ

WKãÜÐ;G$_bTïÏ~\Ú\k"ä/Ë}7ÉvvvsÉsÔæ~sä£PµP+N9*E²Mq¥:úÄmÜÓxG!TÔe¥{b¬vþ T70óÉ÷Ì!û³,\eèÆX

½2¦Ôjè¯5J4Fé¾X¹Çª´8VßÿÔÛýØé1d÷#§NØÞÏì7ñÊÛ뾫ü0Ob´è:ý9È¢&ÅaÀ"Y¬û§û?dý¿³Óö¿ÉñÅ_:ïüvõî?Þ©¿ÞO÷ûÆþçþ*ÿ}ÿ0@âGä¿÷¦ã¯Ùg¯~¿äåù9úe"½ÿ{'û?m¾ÏÙëÛ.'?Ö}é­÷ü¢Z_ûßýýÇ÷¿ïìÿqÿ¿pm}WäþLýÇûÁ{ýçûÑýÁÿx¿åïù?â¯Wù&<ÓùÇÏøèêßïH?ÞµÕÿ¼ÿÙbPy³OÎùJ?/ÿã§ÿ$ÿz?½þúî¿âÏåȬú|^]ùóÿCWþóýÕý÷÷ݵï&2æóü¾ÿVÿx¿î¬¢_&Øþ8X§Þþ÷}÷÷Y Ü}Ó&Áäÿøèvëôf6fØ=Nÿuuôæ8o,ÊÏûýÞXÅ0³ûCì}ÿÙ8BIM%&"<DX³`ÉpSzÿâXICC_PROFILEHLinomntrRGB XYZ Î1acspMSFTIEC sRGBöÖÓ-HP cprtP3desclwtptðbkptrXYZgXYZ,bXYZ@dmndTpdmddÄvuedLviewÔ$lumiømeas$tech0rTRC<gTRC<bTRCELRY`gnu|¡©±¹ÁÉÑÙáéòú&/8AKT]gqz¢¬¶ÁËÕàëõ!-8COZfr~¢®ºÇÓàìù -;HUcq~¨¶ÄÓáðþ

+:IXgw¦µÅÕåö'7HYj{¯ÀÑãõ+=Oat¬¿Òåø2FZnª¾Òçû%:Ody¤ºÏåû

 

'

=

T

j

  

®

Å

Ü

ó"9Qi°Èáù*C\u§ÀÙó

  

&

@

Z

t

 

©

Ã

Þ

ø.Id¶Òî%A^z³Ïì&Ca~¹×õ1OmªÉè&Ed£Ãã#Cc¤Åå'Ij­Îð4Vx½à&Il²ÖúAe®Ò÷@e¯Õú Ek·Ý*QwÅì;c²Ú*R{£ÌõGpÃì@j¾é>i¿ê A l Ä ð!!H!u!¡!Î!û"'"U""¯"Ý#

#8#f##Â#ð$$M$|$«$Ú%%8%h%%Ç%÷&'&W&&·&è''I'z'«'Ü(

(?(q(¢(Ô))8)k))Ð**5*h**Ï++6+i++Ñ,,9,n,¢,×--A-v-«-á..L..·.î/$/Z//Ç/þ050l0¤0Û11J11º1ò2*2c22Ô3

3F33¸3ñ4+4e44Ø55M55Â5ý676r6®6é7$7`77×88P88È99B99¼9ù:6:t:²:ï;-;k;ª;è<'<e<¤ >`> >à?!?a?¢?â@#@d@¦@çA)AjA¬AîB0BrBµB÷C:C}CÀDDGDDÎEEUEEÞF"FgF«FðG5G{GÀHHKHH×IIcI©IðJ7J}JÄKKSKKâL*LrLºMMJMMÜN%NnN·OOIOOÝP'PqP»QQPQQæR1R|RÇSS_SªSöTBTTÛU(UuUÂVV\V©V÷WDWWàX/X}XËYYiY¸ZZVZ¦Zõ[E[[å\5\\Ö]']x]É^^l^½__a_³``W`ª`üaOa¢aõbIbbðcCccëd@ddée=eeçf=ffèg=ggéh?hhìiCiiñjHjj÷kOk§kÿlWl¯mm`m¹nnknÄooxoÑp+ppàq:qqðrKr¦ss]s¸ttptÌu(u

uáv>vvøwVw³xxnxÌy*yyçzFz¥{{c{Â|!||á}A}¡~~b~Â#åG¨

kÍ0ôWºã

G

«r×;iÎ3þdÊ0ücÊ1ÿfÎ6nÖ?¨zãM¶ ô_É4

uàL¸$ühÕB¯÷dÒ@®ú i Ø¡G¡¶¢&¢££v£æ¤V¤Ç¥8¥©¦¦¦ý§n§à¨R¨Ä©7©©ªª««u«é¬\¬Ð­D­¸®-®¡¯¯°°u°ê±`±Ö²K²Â³8³®´%´µµ¶¶y¶ð·h·à¸Y¸Ñ¹J¹Âº;ºµ».»§¼!¼½½¾

¾¾ÿ¿z¿õÀpÀìÁgÁãÂ_ÂÛÃXÃÔÄQÄÎÅKÅÈÆFÆÃÇAÇ¿È=ȼÉ:ɹÊ8Ê·Ë6˶Ì5̵Í5͵Î6ζÏ7ϸÐ9кÑ<ѾÒ?ÒÁÓDÓÆÔIÔËÕNÕÑÖUÖØ×\×àØdØèÙlÙñÚvÚûÛÜÜÝÝÞÞ¢ß)߯à6à½áDáÌâSâÛãcãëäsäüåæ

æçç©è2è¼éFéÐê[êåëpëûìííî(î´ï@ïÌðXðåñrñÿòóó§ô4ôÂõPõÞömöû÷øø¨ù8ùÇúWúçûwüüý)ýºþKþÜÿmÿÿÿá#vhttp://ns.adobe.com/xap/1.0/

     

Dimitris_Alexakis

           

0, 0

32, 22

64, 56

128, 128

192, 196

255, 255

                                              

ÿîAdobed@ÿÛÿÀÀ@ÿÝhÿÄ¢

 

u!"1A2#QBa$3Rqb%C¡±ð&4r

ÁÑ5'áS6ñ¢DTsEF7Gc(UVW²ÂÒâòdte£³ÃÓã)8fóu*9:HIJXYZghijvwxyz

¤¥¦§¨©ª´µ¶·¸¹ºÄÅÆÇÈÉÊÔÕÖ×ØÙÚäåæçèéêôõö÷øùúm!1"AQ2aqB#R¡b3±$ÁÑCrðá4%ScDñ¢²&5T6Ed'

sFtÂÒâòUeuV7

£³ÃÓãó)¤´ÄÔäô¥µÅÕåõ(GWf8v¦¶ÆÖæögw§·Ç×ç÷HXhx¨¸ÈØèø9IYiy©¹ÉÙéù*:JZjzªºÊÚêúÿÚ?¸²BbÑé&h£AED:ln#ëÏ×ñìpsÐK˨eKI#ª

p§ÔhßDH![8{÷Z¥OMìÌ£Ô²Fb)¡ÝCÔ¬a ®I7qqaïÇ­¡ÉÀëÀõêõ#sFRªDdD&%ÃyJ

µ257àûß^Åz

bP; x¾¥,¨nm{ZßO~ëx§R#Arò0c¢þ8-ëU×U¬°°Ö÷÷£Ã­¥G

[UXhX_Djö

ke:yúïU©êÔÇ\cóÐ*ÀÆHªe½ÊèV*«w½ÉpçÞ^^»(BÅfFº

cþx'ªJ

ÔYþ¼ÿ¶÷î¬zóÃKFK®5»§ WBì£

ÿXÜr>õzÕQ^(Ãi/­m8*ÂÏk^Âþ®ÜðEþ¶÷Së×Bº¯LdkÓ#8üÆ®-õ¶¯§m¨ÍºÌÆ4(Daèô°Èܵ

®M¯î«¹ÐÖ^B}K¢f,N¢À¡sÀ¿ÓÞéÖºä4Â×`$gbcbÀFÊ¿P½É_O#ð÷êu°)²ÊèH-thH°\¯ûÇ¿u£Ã®(ìÉ<nÐM­Ð©TÖ ßR{-ô÷á嵐$1èEY£uLL¹Vê^ob-{ÿ¯îí^=8£,SÆú$0F1Gí ·ªü½Ü{Ø{©Ñº2(J°Y­N¨Ñ×rèXkÇðy÷£×ºr§ët@¯IBÈjÊuG©I@H-cëǺõ¾§B æòÞ5"ìRC«UAÔÛÞ¼úðêZȱ³/j1³<QiôªÈ[¨ßvZ½s\ª¹}2oAA~IPU_«Zö¿yõãèÚXÒßPªÀ-"ùå6àV6ÿ[óïGªR¨­S«LÊÞ}I,ñ¥Q}nyïÂ:©ë´ºB¢«q!kIqwhÞÀò~¼ý>ÓÞú÷]¤¢ÌBt£°%´uô

@ÀÛvëÝJñÝÃK3yn%ds~ë@b½G8Õ2°a,¥cRÉôÜÈ¢¼:ùçèGº14ëÞ}eÑÅá7:DeIV¢5RAçI°·¶ÍOWzáYF|*¥¥*Ú"ú±2I$Y®ªµÍ½¶zx5:sY#A Ã8a§T¬ªÍ¤éê¶ÏN#§8$Â".B@à$¢)ZY^#kêµþ×ÛdÕÓ¥<\±G¼q¨iPiè4ñøöÙxõ18Ú$´zxÜÛ[xT_ô:~7¿ºÕÇNгºÈ_\bRV@ò8!Ø{ñsôöÛ^aýÙ-&£#Õ ÁlE

Éãéq϶O/˧|¶ÒT!=L®B#]ÌcÔæÄÛôöË

ñéô=O8RÌfɬ2J¬öUÆ_õ'õ'í1Ó õ6"êÚWX²èT$-$1ÉÓþ¹üûe:pqéÖÑ -;AxRIJ^ÀXHëNéÖ7fÔiËe!¥O&«ÿ_UÒä^Àu<)ÕÆ:te`¶B¸*ÿ¬òêeÔÀ¿Ð}}·Lôåj:z¥fºDZéUá,º½GKo¦Öëõ·½Ó­ôíK2ÙGÆ©¢aäGP¥9ÅÇÔÿ½Ób½<@ÉêgUÐÆÀÁU,?@AüG§[éât ,ª#1eU´¸-é¹Ø®OºÓ¯7NÈ °)"ìy°vÈ6ܨ}øuN=:Ŧ2EÕ|J¢KéRdêC¨ßK×÷cÖzÖÖÃW­Ë:ê?UBn±<?ÂçÝkÖºXòn¶f¬¤¸*Ü`/¤¯¿´zoéäBÎlMÁV%¿HàÛýo{ëTë·b·#KYT0¬Ê=$ÿûuóëß.¹(,äÀ*

ÁdM-âþò¯{{¯8bn¨è

U±

¢úµ1~5m`}ï­uÏJË]IbÁ?sS°¶ Á<s{Ûß«×XUBHI]

£Ù¸úZÖãÞú÷\µ+1M^

ñ­Ý*¬ÚTi7Ò¼¯<ñqö÷Ö¼úâài¾§È_!E,Iäýt±ë;ý׺ñSý:-Üêõªúø6âàþ·¿µ×FfUUä1©MLNºÙH{}xú~¿u:±ëxî¨#

©»0GÕêà?¥½û˯W®îX«)!\<c«e(¬¹6¹ü:÷XØ iò rU] õO~ë]rd*ÇÖªÌt¡cw±Ä

ɱúóõ6÷î½Ö2Cõª¤D,5 '/Ãp?¯¿uî°JµÓÓ¹B$IB@

¹úóý=ÔõáÖ6

v®ÒÊË!^}FÇéõ·ç߾ηöuÝƼdè¹ÿÜéúÜÿO{=lu}6Jkhã$:ðöÿêmn=èun°kú¦äcê#Põ¡½ý½õâ(:Æ97¶½V¤ÜÜ©Vý#¨ÞßOz=j½w*¶O ik:Eàxý±¹cÍøãÞ¸pëc=BúvkýE¸uY}V¸±þÏõ÷RGWê¨ü;¬»Úùcr¼Ç×Ýi^·åBDjÒ224¨`lKÚPàÞà,Óú{ñzéºD`ä[ýq¶¥k:RAê<

FÆßã~§Zé²XÔ `«`(7@97RĶ÷o.¶

Pe_øåWÔIU¤NAG`x ÚÜuêÕÅ:m)ä$1´@Õ¨"³êÔ¹üúþ=ïªyôÓQ!*#¤t6¡UHj'óŹ÷îhôß4$¸XʪúHI

KºH]nÇ ~¯ëïÔê¤ôÏ<~Ô»1"èA¬G"ÚÜ@ sïtët¨é²¤%gWµÕQÑQ#¬à¢éQ`õ7ûØêzg6 ±¬qDrLȲ:xãh=<ɽ¾{yzñ2ÊÑÆBæ0Â3Ô#DG¥O ¯û÷T#¦Äó0$F#qcªFÔØõpÀ½ÍýøõZue.±M¦OÛVHâQèoKºùØóÇÓÝÁÇUÒk±3$!V*¸`Ïè

ÒiPºSÈ6n^¨@ë$

"º<EÂ#sä.

ßÈ·{t"½fV×)f³Æè¡GPÛèHå¯ýl=ìqé²<NQLèJÂ,Õ+¾R^F$êºØØi·ÐÛo)ÏT+çÓ$D XÜp¨Ç¿ÖþkþGÓßëça,R(ó´gBÄÊìÚWEâ÷µ½Ó­ôåúîîë1ÁÃ0X¥Oзàûñáקk2+IãP

HÔÁlÐ@ ú}×t=lã§HtÆAUÔÆ9¬;JdEebMÙI'ýÓߺ°=?E.

)Ï!B:J.ª¤[­ýÔüºxt÷ª8Âj²IÊÀ¨{Á$ÿ_Ǻõpzz¥[áJ±!Ti»ZÿM?^y?×Ýz÷OI!Ò§VãICkf6UU<·ÀÿmíºS§ÇN©+¹gv+°²µÔ,ZCXú\Û¯½Pu¢ON4À2©mZ®6.ÒÙ¯ý÷ª.¶NÑ÷?U±s¦ñ©%W

ßÝXÓ§Tg§e.A !ãêçMu

$mr¶ú½z":at+×{ß¡÷î½Ôô*,

!­¤ÿhìÚãôßÞ«)HVFý²µ+êFekB @?[[ÝiÕª:ʲ¬Y!eãO'ûõÕúè/¤ª72!d.[êßO§#ëù÷SÖúÀè­ ÆãX¨PbÏþÃêOºuaÔ#dR#²¢È«ãÞ¨=' ר­©+ANµm.¢g#Ôqôàsï~}UºÈ@Þ§B.³8-¤X]`±1úóíÑÓg®Wñi>4KÃ-%ØLÃôHaúHä~mÇ»¯L=LDwi¨m#ÈUÈͤãèÇyâ÷öð=4qÓ)PÑG$ZÑYÝÊF$mwò}/ªÀ\~?ØûÙÏMôéM+"»,ؽæWoBfDòlUoÇçn(Ç[=S·ÁyW}*ÊF$ªn?é{={§ÈѤºÙG+Æ¢Ö+üã«^©Úþ

¬ ª5!Míõ7ä)½¿ÃÛ«Ó§ÚfPä(ôUý`«Vt[¹$Øó~x÷yVê?^­\H¡]WPfcËùÿmïG­Ó.ªà5}6ä`T»Ç7×ü-ý8·½u¾â °°"×1, ²¦¿~I _ß^zpÖéP

­`ì°ê±½¬y· ûm§WM°D]mÆoHQ«N¤cb,µ½ÐôàÏSDkM

«J,Ñ&¨Ümkuë`Ðõ'X´7R᮶,,Diä>©,4ókûÐëÝIFRÅUG­´

/Ô¨vú

¬}ÔõãÖbä

R x~F±Ëq`Eì9¿ºõ®³_û6P@URU®øßý{{×[ë*úµÑpÊý¿S66$ý~·>õÕ\õÀ®[$!KÎí¢ýÓéï]8:èúF°f 7BYài'ñïÞ}o˯i8Kbà~§

Èþ>¿áïÇ­uÑIØB

¹O¦äcplçÝO·Ö6R,Hm,Êm+êTÐ>nIúÿ_tùu¾£Égf¶¤ÐÊ=rÌA½þÛòmï]{¨¤ZT¼jP

ÏXXͱ?ñ÷bzÐãÔB(¤*¤5¯í¼à

Ï¿un£H±å

ÕFñ¶EÔ_/Èü¯¿·ÖlJýI%éçébß+È?OzëÝq#@¸e)eÔü`l4*¯u=o¬*êÈ

ê`af%£¿ªÏõܽõ¾¸82

.(@±YVßñqǽ½×°fÒjQ¨±ÔÍ«

 

~ÿ~Ï[cRC0U"ëÔX]Vâ>>=믺òª±BÚtÔ½¿SzyåGÐ&ö÷î½×@0Um$kK®vb8r/p/ø÷´

X²!U!äCòxsï}k®¯é:ä¤cLE$('O« aï]o®ÙY¤%Vʬ¡YZífPÄ¥»u£×6×ÈÒ\ßZÁË

Aá¿ØýEþüzØëÞ³:ÆöHÊSfµpÃðûϽ·LõÅN¢îÀ1°)©[Qákõ ÿ½û×^òë¥b4ت­Fc`ràè8¤)+F($+)µõ5¨aoÏ{×Zë

¢¦

j$ZÂU*x?N/ï]o®\ðÒP,dPëåR°D/ãÞ^¯]´AIKñ)`#Xô¨þ«ñãߺ÷X

¥®ö[Ü-­«M´¯Ûý¿ãߺ·]ºÆ4fñ,nÃê¿Sý~¾ýöu¾±JJsmR8I&¸"1q +²X¯ýϽ½×áöõiv:ABرwnE­qbÃÞë]c!Ô·)1r¶

aé[\·üOºõáÖ'Q[3eÖκ¸µ®«ùãߺßXÝtu2:dQn¿

×ý=ï¯uR¶ÓæE]A¥¹,~2YýDÞÄóϽ½çÖ7%RÉ`XúK*µÕYK-­rtþ}ûϯu*¤)¤íu+éÙ¤ 7E·>ýÖDZ@*Å_JÈÞT.àºW[}.?Çz<:Õ:ëW®&(SK(²!

úR]§>ô:°ëÌY¼@0FÕ®M ¤"×üÛ`¤þµ½Û¯}½eU%

¨b2ER÷b%¯ÈæÜܧ¿S«yuÚÀ­À*éõýqÚåÚÖñôä\ßÞÇZòëÃê¥>«EÚäUK

Ïú\û÷Uë8mD^$7J®ûeôF69'éý=ëÏ«¹J¢º)Õ1Ò- p

k}.

ýë¯c¬ên_N¤6pjÝK(Ôßóïc¯yõÍYl}P4ivVðþ Àýߺð=v|l#{ÒÖK-(Ö

õ&ß{óëÇ®m¨^=-sg/¢ªÅÈaþÀ[{­:Ñë²Ê¡4"5QкÆÄÜ^Ö6?O¯½×Ï­uÏÈÎé¶FmdkRÃÕ¦ÞkÞÌ9æßu=nvÜ(c©>ÞF$FuäuTõÙ6/smec¼bDä±à\­ì?÷ÕºëS^àS¡%ÔaméµÏ6üò=èõ±×;A\u#)U%

ÇÖÞô8õï.±oK²)©QfQ¡nIï}Vf,^rÊR6®ßò×ñÏ¿·×µ4@*f¿¶8uà\²m@ßêþØŬÜýocô¿»c­õ¹ "*,déÐ|¥ÔjÑ ·7ú¯~òëDùõØ7Ukee>=ZJþ·õ׺âIÔ¯fM6

HÓésnÿûð§Zë1Qx¸ÒÎ

°cê¬jPI:mý=ï¯uÒj_Leì\±vW[(²µ¯Ïãߺ߻Raä:IÔìÖÞQúIäOÏ¿u®¸Ì.$`

°K¿éúVö÷î½C× m&#e·é,ª.4ÙnÄýû°ãÖúæ[xÝl.éü&6}\#ú{ßU8ëƯ`Xélµ­úÿ§7{¯[q´IÒº#÷7@Òyÿ_Ç×ß^ë}zÃt,AúÈY«W"ÄqôãîÕë]bePêÉ«QÒ,!±Ònx"âßK}}ÔµN²8,TÓôiS`Á°&ÊGÓñïGåÖÇ\@r^ÆBMí§\­Ø

nF¯ëøà~}ëϯuÌÚZê÷Md0ô¸pEØ{X}~õN·×m©AQbjE¤ùH!I-¤üý=û­uØdK*(6ÕXÍôãúÞÜóo{óë^]xë.«Í¦å\Ø+&¦V

'Ôþ_Ç»uªuèÍÑ®

@c°%nlT)àóÍì=û­õØ-Ë PÒGoP³5üHþ·¿u¾¼ªÚ

A.䣻Ð%H»}x¿Ðþ>ýÖúä¾­L¥P5ªÒ¦ÊÁnoþ·×éïßo^ë°]!­YT¯

Vµ#UÃ}û­uÛj´Ç!¬íúAär¯þ¿¿uî»ÁE>¡k*èf]pªàøû÷^ë®ìÑˬá£Cô°½ûß^ëÀéf(ú)dbrÄsÁüþ}úW=v·]$*°Ô$1úAV% ^ÿOÇ¿u¾±

6g`ï©$"0n\+Èõ@÷¬õ¾»5tèÓ*2i`ܧ§ô÷¾·ç×" ò0·bÞ¤úkl¯p8>ýÖºãè'R¨!-iÎg¿-a~}ún½vêy}a¤#¡ê1é_¯l?ÇÞ¼ú÷\HF6Q¥t

ä,¨­î

î»c­uÄkðÍ CÒxÈý&ÜëÏ¿u³×«­è{*jUYKX³[úÛéÀÿzêÝv »kPëÁf

¦ìPÝÇ\óý=û˯uȱC¡I#ÒÜ+qu0þ$ûÐë~}p¬H²±º6î­ªB®EÏÔ-§½õï>±ò¨REܱHn4©°ç}ï¯uÔzÆÍ£5§ñ_ëkõÿzë]r³KÏ>õ©[Ät3Iø±³oôµ½ë¯uÓZà_I]!t6

®úHæþü1Ö\lUc`òi*AzY-ê%mfµ­ïc¯uÍÿIÔ.cK=1UfD@ÁVÄlAô:ß¼Wév.ÑèÛIm/t+õSõý?_ñ÷~½×­ÁMZ¾O!X°8Qê?Ð{×^¦zäÅnU>Ö wKÇ'mî¾]{¬E5Iv`¬©¡F©¹µÊ7·çÞº·Yî5±@L±%Iô"%Å$jÏ×ÞúÑë­T6ôªÝ£#öõl

ï\qÖë×HÿuWS.¥°½®Ì,Às`?¨÷î´zìêÔ.tÆ5ªØ°ÿ\ð÷nµ×2 ì#oÔÑÛMîÍ)~ÓéÓþñïÝx¸°kþ°,±

#[¨#Ò]OÕO~ÏZtt§;ê![J£BÿSv°úßð÷î½×~.¡ä¤²ª*¡Õ@r?_¯¿u¾»¶ÖdUaË7ýNOàßñÇø~ë}x¬j.¥Ý"FoQS©maÈWô¿¿uî»ãLZ#L¥ÝJÝc·ß^§½õ®»mM¬ÈÁHè_Hi

"$suqÏ¿u®»#ÐNR£<Ju®½.

¶n,@n}ìpëÔë½+¨#ú³ +eçôþ«ø÷î½×\n3!XÃ8eav

xñcÏ¿uî¹ÛSº@º«j.X\õ#-õ÷ªu®¸IªÁ'Äõ3tܽ

Ç$Øßúp=û¯yõÓi+¡\)2fñK¡È:UYüÚÞ~ãߺ·ÛÔYB³Ø0Hfd

äBº|n@"ëþóïÝo¨E.¥!A[êý²Ú@ýR£~osÇâþü:÷PÙSKpÎp¶!RE÷Öºn×Ôlt(ipÎ4Ók@¸°ÿ½¼~]6² :Dr8WÑêGåU@¿=Xpé®bb¾B¾ËøÊsyw?K-ù÷î·Ó\ê5ºjÖ²Xh þºyÕý.EÍÇ¿´zi©º°4drb](á¹ú

Py_wR2Ì8ÚG)ãO

ÌÒò3*6«ïÇ[=2ÔúÔjã(¤i¡Qc`!¹²ØØÏçÞº¯Lóé*%ÍÓÈÊ«+GAä¸Aø>Éúûðê§Lµ`FÒ¼­êÁ]

þ?JÛQ±ãîÝk¤õ\NÑ? ×yXjDÔ¯E³{\ðöÐêäìèÑêT¾(µi¾¤F2*-ɱ&Ëo­¬}¹×IúRù«v!*éO&ôÒ.~¼û¸é³ÒV¦Å×âeñÊËÊÒë!$®.ôü{ñáN®¼kÒj¼µ¥HÅä³>&

Ø!(9?àl.EýùzñÏIÉ

êUQãG :£TKôÒÕ%®~ïDõ¤é'ZÏNÑøR)cÕÒÂ&2ÆB¤ª+IRIý^Û$ñéRðé;R,e(zxY¡VbÀ´ñTJaD $F$jÿcî«=1ÔÉ#£

$çY§{"4 @VXp?>õ^)ÔIå"\idmf©v1HÚK#Ô¢Ãúz$tàãÔ=

!;ıUpËqBI±l4Loô÷CÖúÅ*#²G-4lþwvdYáy*+D²"ÄZç{¯Z ¥_<rã#ÎgÚì²\*

sÇ-¼µN±«â-I¥ ¢XaXÒ³ÊV3"Î|·}BÃSo§½u±Ô@¤é¨ØH|Âç¦"óÂ@o¡2¢ÿÉ÷ºõ¢3ÔyVñÈ'ãÓ<"VHÑj]LJ0?R/í¶ÉÇV:8¢x)éäF©ä4IÒëd¥

ÍFàG c&%Faù÷²*)Öǯ\4êHüPÔZ8ed¥Q@ó@(£²µÁR¥ØGºÓÈõá^¹:R"ÇIO­4SH³?íEI5­KèÒ嬷ýVz «g¨ò¿(°U¨Ø<2SÖR¬%`«QpâAi0¹}Ôõ¥ê3Tß]¶÷¢:°"¸ëï<

%ä`ëO'Ç:¤L^+¦Ü2/âÜ\_ÝI5êã׬

ÅqÀjtÓSÉE¡Ux ©Ã¦!meU@J_û$±ôÃꥳÓmDP$0¼nCÓ¹z:yâÔÊ_öÕ|@<äµÒÍô÷¤UÎzîZuY"&'ce?´UÄ"g^[¢Êä5ôóǽ0ÎzÒuçHZS!X£¥£hÖ

ë;¬~$,=D9±\=ÔõaÖ:¨K:Æc$2C$ëGÑÂ8üë~ÑPÇÀTØØY~Ü

:ð9ë+±: Ê &eôÃS4±j*ä*ÚÞ@ö,5XóïÊ3Öë×ÑxOïUòxFº51Uhõ+)C8cc¨±ú{»pêµê#O,°CEKOIÒɦºí[±GRHxȵ£Hó~}ëz°Ç\^$wGOÚÃ$bºbwó"Ãþìîô$ïÈ3^¶xuITE+¹c(y#¦xé©¢uIVlª¥Ï<±·»7Z¯RQ#Í/gGJjmRÔJó¼Ê²µcÒÐÌ38DUA \Së^}D¦UbFo­lÍO8¦z£;y¡

Z¡Z×

åU«¤û²õVÏY ¤Åå©«J¯´

ð¼¦*(5ÓȪ+-ÕOÐ+îÕé°;ºÅOK3Ï4¤ÇDòÁQIÓæ"9ZÈÔÈ%ôjB·ÔI½¿/V=vU´KY¥Â+TjDUY:ÞŬM_Ô=ï«yuÅ7iHfc4áãiiõú^ìÞ.uY

ý?Oz^8ê¬Ñ*¼ðHÈHq2H*M<uH¢MXT°ÒúTK8_~óë}qd4ÆBuEO=<ÆeHiÉ&µ; Zç{ðã׺Ç$#D#Hb­¥I4@óµÌ^6D¶¢¤W»yõìS¬Úõ

Y|Ñ4w#VÉGNÅGe¦)NNѱKQæü{xõÆG.%åggª(DyÂ3¬¡R2¥¾§ï^]{ϬJ¨="HékEg5I¡?YÆ«"¡pÄZö¹íJ/['wxÒ¡U¥"@Mh²sãç)Ð7Õ.Åõqr§î[3ÖfP¶T¨eX¤²¯SOnQehÁqr9#Íú§]=èêjg¦¦ZyZc$é(iQÐÁ#ì\h6OÞü|úµzÀ²ÓÓ«$qé§S!§(uSµèv_åÁkkSÀ¸¨ëÀT¢ÀÒ´ÕH<Li©£H¯3Ö@ØøP-õ\·»gªuÊ'Äævª7a¢U5¦G

É2(fw¤sp¾ôk×ÏXBT=Q¥¤RÖËWE7 ITH\ÀSS¦¯øä×»Zëf÷áZç­ùTuÉ0aÔ¦#eϳÈÁâBv¸ts¢bNM½ìuï.²1ë,oHÕñÒ´òÔ,TßtÉ4Í)G«¨þ`¨S¬Yà{ÐêQÚ/\±U4}1ÄóTL"+ÈõKG%B ¯õO»î:°ëM$ÎÓÇT©SÓýø!7ª$°ú-q{{SNªâ½FZÔR¤§5̲>¨P:4,^@²*FBþ+¨ü[߯&Q/Lñx':#BÌ%E@S]

<p±++å2§\â¦8gXíûñuÇi

®¸|êC,0÷ Ý÷åu°Ùê+Þ¨Ò,iFÐNÆÄHC%

==9)äDÈû#UýÔª|ú3ÌÓÝ*RjÚ

j¯44k>

ÄÌlÖ^? !ð=¸¸huâx¦/Í5Ö±êVSO<mSS*ùcéUf½Uÿ±îêÃMÓkªìOV:S;ýÌpÒÇ$p}2Ñâ#¡vI©^XHIX",ïa¦R}W>èÙëÞ]6×MN­àYi%JèdóVCUäU"´p·ÛÀ¥euUiI

T§

tð=uW9hd¨e­´âªáêLñÄÒ

§¤Ñ(I"bÑ«kÓÅ~\dôÛHéz}RÄf3KTÌ!#Mäf¥KÈñ~ìÅBÚÖ>Û§V¨&JªdfrÁZÍDrGWY$±Ë5-]!EfD$ks& Eom°ê§znª?ä,õg÷0ÍÏqÅI

%dò,4õ²ÍP4F­ à

îCPGVBXÃzº)qF´Ø#$0§ª4Hâ0ÎS0»8ãßÕ«ÝÓ<dÿ¿I£Z)'ªx稨1,ê|ËúVIÉ@X"ÄÛÊ]zêO<ÍTi§³Ç¤M

Tåî<BàOû²Ýµ*»òOº5tÝz9¥¡0#SÍ,Í¡ë1ÔË,0ÒÙ"J¡&fR

Kb®mïMÕ×MJLÁéc»SI¤(hê2(\J§WSÓ%¯K§õ{×NÔS¦¡X¡©ªê)óK

Dtø:k¾è

ê%Dô¬:JrEýÜ6iÕ|ú(Ì4âqk©ôѵ=:||0Éibw°Ö!-(O÷ãëS¶½6VR,?d²D¦«"§«Ëå©õÒµMD2ÆĺJ§4(³OT=qj(¦jXë"¢JZIêé²9ae´¦-ÔC¢þâýoîºq¼sÒ|NÍSxä ôÄ2K,U°³é¢Ä®Ñͨ)+ ýLuãǦ¹Ô8¢­J

ÆB¦¬Sý¹ÅÕÇ

Òe`5´lúÚ¬»ùuªd°"îJªï¼ó4í-TUÊ0GO$bgÑ¡üU+o¡·>éJ«J Ã"ʦ¢Zh§¬§\oÉöÑ4s¨ÓSÊá¢X.­

ÓÝ©uêÔU+Õ<ÔÕT¤ðàb®í¦Ñj¤x2ê¸ô"Þ+®iN J+ÌÆj/7ù==G§ñ}Y˨rS(4ÐçÞ¡¦á×rPI-<QC+¡V(¡$IrmîËTõíªH£h)eªY)©459ta¾·4ójuZÊ/sïo­ c§*¦KÔÒÈæ¦g¡G¥

fR4T²FB-ÕµZàíJçÏ«¦:1V­©Ù~Ø·"¦­¹)VYLí3G§Nη±µ½·§×ªk«c¡*TEO%ee,OïA£¥H¨|zuè+ tf±Ú`:Pµ#=(DM©¥ieñTBôþ8ç

  

©fUÒéVLÊÅn¯xØû§:PK\

JÊ°Ö§zǤÌXfê^e1Ã;

Þ5V:U

ÔyO"Uê1ÐÅ(

$V5"£Q,²DútHGå;#vx÷}C­FècÛUFyiÐSË,¶¤:Äh!X⺼

ºtÈ¡Ë7¤-ý³.F:V^

륨ªyXËDrÖJx¡ÖJyçBL[_57d$[}ù?³Ï^jjèLÄÕÍö©N$wFá8ÒidRhâåÌÁ°½Ø?õöÁztGB(×Ìßææ

ö¢#

ag$IÝ.΢8öÑÔ:P¦¥î.BÍI;yÖFFÓéßî@3:½µ]HV!CïAêµëÕé{¤AqVHü)7GfuLæÊÇÖAÀ¯ïHO[égKåó%CG+;K¤K10mJWÇbÚBoõ{tO^ÅiÒ¦$ÄVOSíûh¿¨êgj)Åê'ÛlV=* ZÚ0ö³¤»ø¿PXÊjä°Õo§çÝôè"éGLà¹"VHÝ#°++ßH?Õ¹<zc§¸pt$ y

Êi7¿è!¿Çýëß¼º×aÐÖv63,QnA§s~=ø^¶zt±`º]OêÒÈþá#)7*9úñîÝk§D©Xuv`ªúe~á2¿ãè·üÇë׺ÄHÂYéôéb !Qô½­ôþ¿_zûz×R£Ff³«6­J³¯ê@úþtñïG[®ât¯ .KéEQe¸lÜ°·?×޺߲þÚÉuô

jÌxãì5mÁ·ûuë}eY\±hB,ÎJ­­É

{mþÂÞëÖë+*¨#J¦ªe[é,R@]ÇôµýïZ¯] ªÊµÒ¹ÑeRm«vüZÞýÖúÀÞP¤E!õ¤©G*ºùb·cÉý½g­

W¨Ò¨xõȪÒXÒX5æ÷½%¾>ôzuOPê,ÚÜé:QÑõ)ádYnãú$)·õ>ôOW2¸";Xã

'&ÌÒ+:I,A#¯ÖÞê:¿MÇ¥µ¨M2INBM#õÜǤØ}mø÷biÖÏfÑat6E)LQ¡Á@ÊÒI*@ÛGLµzhÖä,eµpÑ"2»Ø§îqǤ¯Óõ½Ý

:hzs§=1pÍ«KÈ«3*dêþAfÖ®

:+2út¦ ·iEÖÊ]«ÆÜ-qÀúõö{VJ´=*¨²ÈÌYÉY^F!£b

8k¸[­½¯CôÆz{G

ÁÏ"&G

@UKÆ=6幸üÞãÚꩪUKªÔ©é*ö×wÓ!'Iþ£¯·GTêR bé.ZáäÒLd^ä~A?Anuî¤++mR±RÅ®¨¬_Z]åÕªÀóoøv{©

¹±øÒΤÆn¢K;¨¶§û{#¯yõà,×Ô³7

Ë3Ò¯¨n~_{lu!5ØêÓuJøkñõ¸'ý¿CÕYÍÉw¹æM

ÇH-kϨ¯ºùõ±Öm6MVºiRÇ¡I²éé¹úûÑë`õZbͦ4R°J 1EÿbÜ_ëuS!7ey$@kUpÏfkþ.¶¿½g¯uȨ̂öÅÜ27¨²µ¬E¬8>õÕÇ^P«ä7ñëC3£h,¥~ðobÃÝ«u0¹ãRê

ek3ÈfpÊß@MÅÂÿ½{£g«²¢

y¯éEJXksõöÑéÊã®\éUÖ°Öb iÕ¡XZÆÅ×ýt=XuÛyWJ@Påb

¾F_RØ8Km·±9E¸MÉk«*¢·KØßýkûhu±ÔY­ô ¨õõBÖ$qb£õü{aקPfEÍ«³;5Ê¥Öébn ñÏ´åhzy:dØh[F"p?uä

X\ÙHþûi

zR''SRp¤åþ?²Y¸úõö_(ÉéTf¹éµâPÎÍy$U$2}#Z-ÅÀú_Ï´.¢µãÒ¥=GXßÔu

jì^5`-ùÓ{~/ùößN¹Æ²ÀZÑþ¸Õíh-¿ ý-ïF½o®ôiªF¨`'¹µ¹_úñïÔê¿gY´¨¬FÒ ²,e8tEáÃßµëÇ®(¾BcÖ2:$XØÁpO×߶:ítj@"¡2\$×[7í»Xj_¡'éw={®e6ò

/gÕxÌ(o¨6¸oÈÛß^ë+þ#$«#Çõɱý8$_ü=Ôõï.±èáu¶`u5µìC,Âö৿|ú׸+#rßR¬AkOÕ&´±Óô÷ï>·å×GARÑÉOyW{;«jlu¢ä_éÏ¿æ:ÙùõeQ­ñ®UÊE$é$§ÞóÕüiÖúÁ¥Y]YL¨¬'J]0r-plO×ÝxñëÕ§]°q`í ­} )BmÉàÛݺ®:ðÔk&¶b¼ê¤

e";nGä{ß^ë«Ó @V:M´ËÈ×É7ý[ñv=k¯G³G©c$+Ý@[éB§úÇÓýo~oXE¹&¨åÊÇW£I}Àò@åyçéî¾}{®k)¢MHç

HYìJ?ZĹ<û×ZóÏ\UÎûuõ:ÁµÈââä

?ÖÂÞëÖú÷ÈÒ¢ÁIþh\òxú~}èg¯SryFÒw3$m"²r[Ê¿¬°æú¹þOz&£­RzÄ+åIDu

h+¡Ld[èlÇx÷jc=TõÓñ¶«o

<eîru[fz§Wã×-zAáT°¹bÖè$ß[±à~9çúûÙ¯^ëÑ˸,ÊT¾¦kFd&@ÆO6¹ü{«g¯»Þ0䪯K

è:ntÏÐõ½¿Çߺ÷\/dfF¯©õ`U}EùK}9÷¾µÖ2ˬÈYã21©Î

»),

+ßû$¤yúû÷^§\HF˺2N-¦Mdz¯b·ü:÷]è$|êãäÇ%¨òmô6þ·'ÞÏ·×LÄ}dþ^0hr¤èBMíôcÉ7¿Óß«ÖºéC«Ô¶¶Y1#@òñkX/{ñyS®ÄCXuIW{»°9

øµú_{xzuÇA`Á?úô:7-%ÜØ(úÿO~§[¨ëÞõåô®¦Ákê: .ÀïÇoë¦ ÀȲ#D©¥ä*åɸBÿ¨sþþõöu±×6VV`=.VGbnU1ÉþÊõïïdu¬uÃÔÅE¥Á±»h6·ñù÷à:ñ=v@*±ÐV2ä¡õ¹<­õü{¸êµ¯\CÁ'ÈH

bÆ0ãñqõþÏû{ëCYnëå&εìñG#õGþõO3׸ã¬EC¶Hå:÷ô¡ÿPÛÞë}toµåÈ'ÒV0Y8½ØkåÿÀ÷£N·±VRP8'Ð)/`ʮѿ§6¹ÿaïïS=b$­ÝtÜ0]F ÄÛJPJ²Óø6÷SëÕ§\C2=¤rYT<¡£Q­®#m!E¢¢ÖºðêÝqBÚ'ì'Ô]5 ú< \r6Ð\û÷^ëbT+éC'ª2

ÈT-p.^ÿïõÀõ¾±ÈcµÊÇÁõ³ÆL%soÒÖºÚÿ~­õËn±²êPÂEå]8_­ÓߪzµX$@òHP7§ÅM«K´a®O§½l`uHc"Dò½Ãȸ°RnµÁ÷âq×¼úå&áÉ#hÙcQ,cJ¬QKzmÍïþñî¤ç­­zÃ*C°Ñ­ã

P¤+csÏú{r>ÚaSÕÎzÁ£Ô°#ÈC#³ÒR¯§û׺S=xu[°:\DV,d·èe°

Á>¯§ûÙëǮަR g}r@1[Þ̶![ëmÓ­¸ÈBJÚ(Õ¤©Ò¡¢hlQ`P½Ç6üû«qëc#®ÃLÅX¦I0J±V"ú¹äOv[˯]DniGÐ}

OK·æÁ¿¨þ¾÷Õzàîr.v/2bTk¾¡c«WÓéï|zßuÄ3*­åHÐ-ÂÊÿñÐÇ®ÀÛßHµ¸öá8ëG¯Í+G¦gd

i.¤$ºQ¾yf%þtëÝaÉfÐþB ¡Ykh'ÌúÜ/ëfdg,·»y

´D4yÓCiÐBÕkÏ¿ª:èIfA.

'­¬F>¥úpn9¿çò~ì¤

×­ÐtNÈ8dgÂêD

Ò%È$òZàño§½ÖzõÉ@GndG%mèrPéÔúéÒÍý-ï}hz¹6AAÊ¥£5%}cSÒªmøú_ݱZuîvÊÒê½3)ÃÛ´¡ ¥þÝǽ×%kݵ,)bO#(afãQ6àþçÝuã½d:ÙKZt¦¦$1°±Ñ¦À1çþÃÛ

z¯Ë©

lDÒ¯¡µ'26Uÿ^ß{k\P¨è@LR*°ô áDÊ·µÏ¯úü{×zÙëPEÚ5.¨AWgÖ[QÆúBßV6¸öG^ë¦;

}©hîeo÷RÞå¸üþ>öZë^½

þé3­¥÷#ëþßÝY|Ç^­zàé­äÔ`

P.¢Ò¼ß~ü:ÙÎzÿи"¥A.±"úJoÇô_c=Ee}Aõ)E-#«¢¢Ýר²¦ßǽyu¾¢4¡rÓI¬*FbÖH1s)6] ±ÇЧ½uºõXJ§Ã"fq%ÀÄFuBò=´¿#ü}ë­0º hu%ÝÌq2´d©U#ú^×ãéïÝkÏ®»9}HEkÌ®°F¡*ÇK,TßüO½ua×(tÇ«D@Öì¦F>9ãêx÷¼õî¦Âcb¤Ü¸@ÎÁcA%K·¿¿u±¦[,B1 #Eq¤9A{j[iq~?¥ýû«²IWIFM!H(Á_MÀñ{k/ ÿ[ûÑëÝgT1H³DUÊ<È¢HýXÆ4X\[ð=èõàzã¡gòN±²¥æ +I¨A$¶ú{÷WÇ\AOÚTv£yc%" qýúý}×­S¯KåMnÓLĬ,9

IF%NBkz½_u=XzõÄì

têD&+ÞYRæÏ~@e¸@?_t<:·Ï®­ëÉ,jÒ8öxÀ¹I7é¼lÂ÷o ·ºõn±JæÄý¤P­ϫ-ÈEXïtëïÞMeX(x¤B·¿·*£M(üñzë}pleý¹J¬cXRTÑ!Ôy½ÓI­¥Ò#4zJ(MV\~$M¹ozÏ[òëÒí Q¡T:¤z¸)ä*¯ RÂÄ[~û×Z¯PGèÐnÃÆ>£¥Cú~ÈýVÞU=p1Ç ÓSHiM

ô![>¶¿½õ®¹»\I"ï&ñI¬kúkP=@úÜ{ë}HSfxÕîÊÈåËøæVúÉ;êâÌÇèçÞú×\ZeÈ@º«zY®åTXø$ªýïï}{©(P

G7E1»¹à1/-õú{¸ê½HEFg+¥]*[C¥Õún·°'Ý©ÖºÈæ4u

-Þ]LH*I 1ìI[}-ïÔ=hc¬ÀD@úK§Þ´OMóÄ°Õ)ýÆ+cÈËp

Ù­`·¸±?O§ÓÞU=3ºéiB2+¿GäA@±²DâçêK5ø·½uáÔI;®9VB¢[F#u}cC:°`Y-¦Ì£{Ûß«ÓÒz¬P$nF¨J|¶²D±¡Xõª­ù·õÖ¦Yáeá®Ì4ù-!ÉeV1Ç.¨N¯§õ¹·½×«/IúJ'A(òø|

ÆPù\ôlZÿÒÞ÷֦ΦVP°)hV¨TV°0BTp

ì./ï]xpê$ vÄ hÈ1Bf.Ä,B?Ö½¾èzÑã×¢%õ±i@W2ÞXQÎkøuêã©0<ܤ+å/V~G UÜ ^/Çä~=Ôôà=9¡/ë·*ÉG"RA`oôàôÛG§z*/ ýµDeQÔj­­ÿRÎC?t#«W©±H¶EM!cµY£U²»N<é ¤É¼ûlôèéÉ$Ëã½®#Td

¿ò¶$ñúûltò¢·ª5y.f}nì¾=*5oõJÂËýoý=°Þ½¤ð9úûßZ§^`fõ~WG7&úY¥RpEõ׺à(1ú«(V²ÿ¸¶

Á±±R?Øû÷[ë ¤\:éyK[êÖ·æà9°·½õ¯]+­Éi®pPÚ@m¡üÁüû÷[ëÎX7

X3¿î],ËkÛsïÇ­uÁØ©,

1Ä,¨

]EÖ~ cp8þ¶÷®¼:ã²Â5Xu`²éÒ$ùúØ~òëÝt¿dSK ÷¦XÅBn?ìO¿uî=sýÂc¹ÖÞÒ

°¸+ù°íý미^öñ¬ò @"ѵÉ<q¯ü}û¯uÄéÕ F.H`å$"úê±üzõzáe_QBüÈÅ#õ·Ð\·û~=Ôõî±Ü°:ãiMÔÛ¸e [}ë­õ¦BI%U)~aþH±äÿ½{ß[ëO¢Å³3n[Vàò@ÿZÿ[{÷[ëê$(ÒMÓK-ß^¥N áA ØïÝk®&Î0ôçÔúG¨^ÞýÖºÃP£MÊPJº3

ËÁoG¿nOûo~ëî

©¬V UôºêKsô<û¯[G

ßJf»=¤"! Oúþêzpuu¥µFd,ÚÖú$n9°¿ÐÚþü:õz=Ë© pÁP:®®x7D¹~=ï« ÔĦqé:Õ<.µ#p/n~÷SפFv`c

ªu,dMGP{ÛP<}ú½S¦é#`þÙ_Ýìò ñ

Á©

a«ëïÝ[˦ÉXP.n|KwÒsªÖâÜ}oϽõ^ ¬hèÔmóR2¬I_ÒÈ7ãï]o˦©ãE;éHµHi®0#JàûØé£Ç¦i9ªì0gVEFñ¸äfV scÉü{¿:°=5ξ:üa]P£+5¤

ZF*Jýl¾¼ý=øqëÝ4UF¬¬$Þ7áÔ,-GãK¹¿ÛØ{tpë~]0O̪Ç×",r9XpÈj/ekrà~=èôÙ4È.]V¼¦XTKrÏ!ÖË2©Õúú{o~SMÅÚD§.u)eE1UN¢.,6%§óøöçUÏXg$"G'ÉÒÏòkpη]+pàþ/îýRcyØÆÈÅ]X¤ÎÀÔqiÇÜ?ØÜkû¶®«AÔÄ*y|Æ#³(HÉrjCcp?§»Õ4õ2ÆòJ¦E-D8[ôÜÛY*}7··êc9ÀÍêìÅÞ@cÑY__Ü8½¸°@Mþ¶û±5êtë¢èôTãfAÏÔón·º×ª×©ðÈÄßZeQäMÖçÇ£ëõ°cõçÞë^¬:t¥nUtu³j-"keKQÃ\1±éoz=mOQÌ.[CÞѹ°Ý¢`ÀܨÀ·õN¼O¬® ,=

À±Eu°}_Ú¸¡ôýhlYån? üûl¯^¢p[UÂ

¹kµõDÒ³X.÷·ø{lõà:u¦hÕu5FÒ­$v¼n.Äk\ûÑêÀtéB f

Ê=gJ£¦K4[XX϶ȯNf½9Å"ÈåW_bÇôÆÍcv{^ÂÄÿºN­ÔøedV

}..Êo#.O×éôëÕ©"³0fTõÃ[µ¯èSn?¨þß^êZ[ªyÒ7»¸poÂ8÷£ÖúyåßÕõUÕuÔZêoôuùõ¾¦ +fÁk®wäåýdþ?ôzßY­¤Ö·,ÚQìÒlåEþ¿P?ïG«¹H²ôéò(~o ÿn

¿¯º¶:âëoNƽ﬩áÐùÝHêè²!&WHÈ°ä^êT~ÓýpyuZ½C5eo·¸WMãWCëïÝl¤A }(%O$ز®­@Tú^ÇêHÿmï]Z3T$|®¡ßKßÖT3Z÷µù}

¯~}èõá^%0

Eì²3*ëÒ¡¡X°<[éýmî½xôÏ*s*

¶d*ÙôÒ·ÿà/þõïÝl|ºl'

£WÔRÃLw\ÇÖÞõÕOL³ÇVÒP Êcsåý£¨i-Ư¯ëõûðꧦéɽ±Ò<¤Üv®IaÅηªg

C2¢+ºj±#ÊÀ´FüÝK_üõöà=7Ô

µ<°«Çuê#Øé6߯'ÝÇ[=5I@ÊÈ-e¶°C·´­Èµîn9ï^=5Ïn_^©ýZäýØãyI¸°<û¿Z麤(xä"³\ùG®f)üØo¤oéíØÏM8é¦è¬Ø"C

OøÕnp.A?[{x#¨.ѱp^TÆ4bÒ²

1­£ôþI&×#ü}º§¦Ø¼R5Ó )2´&uRëä:Æñ0fÝ4G\Mõ,à¸Ð``«(5éxÀ·äÜÏÜ6G§Y ÆQõiåUMMu,/9:nHÕøÛM°éÂ529-âHÏ*øRÆòµõ0°[_ò

½º:gNð¹m@°Gd|SúXÄû¸§^édõ²4aôzA$±u!9³[Xþ9÷u8¹éòC¨¢É©1¡Yo`\7Öê¸_éõ·¿?áÒÁ!}/qé)a¨-ÝÆ9'Q:çiüúÙ4é꾶ÜØt© ,.ZÜXø§½©^ °çÇk:È¡uSø \sþë~=맧C7¥ÕdV

,-ôqýX/çÝzs§5õ+þäE¬òÁ$³z ?ñýÖºr*è

f`ä ÓÏ®Àßëù?Gº¯ÔøÈ:¹%a!Ö;3^JÖçýïÛl:pu5kDl¦ìºG­õjC=ýV¸$}=ÓåÕYã$0³)Õu³¿B8½­oð÷®µÔ¥õmDV¢ë×\ã`ZÚO$¨kX

- %¿Çz=XuÎFP̼ÚÍúQÛ§éø±õÕúæÌêìH*$WÇkR/þ"þüzß\5ôé­CsÈô¶âÇï]{¬lC

ì÷p¨¬.8àúø{©ë}c#Ô ,ÇJ0ÿ9¸çòu[ñ÷SÇ­¢²ð^ÁÀYeÝx]<8Ór~¿áï]xõdM*ͬlèí˺"b=K`Eïï}k¨²iHbZR²f*t)*Ƨè'¯¿ujõìM=~+¨Ô@mwÔ¤Ük©·×úû÷Z®zÄ[MÙIRdÒBª³8&'k­­ïÕêìD¥/.R¬Yý:ÝÈ#è?_ÞºßXÊò.ÞK¸bö*ÆêÿOêA¹ü~}ï­õfÔ_KHt]¬WHAãU·ÓÝz÷\º*ÈSX¿Uý*GûÍ'ýo~ë}qo"mÀר[¬äñÈ÷î·×

,h

jçûjÁ3eúp-õ÷îµ×¡V;«e²i¡=7úqu@xú{ß^ùõÓ1]C*Ú4ê*Î÷À67 \y÷î½×_Ut±e@§JÖüÍïï]{®ÚÌ®ÂkÇoRf%Ò~·7?ÓúûßZëÒ\#

éñéæô y7ü[ß[vÀPâG»í"zTj6³r8ÿì=ë­õÓ

WÒ¶]7m!Lr%õ0kM·ã~ùõî¼T.¯e_Ü0°Gb5 RI'ëú~ëÖúâ

3ú]@e[¡k(c`¤ßþñïÝ{¬aJ¤ª¨P³K.[ò£Õ¨Zü{Øê½d:ʦ{¢­­Ï©õA¹$ãéïƽluÁ%ËF

.HõZüÚ÷ð÷¡Öè+×ZE@ª$f$º®rb}ý׺Ǭ]Qéy

)%>¿ðsþð9÷¯.½×"J

ö^§X½¨[jûv_ñ«úoïÕëÔë(u$øÂðÒkBVÁ:GÖÿÒß×ߺõ:â#­X2ª):1!Y¬EÖöäÜóïÝ{®«¥»XªãþÚÿ[ÛÞº÷\¾´èѳ®

0¸#éÁ¿÷½×I*×:IAôG+~/øþõÖúì8áOÙGéw¹W7ªí}6÷á½×Jé(¡xõ +Ö$O×ýo{ëÝsr®êÊív}CRªXÅäØúûïÝ{®¼¶¡g*Tv`u`[Oôý~¾õÖÇ]³ÆSK

öÒ"<`y µ­oèx÷¾µ×ËXô´k{f!µV<\zëÝs,£Iw-¤r*

ܲ²Úÿ_×ÞÉë]ue.Q

ã[¡ôûFªuϳ)òAt¡éyظ$¦ÂçM½øu¾º-f¤êmXM%¹ãóo§¿u¬uåÐÈÀ¶¶MAÀ+¨R¡Ô)&ã{{ß^HôX³8ѯHÐêI?Á±êyú{×^ë(Zåu:~zã.*EÀµØð÷îµÖo"°SzÕG06-rª

É¿Ôoéï]{¬¨úHH¸¤&£¨P»©±ú}=î½{¬Ä ªÆEe!

:ún·õ÷ã×^*Å@CϧW¤]æ3¦ÃuqÏãÞú÷^ô3HÒ Ìc@Ë¥½ Ép,-qêcôõ^·×£K©¾c ³ô RÚMÀÓsø÷ªµ×&&á2p¥È 3Ùñ_ëo~ëtëÂ÷Ù@T*ÐnßC

ÿâ¼rG½u¾»T°w²B¶ITk}À{×ZëgbUQªº­ÑBôñÀï÷º«× ë"§-kã)§Q

'H¸ýÕºõYIa'Ф5úµë½ ýmï]k®õ%åõb "Æürxçߺ÷^¶@UÇa¤>n57½Oû~¥O[ëj4£§î+bJ©z_ý=ìõï>²Ü6%·?ÞϽuãë×ÕvYFÕ"ÈoЭ& ¨x¿Qô÷á׺ò©P¬¿©X^

q¥TÞÌX.ßQþ·½õ¾º2CÝ2-¢]$³EÅîEïõ·ø{÷ZÏ\ÂjÚ@ßÒò)å..º­Åþ¿áï]{®m¤1Ô/ã(©Í?RôßHæÀr9÷¾½×¬À³+:FÏb{6­VàŽï¯uæ$²úÁTlúÍÕêàÄøûßZë»)±Î4êbÖãéýO½u¾»àqê

\'UÖÀ9\xaïÝk\¸XãÒÖxVEø

§KJq¤þ·½õî»PËäE¹,à²Bn ðÀÝüÁ÷®½×&ô!*ªÞÖhº£Åãߺ÷]·¦?ÚÚ¸uÐÏÃù"à°ÿ÷®½×g±ª4ncýDi+¢ÊÀsÉàÿ¿u©(ÁWÖcÌd:£5ïÏúO~ëÝtÇR©f&ÊÑêësrx¿ãï|z×YT¬[O2M 1høU èOÔØû×^ùõÛªê2)(

ÑÉäo÷gÔT

ÿ/ï}{® @cuXØP@)võýM¿~ë}ql?´#àÈà^åjTn=ìõï.¹ºÜù÷5z[_Iãm~=û¯uÕÃq§ÐM¼H :©:PØÚçñ÷î½×Û`n|ånÚ'Z7ü}Aú{×˯uXÖÎÅ®UÁn@$}o~G6·¿¼zè¨cv!í«QBPªEÚÃÏ$_úû÷ZëÃÇk"¢)E¨²ë!E¸6àû÷[ëѨ%á®·"äH¶Rde÷àÇÐûß^ëoª@GW³FÄÂ>¦ëc{ë]p ²µ(bFñ¡±Ç6#zë}s!0ÒÚ®HWYf7ábn=èÓ[®ãÖçH³ !N·=*®ßóo~{®Zú¹!5¯´±*¹qo©øý׺ëÇÍ]H)©­+¥¬i$_ðÀÛÞéÖºäúè,·,d]X¤EÙnlTÜ[ü=û¯uÃêqê½ÀpêT©eäø6äïÝhõë`t°µäIa©ßRéc~°³ïÙëÝfeEdpÅ

Ô©çêßÓߺ÷XÅ­õ¶´kØé`#¼a¬&Ü=û­õÛfm'¨Ve$ÆÌA$..?©çߺß\`N£PÌKJA:Û@<saÈÿ{ëÝtYÚíëdW®£Ò¥XQ®ãü/Ïøû÷^ëÁâbÄÁêfþÝÃÜÔl-Å¿ýÖºêXÆ¥mlÌÎKå%ÓÂe&Çê¶àû·Zã×=Íݳ¬È2J«ªjQ¯ý,×÷®½×ÔåJ¬n^î\wôÆýï¯uÍGtGÐÅ

vÒ

-´!\ óþßߺ×\X%xV8

b_§Ð8÷®½×U$õA$ò

_¯¿u¾¡è

¯?Sh®ÃÔu_ú6÷êu¾£M`un«¥lQ¬¯¬ ãHú©à~§^¯Q$ò!ò

Á:°P¯ý¸Ý¯Á$=ë­õbî¨X*¹¸(Áî;­¬5÷®½çÓtÚC=µ<I ¨6uÒ5ÙÈ$ôGÐþ-ïb½hôÙ&]L·Â"ÁTj_ª±µ%"ßëûß[7Kv].®º®êae_Q ¨æÜ¿úÞý׺l0[Òº[Ȭi6q~ãWúþü:÷ze©ÒP

Â(ap s~¡çW»µ^&xäbBÆ nN¡{;4Pÿ}¯¿ÕutÑP¨ÅË@ pX ÞÑ°àê,/¬ñoz9ëUé«Õþ{C+DÎëgS¨}&÷E¬×÷a×¼úfºF¨àÂ\Ûöº(¹¹[ëïgªµIz

*øVJèW°#ë¥Øÿ¯í¼×«+4¨hÇ1.ÖRç̺É7ÝIúÀú{¿Zé79EÒÒÆ"`ýQP-µ¨¥

¬lmîÕê½%ªÅä²È$)(äÅ÷*^-V#ð,/ÁkÛ~ëc¤õxTèÀHÒ¢NIbÓâðVkIüñïíytª}/©ÌRªÓÛ¤®P×fêrJ`,I{ÑêÊz`«uPº[´$SÇ

'tÉ)b9õXyãÝO¯ª±ÉU$ÑÆÞåIÖ70GÜK5EËI$ýDµ¬E­î§Ë¤ýA]jFóT6½QPmËz¯ôãÛg§Päi¥¥£¡e:KË

HÁ0fcä\Íýë«u¢®FîuKæiÙ!}6zh¾âÖÐ]Åã~êß.ºê¦èX[ÉÈ]¥V£Ç§½?í©µÙ)ëï]lõÛêd¬M$QzYÕd+8UîÚP\j}_Kýõ^¼z5$%§.ò,¥5RÆÑ:~ìQ#pÏ©(:x½¿W­qTiÌ^I£êb-))Ò(­SàÖU7%Ab]ø<{­sÕ©±"Ä¥!|rFjÂHiÚI¥¾¸ÑUWû6üûØë^}bjÍ*Fò4<«±]aÝUK\°°-p×÷¦ÇVê3¶ò¬Ñ/h© 0BË®¤2C`É®E¼ni·7½½·Ö¾]p¨TE©2:I3¬±$Qk&2`ÀòVö½"ú õáÓtöoÀñO-=:É'P

i¢zicäSÒ9äzó§[Ǥ̨S°#,QÞJrcUPBO¤hý7ÕïTÏ^ò飨Å=sÙcxiZ»L&¤ÑªÌ\±¸ám{Ç¿¶:ê4×%LsMúÙL´¢Z(UÌîò¬j}BHãaq¯×ßÏ­õÁZ1v¨u¦²HdUà!$H*A°þ÷SÖúÂVg}SHÍ+Hu$ÕT×­Ë0,ÁT*þÜlÖ!x'Ûg^§QÄ,'

3kªVzfÉ-;ÓjÇ0TÐHFõziþÐëJ·×RD²ëhM4%G0SÀE¤0Y¦)(¸ú§½Ð½ÔSMb(duO/Lì%õ¥>O£25$ö*··½7ZqyA¥<Qdaè¢FâK#2

¸ÒmÈçzâ:²õÊz¡)-

D*ý,aUJÇ5gfPÊà ûØá×¼úÆ)B%ª$GÕc5H¶Ô+±÷<Ø{°ëÄרʴëO,ËöUÄeÔC¼.ȧV¨Ï©¢º »7

uáÇ©V|ÑÃNYÚ:Y+¸¡ªæ2C¤ÑÄ,t}§½

S­õêDhV]c«ñBhã8iåÌîÌʬ±* :´{¨lõb1×Í-Tr<mI4¾:CrÉWNaÕª$¬<

@6ÓÇ»õSÖj¸#3¤rÃB±Q,SSDy£P(@*^çz ë]bñi¢ç1+¸ú¤2DðôäVYèýK¨{\ª~]gUºÓª¥eH<ë®Ôí37ÜJ#©á|ªÌ§Ò¯À_vë@g®

ITÃÍ[å}rBeI*£DR£À³ä-{¯'ïÝZdzxâ`íi#§V½(´-QPA$W4ÃF¥ø÷î<z÷QÉgT]RÂh_ݸ0±¬ò3"«,¤gb,OzóÇU<zçON"ý:Ú¼´rCæêcpÂVÞ8[[©vkz~í׺ôá24RKâû¤ÈJÌb.t.ËdÁìt¡÷¡Jõî=`Ô²2@Vºzk´~@²SÖÓG9ÅO)aþ¨Cùúû·^ë4hPR×Ê!z:ÓM_îÔLcR¨½´Á7÷êúuï·¬J¬V£jydi¤´PÄQ=-B4Ë¡FydúŬ}믹É<¨V_ò©¤¨e¥CJ¨Ñ¼ÐÕjÓv¡dÔ{±$½å×h4*jI?z£Â"ç:D·ºïÇÐî½xuÉ*¢u\3§H¥ñ;ÈRN²X$*

6¸!¬l=î½jxé8ã5jyâu),éTð¢¢$enä¯ v®:·:t£x¥¦2ÊOM%FhIñ"¯ìÎ1 }

ìuzTuÏ:Æ"XTÉU¾-ª!ãe$3$jÂÚGøÛÝÏZ=AÔ,ÓR!­òÌQÒÏ+RýM#ªÑéF-

òH³¬rø´

FIãÆWq§®/¸UC"Ï,«!vámGpCj@Òyàûð§^óëÐDÅòUÍhôH&YtFáçÁ4æ5iGÕ®äýW=êêÃ\àGDtïu2Kxb­çtt¤£¦G<Ø4¸WÔA"Þì+çÖúoÄ2Ë$±a§pÔo¦#SDm¤i,©¦àI÷î´F:çûjXTìÔ}¨¨ª¨ÚhY5TÓ"§A_ÞÏ^`Tg/H#_5<LELTé¦M¢YP¬\5­î§­W¦MD0Â0@æJ

µmJÈ^´<Q@VBöDb¡âÖP}Öoq4ê²å¦¢Äõp5@ò yåya¦É)(ФèTVc§ñïÔê¿.Ë¢®,²,òé©djƧõrÀ²:ºoafÞêzqMG]¬OÛ©*b

é롧§zµzeZUðò0tRÿM\ëÑu°·¿u¾±Ä¦c+ƧIâH$IWîQÔótÇêÒm§Jñï\OZ=7Îd¶2;Uä¤a,Þ1 (¦¿Æ":Ý9Ã7úö1ǯW®¤YBRÌÓ*øâªF:&V5<¡b2:L2¤³.¤{×[¯P«­²ªD*¥ é^i<r¿Û¬³Õ1g¸¸ÓúNWv'¯éµÖiâd¥u8¾èV¸¤×ZÐ)Òþ¸BʪQY¹üuëUë©i!§iÙ¥4ôñ%E[O÷£A©,HÈOCJ=,M½ýûçÖÁÏMäTrþêÃ*E(!Y Js-EM"Æ¢AiHoAÂÞõå×XDÑÃxeÉT ÔÇ:Êi

BEû³BñGVÕã7`A'Ó~­åÓs¦¡¢ªeñ+d¡Ì©#pè¡£!FÂ6$óïÆYkÔ:¨^6ø$ÐU¡¯iUÖ?¶i%¥Ò¤}H«Xst&«uÄj¤HZ©éL4Õ2dÕµðxäpY϶ÏÏ«AÔI¢ªx"Xj~âB BµÎªÔaOTÍ¥Ø-"Þ÷6÷®«Ç¤üñ¤ûâzaS4ôÓÅ%ER²K³FÉ`x·ë`§ë°TxÍI\d²Oå*¡Jµ`*Â1t}A¤ÖN­7Sb}Õ³Õ:ï§Ã¾Hh饫Iç4.`Æiâ©\f;-lÌ jöÐ^¸é¹©iajª ´°»ÚJ¡,!ÓÃRj¥]:¿fr¡/ {Þ:ðê-RÓ

²) Wíá&8iÕÑ&û´ªC aÒ%@«é}ïX禷ðÏ,qÇK÷¾hµ4³Å-8´T:«Æë¦E:Ü{©ëÔêE]":Ã+BÐÓñõ3VQÓÅ/µ2Å,~©%e]Bê°öÙlõ`ÇM3UxY%¦£D24¨:RÌñqêÔÌlM½SnáÔyÄuTD Æõ4QK_§0±EUQ;+i0D

¤$û·Z·åÔjºµ¨¦2R*c50$lPch©ÈºÄ6+ärC8õz¡óë@ùúôÕ-#'­"¦<sÁ[ÜxêåxRIiÒ(O¥n4«(

ÄîÀpê¬8¢ë×OQ¢¦LóMYå¨ÁH #ûmE+iy<~Á×ã¸ÜP».

)ÕA£W¡77@±ê§&¦y!D1JÍ£ù&$ÆÑ«µÁ%]WöÁ¡=+C^ßoP©­¥1ÔÆb5ÐŹ¼é¥+$±gr°É+rnI,

¿S¥^T52IQR©³Ò5cÕ¤ÕFGTe2iTDD²"©*ÞÙu«0¨èZÆUÕNÒÓª­ã¨¢H"cåYV!1IMb$Y.Ö6¹·¶i´1ЧG

F_¼x©'íÑQÅ$2Ë3(u2xÂ:ÖYàWÆþ4{ØØ9Ðày$ûm¾óèTÁÌ#Ç+SÊ)iédU2NʳJ¢ªzwèÍéVCumR½8¸èFÇNò¤iæ «É!1

üØצ;`û"ÞÙPW«Tùt*c]£9*$GLÒÏbúån$VOí7{N¤ñë`ç¥,¨ggE19ıµµ²V¹

Ê[Hµî8ãÛ¯^Ð^XÔJÆe;¯r¦P·

²{síÕl×¥Ù4Iufzw*Jk#W.N«pmÀÿïN:ÝzSÓ9yÓÊQ]dj{"èP?EίUíoê}èW§JjdV·d¨Õ¤³8À¤*4ÞÌHü~ãÕéþäÙÔªY" -¤¢UΰfV²ê_ïG­u5

²¸k\W¢Ì

ÜLßNI*A¹÷NµçÔâÀ©%1ÄK»¹Ôë ^ÀÈûñëc¯$(ÄîÚÑé%£º#ým?_z=oY®éY

èÉ boêÕ®nõÕÇP§EoSC9r¥ÛQjºFH-ønoþ·½Wé¢P$Ùnëú¼º¹o¦8ÓQ±VüozéÁæÉÁÆK;)

Fá]$deUǽuºÔtÑ-Ý¥a¦DF¤d²Rò-aaî½4zt1¥Ä¡Ü¯0êU»ýÍJ#î:©½I¦

ÓQ]7`úKªÁBê,¯û×µÖ¯tåq«¥%#V6Ò¬5Ê i,¤ mcÏûgî+N&SÇ¥U3X-¤Âé3K³xçñìÉ=!~=?Ã`Và+°:QuÊËþkPãú·ô [ÚäáÓ'©ÂÊt°Up¥LEÜ\úÓñíáÕz®N­6m>Oìêm?¶o§ø}=Ø«Ô¥[#L¤~ÔP*ÀÞâÜõ½Üuî¦DT2êñ >[Üú¯plÐÜsï}{®cÕy$,lÞIQîÖ-p¢

÷¾·ÖuU@Bþ"9eÒ¬u%Õ¾sÍÇí½èõaÖ`1p­7f,Ï?ÒæÜϽS­õ%æÚ<q±XÒ9.¦I,\jPOÑn-Á{×^ë*-}EF£Y°Asª@âÆæßK'Þ©Õºâ¦Ú:

.#õ0b©¹¸·âßOz=[¬I,«

Qma¸_Â6½<û­:·\î¸xÉU(ûVµÅ

¿ÇÞVeÖì$vÖ

õòðl@µ­{{l¯åÖD¼LQuþÒ@lAôðöÙ\duÏLmpª<w{ÄÞ@++ª8¸úøöÛ¶:Èà$)èYFÄóp9E¾Û#«±_V²<dÚÌ}_Xù¸ýHý=´Ý[¬n¥Ü;.B)-fÔÊGÒ×ÕÀ¿øûh@,îÖ%V,w -®

so§¶g¥ëÓ%\F[j}"Í{ùWXhË}

ÿÞ?Ó¾:sÎ0ÕÇ##OKÜ]Fs}r"úa.²]T"äXÜ϶:tu#R_ÅfBÞYåCT¹Ü ÃZÿáõ÷êuî¸ éhô4v_`eZ÷ýï]{®ËÂÀ©A[º¶µ`VTÔóôãß^ë ¹%A }

¯[ÒþF7É߳׺ëIA¨E2¢i~?[êí×^RK¸

äòX\Èo0`nEõ·¿u®»H¿JWX»È[«/7ú,>õN·^¼­eÓê$fò²¢ªÓQBXA÷áÖºã¥IyFµ°bX¬Z_I6¹æêGÓ~§^¯]Õ£ÖA ,Uä+ÍÓõôqýG½õ¾º°W:ô£UÓ`Æ@é«Ð®Õ®

½ìu^ºõ2>ÖP«"·WÕkØ[߾εç×µ·*ò©V2o¦oÊÚö¿»yu®£ÈдEM

{õz¡,Hjón=×­õÌáÚȪÄZ"ýOà­Èäóõ>ô~}xuæ4 «©[©ÒºË3 ´HM3

ù×Þüú÷×µ0½ÚF6Òyy#{«Ó"

ü·ÖÜ{ßZ"½pý#]cTKûhÚÜkðI°ú}8÷î½×Û÷DfÚlßB¡½ÉÜéùÿ{={®fÜ2)YYQõå½Nº`¨t̺ÿPF½j¶*nÈ

ÿõ×¾}vÀ) ¾¤`ª¨5J5C)ç,l~¼û÷õá׬DÈÞè6¥?ÿr@ÆÜþ=×=nvÜK¥£YC¤h&¡¤õX±¸°öH§[ëöáR-ÑÞg@³Ib·.x"üÇçß¾]{׬ZÁu¾¬Į̀1«[KJ¨µÿÇÞú×^b@DHQÑØ[ée7ßð8÷£×±×ÅÈRV¼wBÅM®¶2k$È°þô1×\

Ë!hIh¶wifà0DPÖåê>ì8õ®¸Ü*-$lζ¼p¤tÒutÿïÝ{®¦£+FèBjNN

ÿ¨j`?ÔÿO~ëc®7@PH.Êt¥EÁfPôàóïGÓ¯×MÊÄC0±W$CUßÌO

·Óýo{òëÝzÀ±ehX±mZ|²M.Ê,ûñ÷ï.µºd`Ò»ThõXGëFÊKéɵø÷¯.·×

#M#V%Hf*®¡bMÆ«`??×ßg[gRï!T`<jÀi({³±n.·¿?ÓÞú×X,FyÀ$RQE¾á£üMÔÅýë«uJ;,¦ìCHRÎĬw'~·±}øã¯u

äà')wReXÃ~µlô7÷²:×\ÙU²«

$!Ðbd@yTbªé~zñ=t໿,!Ð%úÄL¼q`Gw꣮\g- ÚB­å~XúêÒQo÷¿~ëÝtÒB鮲¶UYX¢IrÄ&ã

þôO^s*

·ÖâÂåY#»2þµ¯Å¯ù·¿½Ö7MQ¼Q!Gºj@xÉQPßÀÿou?.¬=O]4kbÑ#öêoÕP÷Ûso{ëÃ'¨ådUi¼l ÒE8n4ª\÷\õqNsñ²©]YfÒO

µ­É²×6úqù÷ªPuêç¬KihʤÄ9Wîþ§C¨yÏ?ëûÑë~}bvå»0*º\$ÛOm{óú¹¸üû÷^ëC¤VdÔ¡HÈ?REÈà{qî¼V­qÖ-cª9Óî$5È~ê#éaù<sï][¬yÖ½ÚBd°Q¥UU[[0µµ½þ¾õպĥFºRÊ+¥MÙÒB-È÷®=k¨Ä?TÚÐ'e¹F7 ò.x¹°yuêÃåÖF`TXøÙ@º"s#\ÝcÿÉ7ãÞë}c¶¦ý`ýT¢ÝkEȶsô ÞÇÝüG^=u­Ë¨´¤m#O °'Uý^½Jõ2­Õ¤"LPÄ-vhTQ}*Oæ÷¸&ß×ÕÏU§\?YsN®ñª3ÒUKLM<ðT~÷î=o\Á`C±9Ü¡ê

×åÂÆàl=ûìëG<zÂYlD- l³(YDpZÁXi`Ü?{ëTëÈ)¨|ÒÈBÆ5Ó¨_[}Û­u«*£»¡=ÿXÿéý}Û¯¬¨B¸äY/w,¬<:-¨ú¾À½´zÆ«w÷HHõ³Fê.Ä\}+¤÷ºu¿.³¼ÔÈúQB©âê

I­Å¹Ín¿O{Tð§\ý~A¦ÚoT©Ò@@ý\uªPõTDR,ª"Lz}!®ZÜÇû÷[§]IDR¨`­¥ÅÏ"æ*ÒØúÀú[޳ïu%HÞÍk3ƵÓ&e

uúÍìüûÝzðêlÅ¡â

o/¹³jTeg^Ò¿uqÔzþà½=¤J¤G#ÕÉasý@޾ν×0©!gg

ý^¶:õì¨ïåÈ̤>§Ì,,ÊMÏ÷®­^²:¤+û=,è&Ê,5ÃXëï]{®¥G¥´´Þ$r¬

AYCÆè¡¥ìÒxµ½×«u¤ÄíQ®VYZhË¢¬nC ·7c¦÷·×Ý:ß^TyU¢ª¹E¨ÜÌTEì6÷®¶:Ã$alÿ©]pká¢FâúGÒËk_Pú[ß«ÖÀë´h¢6k«ÉIÐ'ÓúØÿ¿u¾¸µJìË)>RªÄ0ºM®7v'XV¾°=ë¯uÖ

E2ißæõ5é@&dÚäÒnO~ëÕë*Îííë`

áØkrÒéÈ ­ôÛò÷ÕËb©ºtHî²;»F;Ù

#ýH+ªËoõýìtק/gw,Ó5­­K4KH¹&êå~§ô÷á׺!

#&dF¦Àz.ªþò»UéÆøEºµ F,QÇ¢ò,>¬.ß>üzðéÖ FY3§DºVrÁCÄJ,×Ííuêß>²Æj.@Ôb,SècEP=BäØ9~!AOzë]zH*Îu)¸C9ÇiA¹$qÁñï]o¬*¨çQIU¹EÓblê Ýmf°ÿ~ëÝa<¶YP¨Àt«w½Ìv -õÇõ·½u£ÔRª©¥c2.|²4b`ª/È<[ýïÞú×^-bÀò±¨I#KèÖEº

ýHü~n½rC㪪£;,d£úì7°¸"×ÿ\ñîÝk©iÃ1jéýlå0FF¸þmksïÝk¬Á´«

*HUZBs&~· 'óîã¯u6/Óg¾¿¬IO#hÚÄòobݳÕO]ÆêÂE@èKF}7)õõZ÷àûöz×ÛÖF7¨é.ÂÁRc[G­ZÚO'ýÇ߸u¾¼PK¢&ýÇ(&t*£G°7?©þ¿rY%`%F`Xúa{~oïÝXtËQ©+*pLQ¬©Unò(R,od ~<û¡ët¯LsªÕÌöKDÈZÒ¨NWø~A÷ZõaÓM7Ö9@Rk

¬àÍãêÖOÇÝÇUnª£w

TFéeXjT¦öæäȱãݺØé¦)¾âF]qºÛPVZº:v« üXó϶Í:×\ëÇ«²DHgò0ûcmM ´K¥ÙPØ»IqùßOu?.®S#]²GH`t&ålcm¯×ê=Ѻ·ÙÔÊ}'M<^WSy#azsNÂ!ªYüau0Rl÷úîS=Xpêr+ `c#7¥£xÞBVWIb·õ06¥ý2£

ßO&ÖµÉãÛMÓ£§þÐå+GDõic¡îI°!O?ñí³ÕÁéÞ)É]\YF¢7G9b=:l¼soÏ>ÚaÓª}zq4ª²,r5êD

N£¤½¸>ØnN°tÕ&¥vï/£ÔÇÔ¶6± òoÅý°@éþ¥§

 

ÚRBB

"A$m«·*á

î-Ƕ­¯S¢U¸@X¬Ä3(bæKX$_ B>èG§O©óéÂ:G¶©9E*yÚO©ÂXpHÓ§~~Ûa®NB!eô«WÖÑëTþ²ßWÖÿN}²G§NcU%X])$I)Óbüô½ÇºSϧW§ä

bú¬äjUCxÂÞAeý"çý>ýÖúy§Ù-®¦ G§]

î~¿·¿tòtñªDZO+^X¬d*±U°Sè'óqý=ê½hôõÆP\YµÝ®°¿øóï]W§JyßA bVáÑ@[-­ÕrMûtêç%

 

y$oQBlúïßg^&½8G g"@*Ñ©ºK®®£n@ä}/ô÷®ªz§·¦ä*(*¸¾±sêߧÞú×SãÔ)7*úIÈy >õ÷îµ×56È(%öË5zuY¸^~þ=û¯¹]

Ü9RiPÊ^5µs~ë]vAP ²Ö}WHU¶

EuúX\ð/o~ëÝtÖ½Ú1b¬×{·¤µ°éÏ#ߺ×]§ÞÃOè:X»#¹@i±¿×{ëÝt_Öá],®#,Ê%9 öÇÇ¿uTë Éd»Få1$þµ½û¯uÏ@DU[ØFÊWüâ¡uHlmù?¯ãߺ÷]åÄÚ].µT&¶t°>÷׺ÄHU!C3

J²,,ubCý-Á÷ã×:ìf

«pJÆÆ@¸Eþ­õ$û×^ë¸Ò¢è®¬ÄÓÅ36³s¨ÿcïÝk®ÈTU²Q)¨$,6bÞÚA6?ì=û­õÙ½z¤ -«"±~

E!¹oϽuï>ºP{ù®Eùxì\­®}û^ëÀE}$ȾnWAúpH>õ׺Äí¤HÐÜ¿¯

Ä,YM®.A½½û­uHPÒH

U¯­QLg:E´°º®Ïä{¯VqtÙ¿oQ¹JͽínäÛüy÷±ÖÇX1dUX}k`À]ÒÂÈÒ¤\¯ïÄuî±YÄ¡ê`É!KÒ¶?Oͽû­uŹ

I÷õ$\©¾¯ößÓߺñë

©Ee&êÅ-£QÙOSo§õ÷®µ×+YR«g'PÀiµÖê"íÍÇ¿u±Ôb (VfM.

©B·YæÜñî½Z½BÈáZ5Ð%%5F¬d`Àز?Ö÷î·^¡Î©ffô²Ì$¨%×@¸°âÆÿ=øõeé¾QebéQ­TÂ7`5vµÁ·Òÿt?>¶xtÖÀ¶µIXT!XøÒ)nHÖʪÚ

­ï]S¨!d`Ä

Á]c{ùOqø¸úvêã¦Ù4&ÒT³!PWÐÁîº$¡

,~¾íÕzoòQVÀÅ®Ì

Æ VU$\xôzßMo¶gNQîXÂ5ï"ã{ê¸÷±ÓMǦiýÝ®ì²*7Tå%à\©'úî㯪ÕNdY[IFáYßÓ{ðGÔ¥ì}û«tÃ:Dò3¸tЮéDñ°Bc¸!-ê?[éíÁÖúeéU,&*ÇPf"I¤µOáú=èõSÓUZÉÈh˳ÞMSjGK^2ܪIôþOÐïêÙXk]QbõFGJ4 ÄX66}Ûê¤uQUò.¯@TRVM ±däi7ú{ÕN¨GQDeKF±2]ä

EøÒTý&ÇÝuR:ÏuvA¦FcL¤ëc´N¥qÉ.ËÏçw§ªÓgML<3<7\ÄȬ¥õòyú^ëqÇnÕ:q¦r¡Ë*ÅøÚO XÌ!_B¹pqnoõ÷¿M7Nèä\bp²^HôÙÅÛUÈä[Ò,='Þº§NqHÌ|h̯$ëÃ(Ðú×­´¨Ï÷°zßéä°:¬EĤ$¢Avñn}ÜuãàubÙ.IõüYÜ0kÈ?Ç¿uµéâRçSlÈÇXéày½ù¿¶§Aéò[±ER]J!Q©ÍuV

rOõõLupzz¦1$j¨ºÃ0-gÒΤpϽWË«éöH*eq¨ëXcò_úr/ï]^¹éâ°é¸bC3FÈ«Áb9±<_úû¡8:z¤eж¿Qim ¹)°¿àrÿ¼ûn½X§ÀP

»JFÚ^é©Å¤pÇãõ^ÜÀçÞº·NñË¥CFR*Y

~¾?Ë~~·þ£ñî´ë}OBªº3¹ÝØÚM7

È·°Ô×<ý¶ÈÏNV£©Ñ²×­¼¦þMWR/êUù XϽu^§FÊ#7Õ$Eqpª¶1íýC_Ï¿u¾¦«´6ZK²SÉc"­Å¾¼uë}g Òuv%B¦èö#Oü}ë­õ.6 h*Üþë¹bê.lªo¡ÜØG'ÝO[ùuÂ?7sªê¢Võ¤øÉÒx$ò?§ºÓ­õ

O)Gĸ°bF¥}¸K9àóõ÷£ÕMóBT@)#)p@Uze^,Ïûou=[¦¹ Kió¢ñÛR®¡¥´þ±·à{÷·ZtÉVY

ËÃ9[RMÄAæß[¯ëïÄu®jþVAk1!^Qp8$Xÿ¯oz§^¦cò³)

¤ì} @*ÿ@A>¾êzñé§É"7£ ëÐ

T°µ´òMÃXØþ>ü8õN¦XbÈÆ4%u¬@U´ÝòH^ÿwh 8*IÖQÙ¼EÁ'(.ÜXa{an)ëTé³Ä]l£ÈAB>Uç?àT~9÷n´GLó$Êî©ev%ËM%ÊÓúéÃò=¸:dñé¶HõëK½N¨4L¶Ëb5²úl{¿^é®R%¹Tubõ6Yê<èÒÄ?_ÁÿvSN´ËÓK¡ÒÊÒ0¬ª «Y]dbÀ

%IÁ°öú°Îzñªh `VUiT?³£èªyýCý·TÔõB:

µ­éVy,ÌcMú¿­½¾L¸/ #!uYb)úÝÇåY.Ôµîmôüûppé£ÔÑÚc*Ài{}lâÖÝ4Õê];1UÔÊËå!®

=ÊkK_¡Ø{sM)¼mãúªy-Q)Xÿ6¤ð

®mïuêôóO#^+GãfmJë -ÈU&÷­ýê½R½=Á,k3رÒÌê/f*ýIäOÐvhñéöÚ2¶eD²!eÁ@d&ÂÚÖüqow^^iô0%%SQW£×¥Æê·±±<ûóusNé|Ë ÒÌcÆ#"Úàqþ¹¿¶)CÖôùI-mr

ÙÀ%º"±,.A·×úïÄu¥ãÓí3S%1PªDwú鸶üñï^]B7ÒÂÀpTbä÷t8êã©Qeú+mj\ȼl¶6X¿ôößV5êdn¤²C:ñµáÒªÁ67 õ÷£×RbhÐ %4ÔÊ4ê(}\þ#üx÷R:·Yã,ª¥Xê¹²é*æ0ºËb4?>êz÷R®Xþ§>¨du)[©×ÿ°÷^¼:È¢¨@`Wõ(ÙSà^ÿë{×Veß@*'PpGÐ)p¬Aãzêýdkú±VÌ®çZ#sô½È÷^½×ýÏ%}AB»¤ÛPÕŹúq{§[ëêàÇ2Ç®åjUP~OÜû©ëÝp$;©Ô¤ØaùÀõN¬:D'ÈÆÊÎEÈT'óô÷S׺áÒÒa¤±r

,.=&Ö}}û­u×¼4|Q<¶ÒܯÇÔsïÝ[˨¯(.R"`ÅÏ!×Xi÷î½óë¡0+{%Z«ð¼ÞÒ[G=û­£aêw­ÉV³0î³o¢ß?õçÕ©×U_ª²Y]@,·ky./q¤-ï]o¬áyeñæä(

ü=û¯uÒ¨}M$kb,ä¿ß8¸·ûÏ¿uî¸Z0¥í§õ~§:ãú×éïÞ]o¯´Êc$Ç¥°hPÅÀç}øuî¸5ÈDq{ÃP?"ÆÌly÷¾½×]jtØV²

Ô¡

8½î9÷î½N¸9Ôd»ÛYRIWWcù6ãý~=k®=aÕUb o äk(êÜ~ëÔëÈrª¬åÙQí§LalÒ~Óü~ý׸õãÁ#Iu³7è©7$¨»j6½­þõÖúð&N

ú\³út®AÅì.OúÆÞõǯS®Î¥c=DúUd·úócoÇõ÷®·×Oké_Xª¡}Wr[Öþ÷òëÝtH$kXu©´¢ùT-´¹f¸äØ¿´i×J¤

*Í¥Ø.¤_®`lu'ü}øõá×GK°$HÄ´ÈlU~±+§ýÖúâÊå

hhµQ__âáÐÜäø·½õî½s¥.¡Õ¿F¦¸k(bß?§>ý^½×¾ nªvxµÊW]ô²Ûëuëc® ¨T£3)VÑ«T`±W

ýMÇÓÓý=û¯¼ÊÄ5I¾ ­¯bõúÿ_§¿u¾¸¨·eCqfm:m<ØÜOõ׺ì#]yC&E+k)xÿ_¡÷ã׺óÆ-©GV/ä'ºMɵ®?ýÖúíý'Kêtµ("Är>ý^µ×jÞªFú¡æ¸ÖK¨6ÔOÑÒþ÷ÖúäHf,LKÿY,§Æú­ùûðë~]vI +£hÒª5¨Ä}

¹·~ëǬ¤:o¦=fMa?7«!ÕdfP/ô½Àæþõç׺æ`3(*ĽÝT(¿(ø7¯øûñëÝrѬH5T3-ÿ"3bYÏüáù÷¾µ×z°¤}EßH<F~9ôÿBoÀ÷׺ÊXÖQk¢-¥ÐCöy°#ý½Öó×

Eê°y,úîK¼B-ôÿ[ê=ê¸ëÝeU[üv<`ÝЪ¾ÁàÛëïëuÚ£B§¥Â=×^JºBæÌ5Ççߺ÷]ÖUÉ(TÆ´bXzIúmõ·½u®¼ÂjÎK¨O_mÅÍÿ¨$~ë]rfkiU$®ª¾I

®¢¯¿½×lô¨T/£JªTÄ+$ØsÇã߾νÖPSÒ<bO³`ÀÅP[KXi³¯½½×JËÏé¥7Ò»EÈnF£ô÷¼un²%ì-ë¹qêbÌ&

<¾¯éþÇÞº×^-¨z¥Ò¹®þéô¦ÿ_Éä_Þú÷\ä[øÂÝÒì®OQ6üm~=ï¯uáâ^ù'öQ¯Étþ=ë¯uØkHKkÒ Z¥n

Ù¤±à[W#ߺ÷] nuU8aâ@°Õ©ú\û×^ëý:¾ªÇûª°+¬t}$rG¿uî»*¦_YRò6ê-eÖoÇçWû{¯[òëdþ­Z

qØñõ!ûkûõz×]©UÒ&3

þÙP?Žyõ¾»$ÚÚEäbCøòInJóeÿ{ë]c½µ¨PUøÅ¥y&Ö¿Ð[ïÝ{¬¾/íª|Lä¥ÃyÊ4U±±÷^µ×MÝÓU¬BÉau6$ÿO¯6çÞO^ë¯R["kΫ±×!$

øàÿ÷¾½×E'mj

ñ(Öu~§ý

¤\(õ/k{ß^ë&¯%ºÆTÒúxÒD|/Ûëùú{×ZëÅÖFVCè¹k-øYUÿGúû÷^ëÃEiϤFâê[f?_zóë}r6k¨[«.$r¥@2·$ßÒoþ¿½õî¹9*:d¿~ëÝtAPT5ÆVaúmõP~¼¯ø~=hõàØ»0ñpY._?¯½u¥rXur@*×çéaÿ÷¾½×Lߤ$éOäm I¥ÙTô#óïtëÝvU¯î¶¢¬\^2,ü.?Þ=û¯uÈg¨; ±»çIi·<ñý}ë­¼ÜþI+ªúQÎ

Cõãß¾]{®ô

JêPâepÍùãï]k®Bê×`@ïugG³Cý¯¿|º÷XìºQ$PU]mÍÞ5ÓÞú÷^*ê..× ³@F&êGÖ׸ߺ÷]¨!aDpPjºÛir/Á Ï¿uá×â C#µ'î³zDJ¡

!oÍ¿7çߺ×\ÐYt8Võ*´ú·¨pIý׺î6B@!Vè¤[ƤY*x·éïÝo®MËÆP·ès"««±AÈ6ÿì=û¯uãê¾£úJYH±(äÜþ=û¯uïPa©ùо¦$Hu\^×?N?©úû÷^ëª ¡x6Tû>OPf×é`Mýìuî¸-É7ÖTõnÈ p,I×ëï^}{¯yª©¾ ºFÂX)l)©Ë©·«ø÷î½×¼aHbìÎ|[è¹R¤ÜXmô÷î·×hìÞE³Y®U

øEúûßZë³,T@ABnºîÞKÖ`ãëõý׺ælx(ô+yM¿Z©¼jÔ¬çÏ»u®w$O¦K«)eÒ±R7§èA¸Gûκ×\

fW.WÆ- ÞÆÆßN=û«uO­B +uR\èß_É\_÷¯{§UëÒC¦+)r¿ÚýØ5ñêúÇ÷ÖºÆÇQ{¤dý5^޽׫uÆY~("T³4`Aq'ÐØVß_~ëÝ`ÔíPHVúY£åWI^>Æþö:Øê![Ý%iRàa k«cÇÖÜ{©ÏV龡X$s;Ư(Ô¬~«(ÓÁ&ÿO ú{÷^êÄ/¥®YÊ÷?çHc¡¬T¸°ú{Tðé²G

£P(Cérúäa¼`ur8ü{±ë@õÁfE.®

Ð

MG%Gcqb=׫§&ìáâr³6¶4iý°6ñqþ¿¿|úõ:k©*SGteQ­¸WPLªé*oqoÈæþî:©é}huêUcNEÄC½½GM·ÔÇ¿g­ytÏ2

ISìQWERHaâBx÷îµÓå7ekpªÄùXLRy Þ߯»-:ßLÕ@¶½odW%±caª6U±þ¤6ÿïÇPôªk±+âxÙI@#ÖÄÈ&²tÜ[éýlmî­§PÈÚMÕؤåbú¿³{ZÜsîíõ%äRGãPD#r@%mv·?{½:÷I¼JÒ«VÒiÝ]£(#c%Ò&6:EÏÔcou=z½0Õë2¢

 

¤OæñU

"+N

Âê^/¨5Ư§¿µÒ^³Ì'§T

I5dó

³­Ýz±sïG«­:JTFLÚc5±Ì¥´£Ò»#[Ï9t¸Ã/ÍÃ[û­z|ÒfYJ¤AäThd!C8>U2iÔÖ@êÀ­Ócî¤õ`:h©uaÁ¡øôÆo#ÉhÈñ/éHù$Ê`yöÑéЯu"lg¬PÂN÷gðS`i)ÚHf!N*5º°¿>õÕúÃ_Mãy8©»ÃäâyRK~]n.¾ ÷êuàsÖ),ë-DéG#ÍcLF)1ºZ¸þ[}M½oåÖt3Æ«äD2EâF¥ªF³e+v$Oº´Ý`Þ±bJ¨ÉLë$B Äôþ'TóESbñ6ÞE)ÏÐ0÷£´:Ç;´Ç1z*E÷´3Ô­Í+ÝT«9ñ,J©¢êXÞþôz·X*ahyÌPÌíçI**##Õ®gÓõm.Ø^ä~á×zëpA/4Ï"9gWEzb'ªºØ¿¶]ʯQh)xJNtM4ïTÚGØée·©

´óï\zß\[íW¦ûôÑÆË­¡C,ºV2®Wsĺ?^}éº÷Û×Ìcyéõ@$¤¬K$B,5â9ew$êÔoí³Ç­u¥ÚYSLâu

b

ze0*å&"F!DaXªA÷SÇ«z8ª"c<þõTÜ)¼.±*3áTò-Цäó{½çÓ|ë?UYeE/ÃHëÜcÒIP.ä7¨{§W§QªÔÄÖiTUÃ$Ú¢K¥hæU(]neQ#ÓÏýLu±Ç¯BÐ'8h¨à3=WA3TC

ÆtÐÉbÁtbAõ׺

¡L¦Õ9ªª±ì¦ÉI#]J°&ëõ{¯[¯\j#HÖXå{÷[ëñÓKªÐ§ýÉ¢y¤1ÓÔ;#3þ¢9eP îÕë]GKÓeY*b¨R¨!VA(«²È¶YHUä#PâÞöqÖÅzÎÏPÑÑÅå>9ÛÅ é7Z8éNª¥bßOMÅ­ýëçÖüú0'Ãã"z%

Jyd6ê0W@¾t(×OãÝzµzÈÚÇŦCR4<ðd?¹17º`H]Fãóï~]TõÀ´ejª´-þâ[R䦦bËuP­êáqø÷®µÖ-1³i%NÕ

4~X¢5w_í¤¨¹+caïïyu °Jhä,mÓTG,JHR°£2Üúô©þíÖ]FiWÂÈ¥4¡ :U*ƳÈ^ÚÕÀêµÏ½õ±ÓzÒ¥¦LR¦iV«h;h¦¥óHÚ|QUJØ)]7"ÞõON¶OR̳ÓøS5¢iYbDÅU*5pÈåd*ÌU~{÷©ZõÉ©¥¢¢:zJz´5+2ÊÅ©Õ

C:ë7VmK6<{ß^¯XÞj°Ç¬3E)q AJ¨¥)U¥i!´°§×ß¼úðë£NéþJ¢Hj8¢Âµ²N´±Ç%c ÎÊÁX&tú

½{¬&Y#I`ÓtG)GPÐS)¤,hü7¨0kO÷¡×ÄÒ'ÜE ib'9j#4î*ÈJ±rÖا{®zÑùuª 7IZ

¹jiä-婦n$¥¬

Ü°:J@k~4ëÆ:Í

The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.

   

Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/

"Zoe Kavanaugh is clueless about the supernatural world and her place in it, but after she meets an unlikely ally, she discovers the awful truth about her past and the price she'll have to pay to protect the ones she loves."

×

You thought it was only Dream Spell out on April 1st? Noooooo... @thesarahdoughty has got another one ready for those eager to know more about the amazing world she created.

 

If you've read her books, like I did, you will probably be itching to read more about Zoe's life. Hater or lover, I'm sure you're curious and eager to get your hands on it. If you haven't read her books yet, I'm sure you'll love it too! So stay tuned. It's out on April 15th. You won't want to miss it!

 

For more info please go to @thesarahdoughty page and click the link in her bio. All her books are free and can be downloaded in any format. If you're into urban fantasy, I'm sure you won't reget it.

 

#sarahdoughty #instagood #graphicdesign #writerscommunity #love #emotions #quotes #poem #poet #writingcommunity #igpoetry #poetsociety #writersofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #igwriters #writers #reading #writing #feelings #bookworm #wordporn #poetrycommunity #poetry #prose #words #writer #creativewriting #book #bookstagram #author

 

17 Likes on Instagram

 

1 Comments on Instagram:

 

thesarahdoughty: Thank you, love! 😊 😊

  

Keys to getting good test scores in Personal Narrative Writing.

 

Created by The Writing Doctor.

Visit "The Write Prescription" dot com.

Spring butterflies and blooms give colour and life to the library!

 

The quick and simple lettering was printed on coloured paper using Microsoft Word, and hand cut. Props are nylon butterflies and silk flowers in colourful pots.

 

I displayed books on the arts, crafts and creative writing under the display, but should have taken a photo when the display first went up. When I took this photo, almost every book had been signed out.

To be used in conjunction with our other TAKS classroom posters, this TAKS Writing Guide directs your students to key in on the important areas of composition.

We are passionate about bringing a relaxed approach while creating beautiful, natural and vibrant images.

via Instagram ift.tt/1mojKMJ

Must keep up to date files and pictures of the wifey. We are co-drivers and co-owner/operators with Fed Ex Custom Critical...and drive all over the US and Canada delivering overnight freight... taking pictures...eating Vietnamese food...and playing golf...with our trusty companion Gracie the German Pomeranian (father was a German Shepherd/mother was a Pomeranian...it was a bad mixed relationship) We live in beautiful St Augustine, Florida on purpose...but we love the West and West Coast.

 

We often say that the northern California Redwood area is the most beautiful place in the US...there are many...but there is so much to offer in this area with climate, natural beauty, oceans, mountains, rivers...very moderate temperature year round, but can get over 100 degrees within 50 miles of here in the summer...and have 4 or 5 feet of snow within 100 miles of here in the winter.

 

In this picture, Donna is trying to rip down one of the trees to take home and use in the front yard...of course the tree is larger than our house...so that could be a small problem. The tree here is in HDR...the wife is not...and for good reason! Actually, she loves to take home anything redwood for gifts, etc...they smell good...honestly though, we love to walk through the redwood groves together...its like being in a huge church or something...and they really make you feel at home. Donna has always reminded me of an elven princess and her colors really fit in here with this beautiful wood.

  

diamond daggered daughter (James watkins)

 

Diamond daggered daughter-

radiance so rare-

soft as starlight,

hard as heaven,

strength beyond compare.

 

Constant as the morning-

dazzling as the day-

golden nights and moonlit flights-

in lasting love‘s foray.

 

Autumn colored princess,

fallish fawning fair-

rooted deep---through winter's sleep-

she waits without a care.

 

Go gently in her presence-

you gilding gown of day-

for joy is in her armament,

and life in her array.

 

Bold bolstering hands

by helpful heart,

contend on buttress bare...

Full-forced she stands

against all fear-

her armory prepared.

 

Against the challenge of her time-

far from frenzied fray-

of mystery and darkened mind-

that hunts the periled prey.

 

The soul of man

can not withstand,

her onslaught soon released-

of warmth and laughter

waxing wild

with primal passioned peace.

 

So run your race with confidence-

and stand before your king-

your storehouse full and prospering-

your children clothed and clean.

 

Your husband known by men of war-

your journey now complete-

prepared to stand at God's right hand-

with crowns before his feet.

 

James watkins

     

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.

 

www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...

This is a broadside I designed for extra credit in my creative writing class. Generally, they are done with poetry, but I really just suck at writing poetry, I don't understand poetry, I hate reading poetry, I despise poetry, and I [insert any other negative connotations you can make towards poetry here]... but I'm good at "normal" creative writing.

This story I wrote when we had an assignment to do "risky prose." I did a mix between short talks and instructions. It deals with what I went through to get my solo senior year in my last ice show. I've wanted that solo since my very first ice show when I was 7, and even when I encountered some difficulties, I made it through and got my senior solo, which ended up with me skating to Kristin Chenoweth's "Lion Tamer."

I printed this on tabloid paper, mounted it on some black illustration board. So yeah, since you probably can't read the story on the image, here it is:

  

How to Tame the Lion

 

How to recognize the average figure skater:

Think about those clichés that everyone knew in high school about cheerleaders. It works for figure skaters too, but add money, add selfishness, add competitiveness, and then strap knifes onto the bottom of their feet. Let them loose all together on one ice rink and watch the battles begin.

 

How not to get sucked into the drama:

Start out by injuring yourself, and then do not by any means get it treated, and keep skating with it. Of course, this makes your injury worse, but remember this is all just to make your ungrateful teammates happy. Quit your team after the season ends so that you lose all the friends you had. Change coaches; lose what few friends you have at the rink after quitting the team. Become shy just so that you can focus more on yourself, you do not need them or anyone else. Join other school activities; make it harder for you to get to skating practices. Let the other skaters ignore you, except for when they spread rumors and whisper in front of you. Do not tell them you’re handicapped, just let them assume you are a terrible skater. Let your mom find every excuse for you to quit skating; you do not have as much money as the other families, you are making your injury worse, and you have no friends.

 

How to succeed:

With every stroke on the glassy ice push yourself harder and harder, and find yourself become more in love with the sport than you ever thought possible. Injure yourself after only five years, and even when you have lost your momentum when it comes to progressing, fight through it and ignore those other skaters. This is about you, not them; do not let anyone throw you down. Push through the pain, fight for your goal. Sign up for that final test that will give you a solo your senior year, your 11th and final ice show. Forget everything terrible; forget the deplorable pain in your leg; forget the judging glares from your former friends. Remember this is all about you, and do this for no one else besides you. Put on your best dress; be the sun on raindrops and dumbfound your audience. Take a deep breath, see the steam come from your mouth and know you are going to live through this. Dig your blades into the slick icy surface below you and skate your heart out; after all, skating is your one true love. Smile immensely; the judges are all about that. Receive a well-deserved thunder of applause from your audience, who were filled with those prejudice eyes; the deciding judges gave you above passing scores. When you fill out the form for that last show, circus-themed “The Greatest Show on Ice,” remember to check the line for a solo performance.

 

How to Train:

Do not listen to the livid roars surrounding you, saying you do not deserve a solo. Ignore them all, and know you worked harder than anyone else out there. Find yourself placed with a different coach, rather than the usual choreographer for all the other solos. Take advantage of that; you don’t have to fight the other skaters for time when it comes to working on your solo. Eat, sleep, and breathe solo. The lion can sense your fears and weakness; you must dig your claws into it and prove it wrong. You are not tired; you are not exhausted from balancing skating, school, and life. Whip yourself into shape dear; you better forget your pain, for this is all you have ever wanted. You are going to fight strong to stay awake with every run-through. Don’t be surprised, because you know before you even get on the ice that day the fact that you are going to fall; the difference between you and everyone else is that you are going to get right back up, don’t throw a fit, and you are going to stare it right down in the face. Glare with that grimacing, deathly stare, right into the dangerous eyes of the lion; do this until the very end.

 

How to be the Lion Tamer:

You are standing behind the curtain as the first act, as you mentally prepare yourself to face the lion. Your introduction comes over the speakers, when you glide out to your place. As the music explodes through the rink, you are going to stretch a smile across your face with confidence. After the first few moves, you are going to realize you are all alone, and with a swipe of the lion’s paw from the audience, it is going to knock you down. Shaken, you set yourself right back up to be knocked down again after just a few frantic steps later. You are going to get yourself back up, shake it off, and try to finish strong. You are going to return to the locker room, and while you sit on the bench, hunched over in pain, fighting painful tears and dripping in sweat, your mom will run down from the stands to yell at you for your failure. Your coach will find you in disappointment, but will encourage you that you can do better than this; she will remind you that you still have two more shows. The lion will watch, and uproars of laughter will be sent in your way. The next day you will do all of this the same, but you will shake it off after the first fall. The last night you put this all behind you. You will put on your costume and you will stare into the eyes of the lion. This is your last chance to make the last 11 years of your life worth it. This is all for the child in you, who dreamed of this show since you made your first step onto the ice. When the music starts, you are going to become the lion; strong, fearless, and confident. You will dig your sharp claws into the ice, as everyone watches in amazement. You float across the ice with a whip in one hand, fiercely crack it to please your audiences. With claws out you strike your final finishing pose; there is uproar from the audience, delighted with your performance.

 

How to Keep the Lion’s Heart:

At the grand finale, when the seniors are introduced, skaters and parents will be in tears. Your parents will be the only ones who are all smiles, happy that your skating career is over, while you fight tears. Your coach will find you, and stand there with her arms wrapped around your chilled, fatigued body and her chin resting on your head, as you are about to cry too. You head home to run up to your room and let a river come out of your eyes. Against your better judgment you take off your dress for the last time, wipe off your make-up, and take down your hair. Lay in bed for a sleepless night, feeling as if your life has just found it’s ending. Just know that you defeated the lion, you proved yourself worthy. Forget needing to be accepted by other skaters, forget your weaknesses, skating will always be in your heart.

Spring butterflies and blooms give colour and life to the library!

 

The quick and simple lettering was printed on coloured paper using Microsoft Word, and hand cut. Props are nylon butterflies and silk flowers in colourful pots.

 

I displayed books on the arts, crafts and creative writing under the display, but should have taken a photo when the display first went up. When I took this photo, almost every book had been signed out.

via Instagram ift.tt/2eAoS1k

superstatetv.com - What would it be like to start your own country?

Spring butterflies and blooms give colour and life to the library!

 

The quick and simple lettering was printed on coloured paper using Microsoft Word, and hand cut. Props are nylon butterflies and silk flowers in colourful pots.

 

I displayed books on the arts, crafts and creative writing under the display, but should have taken a photo when the display first went up. When I took this photo, almost every book had been signed out.

The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.

 

www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...

This image is for the non-commercial use of UBC faculties and units only. For non-UBC use please contact university.relations@ubc.ca. Please credit photo to “Paul H. Joseph / UBC Brand & Marketing”

stepupbdit.wordpress.com/

 

Saint Martin’s is the most beautiful and only coral island in Bangladesh. It is one of the best Eco-Tourism Destinations among the others. It is called the marine paradise of Bangladesh. It is situated in the northeast part of the Bay of Bengal, just about 9 km south of the Cox’s Bazar-Teknaf peninsula and 8 km west of this northwest coast of Myanmar. The island forms at the southernmost part of Bangladesh and at the estuary of the Naf River that divided Bangladesh and Myanmar marking being the international borderline between the two countries. The island is locally called as “Narikel Jinjira” that means Coconut Island, where a considerable amount of coconut grows in this island. Someone called it “Daruchini Dip” due to its lovely landscape and illusive crystal blue water of this Bay of Bengal that surrounding the island. The location of Saint Martin’s Island is on the getaway in Bangladesh. The surrounding coral reef of the island has an extension named “Chera Dwip”.

  

The pioneer human settlement started in the island just about 250 years ago by some Arabian sailors who named the island “Zajira”. Within British period, the island was named St. Martin’s Island. The population of the island is about 7500 and the main profession of this people is fishing. Besides algae collection, tourism services etc are the common profession of the inhabitants. Water transportation is a possibility to reach this island, boats and ships (mostly for tourists) from Teaknaf. The major goods for daily livelihood for the inhabitants sourced from the mainland Bangladesh.

  

From 1989 to 2004, non-residential Bangladeshis and foreigners were only allowed to visit the island. However, it has changed and now residential Bangladeshis are also allowed to visit the Island. There is no electricity supply from the national grid in your island. The tourist hotels of the island run ongenerators.

 

It is possible to walk around the island in a full day because it measures only 8 square km, shrinking to about 5 square km during high tide. You will get the right weather usually from November – February to visit this island. From March to July, the weather of the region may well be rough. Very often, cyclone can strike during these times. The island was seriously harmed by the devastated cyclone in 1991 and yet has fully recovered, and was untouched by the 2004 tsunami.

 

In the past few years, St. Martin’s visitors have raised dramatically. St Martin’s Island is perfect for tourists who wish to revive escaping the monotony of a robotic daily your life. The island is all about sun, sea and palm trees. During the tourist season, the island comes alive with the water and beach sports, with beach parties and bonfires lighting up the evening sky. The island is very suitable for scuba dive driving. One may also enjoy engine boat or speed boat tour in the very crystal blue water around this destination. Though there is no security problem for the visitors, one can pop down to the Coast Guard station for any variety of security helping. There is no land phone but mobile phone network is available. So you can communicate with the world perhaps even you can browse Internet from your wireless devices.

 

In the past few years, St. Martin’s visitors have raised dramatically. St Martin’s Island is perfect for tourists who wish to revive escaping the monotony of a robotic daily your life. The island is all about sun, sea and palm trees. During the tourist season, the island comes alive with the water and beach sports, with beach parties and bonfires lighting up the evening sky. The island is very suitable for scuba dive driving. One may also enjoy engine boat or speed boat tour in the very crystal blue water around this destination. Though there is no security problem for the visitors, one can pop down to the Coast Guard station for any variety of security helping. There is no land phone but mobile phone network is available. So you can communicate with the world perhaps even you can browse Internet from your wireless devices.

  

Chera Diphttps

 

Chera Dip is a coral based island adjacent to St. Martin but divided during tides. You can go to Cheera Dip from St Martin’s island by local motorboats or visitors boats. A lot of Corals of various species – living and dead form the land of the island. There can be described as small bush which is the only green part of Chera Dip enhancing the landscape of this island. There is certainly no permanent inhabitant in Chera Dip. So it is advisable to the tourists to go there early and come back from evening. To enhance your enjoyment, you can taste there fry of fresh marine fisheries and green coconut water from plenty of mobile shops dedicated to tourist services.

 

Hotels Booking in Saint Martin Island

 

Accommodation in St. Martins Island is limited, so you must book hotel before you plan to go to this Island. You will hardly get a chance to stay in this hotel for everybody who is a sudden visitor of St. Martins Island. The remarkable tourist hotels in Saint Martin’s are Hotel Nijhum, Prashad Paradise, Sraboni Bilash, Samudra Bilash, Vacation resort hotel Simana Parie etc. Booking of these hotels are also possible from Dhaka, Chittagong and Cox’s Bazaar. All these hotels are situated adjacent to Seashore. From these hotels lobby or veranda, you can enjoy the illusive breeze and romantic sound of Sea. There will be some other motels and hotels established recently in St. Martin’s for tourist accommodation. Besides, the local fishermen and inhabitants even rent their well decorated rooms for tourists accommodations purpose. If you are lucky enough, you can spend the exotic moonlit occasion at St. Martin’s Island. The beauty of Full moon in St. Martins Island cannot be expressed in words, if an individual there at that time.

 

In the past few years, St. Martin’s visitors have raised dramatically. St Martin’s Island is perfect for tourists who wish to revive escaping the monotony of a robotic daily your life. The island is all about sun, sea and palm trees. During the tourist season, the island comes alive with the water and beach sports, with beach parties and bonfires lighting up the evening sky. The island is very suitable for scuba dive driving. One may also enjoy engine boat or speed boat tour in the very crystal blue water around this destination. Though there is no security problem for the visitors, one can pop down to the Coast Guard station for any variety of security helping. There is no land phone but mobile phone network is available. So you can communicate with the world perhaps even you can browse Internet from your wireless devices.

 

How to Go St. Martin Island

 

You can go there by sea truck, local motorboat and / or tourist boats. Currently, five shipping liners run daily trips to the island, including Keary-Sindbad, Keary Cruise & Dine, Shahid Sher Niabat, L C T Kutubdia and Eagle from Teknaf. Beside a shipping liner recently inaugurate there service from Cox’s Bazaar. Tourists are able to book their trip from Dhaka, Chittagong or Cox’s Bazar. You need to fly or take a direct bus down towards Cox’s Bazaar, and then take a bus to Teknaf, which is the most southern police station of Bangladesh. You may well go by rail to Chittagong and then a bus from Bahaddarhat station to Teknaf via Cox’s bazaar. From my have experience, it is better to travel sea truck from Teknaf and take an open dock ticket to enjoy the adventure and thrill of this mighty Bay of Bengal. You will have a chance as a bonus to enjoy the green hill tracts of Taknaf to soothe your eyes in the west and Mayanmar borderline in the east remember when you are in open dock of a sea truck in Naf River and estuary. Sea trucks leaves Teknaf every morning at 9. 00 morning, and return from St. Martin Island in the same day at 3. 00 pm.

 

Package Tour to Saint Martin

 

Beside Bangladesh Parjatan Corporation, a number of renowned local Tour Operators arrange package tour to Saint Martin Island from Nov to February. It is a wise decision especially for foreign tourists to hand over all headache of journey, accommodation, foods or anything else to anexperienced Tour Operator to visit the amazing tourist heaven Saint Martin’s island, Bangladesh.

Accommodation:

 

Name and Phone Numbers

 

Motel Nijhu Also known for the reason that St. Martin Resort Ph: +88-018-9051164

Blue Marine Resort

Ph: +88-0187 060065, +88-02-9556251

Semana Pereye Resort

Ph: +88-017-20693980

Hotel Prince

Ph: +88-017-11276250

 

Best Content Writing Books Every Aspiring Writer Must Read

 

amzn.to/3rXUoYx

 

Late Upload.

 

Creative Writing -----> Fiction Writing.

It wasn't as exciting as I had hoped but it was an experience, a time where people read journals allowed, where I totally felt for sure this college will do good for me. I registered for classes today, too. I cannot tell you how excited I was for my classes. Wait a second, was? I still am ticking on the excited level, nervous but in the more antsy anxious way. Bring on Tuesday!

After the battle side by side they lay

He wounded in the heart and she in the throat

Their fine clothes and their limbs in disarray

And still the end of conflict was remote.

 

If what I had of beauty you destroyed

I got of you what I have always wanted

Because the troops was thoroughly deployed.

I was by you, she said, painfully haunted.

 

I did not want your beauty, the boy said,

Keeping his right hand where his heart once was.

I wanted you, and you alone, instead.

And what I have now makes my joy, because…

 

A blanket fell in stillness over the battlefield

As alongside they lay: at last they had their fill.

 

(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)

  

Someone’s moved into #4. It’s a young woman. She moved in a week back now – to #4.

 

I watched from my window. It was snowing that day. Not heavy, just light. A rough looking white cube van pulled up. The swishing sound of tires on wet pavement got my attention. The brakes squeaked when it came to a stop out front. I was in my kitchen digging burnt rye toast out of the toaster with a butter knife when the van pulled up. I set the knife down, pulled my housecoat tight, walked to the front window and pulled back the drapes.

 

A beautiful woman with long curly dark hair and glasses got out of the van. Two men followed. She pointed to the second floor window that belongs to #4. I’m in #2 on the main floor. She didn’t notice me watching.

 

Soon furniture of all shapes and sizes, along with boxes big and small, flowed out of the back of the cube van. The two men did most of the heavy lifting. The woman carried a large framed photograph up the front steps and disappeared from view. The dull sound of footsteps on the stairs pushed against my apartment door. It was a Tuesday morning.

 

From a small transistor radio on my fridge, the Beetles asked, “All the lonely people, where do they all come from?” At the time I thought that that was ironic but “coincidental” probably describes it best.

 

I stopped watching after about five minutes or so and went back to what was now cold, burnt toast trapped in my toaster. I freed it and tossed it in the garbage, then set the kettle to make a cup of instant coffee. Outside my door heavy boots thumped the stairs for another 45 minutes. When it finally stopped I went to the front window again and watched the truck drive off with the two men. The sounds of things being moved about upstairs reverberated through my ceiling as the woman in #4 unpacked and settled in.

 

Let me offer a small admission. That night when I sat at my kitchen table over a bowl of microwaved clam chowder with crackers I imagined what it might be like to have dinner with #4. Not here. Not in my apartment. At a proper restaurant. I pictured the sort of sparkling dialogue you see in movies, where the leading man sweeps the woman off her feet with his charm. That’s not going to happen but it was fun imagining it.

 

It’s been a week now. I have not met #4 yet. I don’t get out much and I wouldn’t know what to say if I did meet her. I’m not good in social situations.

 

I’ve seen her twice from my window. Once alone carrying a basket of laundry from the laundromat and another time with a man. It seemed to me that he was walking her home from something – perhaps a movie. It was after 9:30 on a Saturday night. They stood out front chatting for a while. The streetlamp illuminated a wide circle around them, as if they were on stage. The odd car passed by, kicking up slush as it did. He never took his eyes off her. I couldn’t see her eyes. Finally he pulled up his collar to the cold and left. She turned and headed inside. He looked back once.

 

They didn’t kiss but my guess is that he wanted to. I know that look. There’s nothing like the lead up to a first kiss, is there.

 

Afterwards, I sat down on my couch and flipped through the channels in my darkened living room and thought about the woman in #4, decided right there and then to put her out of my mind.

  

---------

www.LazyPhotographer.ca

The Lazy Photographer - Book 1, now available:

www.blurb.com/books/2549571

via Instagram ift.tt/1TMpFJw

Print out this image and put together with the related pieces in this set to create a Figures of Speech bulletin board. Click here to see where to place each piece.

Three words.

In this swell of speech

they have reached with

gentle fingers and stirred

my heart in the softest

pool of declaration

your outstretched

soul has sailed

to my shore.

 

Best Content Writing Books Every Aspiring Writer Must Read

 

amzn.to/3rXUoYx

Nan Chen, a biotechnology teaching assistant (left), demonstrates how to perform laboratory-based techniques to students Alison Tamiya and Christopher Der. Photo by: Philip Channing

The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.

 

www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...

Read full article: www.cla.temple.edu/the-two-unlikely-worlds-of-art-and-eco...

The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.

 

www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...

On Friday, the College of Liberals Arts welcomed the class of 2016 to Temple University at the Freshman Convocation assembly. More than 600 incoming freshmen gathered to hear words of encouragement, advice and wisdom from Dean Teresa Scott Soufas, Vice Dean for Academic Affairs Jayne Drake, and fellow CLA students.

 

Two outstanding CLA students addressed the freshmen. D’Juan Lyons, a senior majoring in Spanish Linguistics, emphasized the importance of taking advantage of resources and opportunities here at Temple University. He challenged fellow classmates to avoid shortcuts and to go forth on their new journey “wholeheartedly and with full force.” Speaking from experience, political science major Grace Osa-Edoh shared three powerful lessons with CLA freshmen. Grace encouraged her classmates to “take it one step at a time, be ready to adapt to move forward, and ask for help along the way.”

 

The College of Liberal Arts wishes all of its students continued success. As Vice Dean Jayne Drake said, “enjoy and embrace your time here at Temple University."

2600 x 2600 pixel image designed to work as wallpaper on most iOS devices.

 

Image source: www.pexels.com/photo/water-sea-ocean-close-up-24802/

 

Typefaces: Hello Lary, Morva

  

The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.

 

www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...

via Instagram ift.tt/1TcVcoQ

This image is for the non-commercial use of UBC faculties and units only. For non-UBC use please contact comm.marketing@ubc.ca. Please credit photo to “Don Erhardt / UBC Brand & Marketing”