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Documentary Trailer "The One Who Holds Sovereignty Over Everything" | The Rise and Fall of Nations
Is the rise and fall of a country or nation the result of human actions? Is it a natural law? What kind of mystery is contained within? Exactly who commands the rise and fall of a country or nation? The Christian musical documentary The One Who Holds Sovereignty Over Everything will soon reveal the mystery!
--my scars don't define me-- but are forever a part of my life...
...forever a sign of battles i've won and hurdles i've overcome...
One Sunday morning, it would have been Easter, around 9AM after ‘jug up’ there was a loud sound of horns and trombones. The Sally Ann went from floor to floor playing their music, that stuff they always play, We Shall Overcome, Christian music, it was surreal. I walked down to the end of the cages where the guards were asking us to pay attention. The Sally Ann people spoke to you there was three or four of them, one on one they spoke with each inmate who had a request and many inmates used this service. They talked to you like you were human which was nice because the guards they pretty much treated you like you were dirt and a cumulative effect of being told you are no good is a blow to the self esteem. The Sally Ann people asked if you needed something, could they make a phone call for you, tell your kin what your situation was, how much your bail was, what your sentence was. When I got my turn I asked for some reading material, provided them some titles, a Herman Hesse novel called Magister Ludi, authorized a little bit of money to be used from my account and they brought some used books and writing supplies up a few days later.
That Sally Ann organization if you know anyone who’s done some time you’ll hear about the good work they do. My old buddy Kenny G. when his bad days were over, and they were very bad days, things you don’t talk about, he went to live in BC to get away and he ran into an acquaintance from the west end of Toronto this chick Bonnie who hung out with Jimmy the Bookie, he took bets and loaned dollars. Kenny was feeling real low, in Toronto he had fled a bad situation. They were in the Downtown East Side part of Vancouver probably the most underrated ghetto in North America and he went to a Sally Ann meeting with Bonnie and he was hooked on the good work they were doing and slowly Kenny got better, got straight, got off the drug cocktail, found his soul and started to pay back for sins.
He had a great career going with the Army when he got real sick as a result of his life with needles. He had a liver transplant that didn’t take very well and he died less than a year after the operation in Newfoundland. Kenny left a wife and two young children who are proud of him. We got together in London Ontario when he was transferred there for possibly another transplant, as he was on the donour waiting list. Vern and I went, it was weird seeing this once powerful man, a ‘Gladiator’ of a person, a real leader of men, humbled by his condition as he lay almost helpless in bed.
The hospital determined he could go home to Newfoundland his condition was irreversible. Ken and I would talk weekly for the next few months, one time I sent him the entire first and second season of the Sopranos taped on VHS, another time some books, one which he was mentioned in, it may have been titled, The Mountie, the Biker and the Mafia Enforcer, something like that, the book is interesting as it carries the actual transcripts of conversations this Mountie was having with Cecil K. and also K’s conversations with various criminal elements in Toronto at the time as they planned a devious event. Another time I sent Kenny a CD of the song Yellow which I got at the music store when I purchased the first Coldplay CD with the hit song Yellow on it, I called Kenny up on a Wednesday night as usual around seven PM and asked if he got the CD I had sent entitled Yellow, he said “yeah, but we don’t have a CD player or a computer to play it on”. I felt bad, the joke was supposed to be that Coldplay had named that song Yellow after him. He was so yellow lying there in the hospital bed ravished by his illness, the joke was lost on him. I suggested he author a book about his experiences to raise some funds, he nixed the idea, said, “they’ve been to talk to me, about the past,” ‘They’ were those men in black suits who clipped every nose hair, who ran the scams, the mob, and I knew right then he could never put a pen to paper for exploits the way someone like Cecil K. had done.
Kenny, he stayed solid as a rock right to the end. Every week we would talk about everyday things, movies, wives, children, mortgages, never any talk about ‘scams’, he didn’t want me to organize another fundraiser for him, said the guys, Sharif, T.D. and others had done enough in the past. His good wife Judy was trying to raise funds for Kenny to buy just the basic things like Depends. A few of us sent down a couple of hundred or so, the poor guy was shitting his pants, imagine that, a Gladiator shitting his pants, God sure humbled him before whisking him away.
It was going to happen, Kenny’s death, he was just living day to day, it was my habit to call on Wednesday nights after dinner. My wife Julia was at Brownies with Jade, Kens wife and children likewise were out at a function, I had a quiet house to enjoy and as an act of kindness I would call Kenny or he would call me and we’d yack about the old days, being kids in Mt Dinky, shit disturbing. This time I called and Kenny wasn’t there at home, Judy's sister answered and gave me the news, he was in the hospital in St Johns, Judy was with him as were his two barely adult sons from his first marriage, he was in a coma, she gave me the hospital telephone number and the room number. I called, spoke with one of the sons, it was very emotional, I asked one of the sons to whisper in his dads ear that Charlie Tuna from Toronto was praying for him, he died soon afterwards. Even at the door of death he gave strength to those around him. My old friend Vern once went to see Kenny as he worked as a counselor at the Sally Ann’s Harbour Front Mission building in the Shuter and Jarvis area of Toronto. At that meeting Vern asked Kenny what the gig was like, how he liked doing this reversal of roles. Kenny responded with, “well you know Vern when I was with the Club (a reference to his time with the Satans Choice Motorcycle Club) I always gave a 150%, this is how I am.”
Sentencing day came slowly, by now I’d been in that shit hole for more than six weeks, in idling mode, going nowhere, worrying, anxiety, the day of the actual sentencing my clothing had been sent out for washing, the new coat included, I went to get the bag at the area where the meals are fed through the steel bars, someone, that little prick Mikey had torn all the garments, pants, shirt, sports jacket, collegiate sweater stuff that had been sent from Toronto to wear in court, ruined them. The screws had to find me clothing in the area where the stuff for destitute prisoners is kept, I must have looked like a street person or an immigrant from a Slovak nation.
The lawyer put a very good defense together in his speech to the judge. Prof Deck wrote a terse note saying he thought I was a little offside, just a bit I’d say. My former probation officer had no kind words, he was a bible thumping asshole, who thought jerking off was a sin, the kind of jerk who would vote for Bush or Mulroney. There were other letters from kind folk, friends, my mom, employers, profs, who didn’t mind talking about Charlie the Good Boy, I honestly don’t recall who they all were but I take this opportunity to thank them all, it was these letters that counterbalanced the shit wrote by the probation officer. If it were not for those letters my sentence could quite possibly been much stiffer.
Snyder the lawyer presented everything with a tremendous finesse, citing the death of my father as a pivotal event in my young life, the difficulty I had in supporting myself to attend classes, he laid it on very thick, later a courtroom guard pointed out to me that he had never seen the lawyer work so hard for his client. Snyder even pointed out to the judge the title of the book I was reading, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I thought this a fitting read under the circumstances. The wise judge sentenced me to four counts of trafficking in narcotics, eighteen months in total, the sentences ran concurrently or I would have been away for three or four years, eighteen months seemed palatable with the usual third off for good behaviour I would be out in just a bit more than a year.
I was taken down to the lock up, the holding cells where the diddler had been beaten up. I was overcome with shock, sadness, fear and anxiety, all at once. It is rather overwhelming losing your freedom for any period. I had my resolve, I had done wrong, I agreed with the sentence, the lawyer, came and shook my hand and I thanked him, he asked if I was interested in appealing, I was not, it wasn’t long before they took me in the paddy wagon under grey skies back to the county bucket where everyone there had already heard of my sentence. It’s a real boys network, the other prisoners,they all give you a pat on the back, “a way to go, you’ll walk through that little sentence, a breeze, no big deal.” When you go to bed at night, sleep does not come quickly, you toss and turn the single 25 watt light bulb out in the mess area driving you crazy, the guard patrolling the wards tell you to get to bed, to put your book away, there’s no valium, no booze, no mothers breast to suck or hug for comfort, no coat to put on, you are totally on your own where you are going to, a taste of purgatory.
In the ward both guards and inmates give you more space when you get back after sentencing. I had been moved to the other side of the tier which was for those who had been sentenced. It didn’t matter to me, I’d been in there doing ‘dead time’ for so long that I knew almost everyone anyway in the entire prison. For some time I had wanted to shave my head, so we borrowed scissors (cheap kids style) from the guards and with the help of safety razors and a few buddies we got all the hair off in no time. I had hair then! I tossed the hair in the toilet and looked in the little stainless mirror, I was another person, now the moniker ‘Gypsy’ had a body to live in. This was my display of revolt against the injustices that were happening to me. Or so I thought.
Somewhere in the Akashic archives of the Ontario Reformatory in Guelph Ontario there is my inmate photo of this shaved head from those days and I will try to get a copy of the picture to include within. While researching this I spoke with a retired guard from the reformatory, he handled all internet inquiries about such matters..He said that almost all the records from the reformatory had been destroyed, the chances of that photo of you with your identification number, #113625 would likely never be found, unless the RCMP had copied the files for their database.
Re-energized by the relatively short sentence, I could put the future in perspective, a new timeline had been created, I would soon be living at the Guelph Reformatory much closer to home, family and friends. Life slowly started to improve, to go on a slight upswing, with a clear head for the first time in years which was a vast improvement from the schizzy previous few years. After years of inner dialogue I believe this clarity was a direct result of the cleansing that took place while I was in the Windsor Jail. I was free from drugs and alcohol perhaps for the first time since sixteen or so. I was different, in a way, it was a new beginning, a sort of epiphany, I’d have to get used to this new person.
It might very well be that I am one of the few persons to say that going to gaol was a good thing. It was for me, it slowed me right down, who knows which poor decisions I might have made, and what road one could have taken if the road seemed paved with gold or jewels and adventure.
The name of the bus which took prisoners from various places such as the Windsor bucket was the Blue Goose, it was called this I suppose as it was a big school bus painted a dull greyish blue in colour. I was given my own clothing to wear before departing the Windsor gaol. I entered the bus with a few other prisoners the spring air was invigorating as we waited to board. Standing there in the staid courtyard, handcuffed to another inmate I could taste life for the first time in quite a while. The bus was making its rounds so to speak from prison to prison in Southern Ontario. There were a handful of prisoners already onboard as it had come from Sarnia where there was another regional county bucket. The bus veered in another direction for an hour or so then stopped at the Burtch institute for a few moments to let some prisoners out the next stop was to be London, Ontario. Just the very fact of going for a ride was a pleasure, I got a window seat as the Goose was pretty empty. The bus was designed with a steel and bulletproof Plexiglas door behind the driver, another guard sat behind him and monitored each breath. On boarding you went to an assigned seat and another guard secured each prisoner by handcuffing you to a metal railing attached to your seat, this bar ran the length of the bus on both sides. I briefly thought, what a drag if there was an accident. When all were locked in the guard doing the locking located himself behind Plexiglas on the back bench, gun at hand, ready to be used, this was serious. I recall it being a dull day in mid early May, the roads being free of traffic as it was mid-morning when we left the Windsor bucket. None of us knew we were leaving that morning, part of the corrections systems security system, so you couldn’t call your buddies and tell them you were going somewhere on any particular day, it wasn’t long before we were on the open highway 401 eastbound heading toward London.
In London we were asked to get up, to use a washroom if needed or not. The ten of us were handcuffed together the way you see them do it in the movies, on chain gangs, except this was for real. There were a few very dangerous criminals being picked up in London as I recall for transfer to Kingston penitentiary. A large number of guards were on hand to escort this pair of murderers or armed robbers on to a segregated portion of the bus, where there was a separate security person, wearing a gun and holding a long thick baton. After a time you get immune to the fact your jailers have firearms, deadly force, this might be a weakness on my part, I just knew they would never need to use those things for any act I might be involved in, but others I didn’t know, their circumstances were different and perhaps their motivation to escape was greater than mine. At the London prison I could hardly believe the archaic conditions, it literally was Dickensian in mood and construction, we didn’t stay long, time enough for a cold meat sandwich and a cup of lukewarm tea, a short while later we were back on the road, next stop, Guelph Reformatory, the O.R..
"In each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We’ve got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there is a lot of grey to work with. No one can live in the light all the time."
not sure how I feel about this one, either. hmph.
By a moment. I had to go cry for a few minutes after saw them sitting there singing Jim Croce.
I was happy to catch this.
Canon Av-1
Lomography 800 speed film
Nagoshi - a ritual at Shinto shrines held every year on June 30th to "overcome the summer". Originally on the last day of the sixth month of the lunar calendar, the ritual was considered to overcome the peak of summer. Today, it feels more like sliding into summer.
On this day, you can find straw rings at Shinto shrines to go through and pray for a healthy second half of the year.
Photo taken at: Kitashirakawa Tenjin-gu
北白川天神宮にて撮影
Encyclopedia of Shinto:
"Also called nagoshi, minatsuki barae, or aranigo no harae. This term refers to the "great purification" (ōharae) that is performed on the last day of the sixth month of the lunar calendar. Since antiquity, with the adoption of the ritsuryō system, a great purification was held at the imperial court on the last day of the sixth and twelfth months. Also at the folk shrines the great purification was enthusiastically performed twice a year. The great purification at the court briefly came to an end as a result of the Ōnin War (1467-77), but it continued to flourish among the people, becoming especially famous at the Shrines Kamo Wakeikazura jinja and Kamo Mioya jinja in Kyōto and Sumiyoshi jinja in Ōsaka. At some point, the twelfth month purification (harae) was abandoned by the people and the sixth month purification became increasingly grander in scale, and becoming known specifically as nagoshi no harae. For the folk ritual of nagoshi at shrines circular rings or "gates" made of miscanthus reed (chinowa) are common. These large rings are made of reeds bundled together with paper strips and set up under a shrine's torii, or in front of its worship hall (haiden). Worshippers, led by the chief priest (gūji), pass through the reed gate and are thus purified of all defilements (kegare) and protected from misfortune. This practice originates from a legend appearing in the "Bingo Fudoki," in which Somin Shōrai, in return for housing Susano no mikoto for the night, was given a chinowa as protection against epidemic. In addition to passsing through the chinowa ring, customs of transferring one's defilement onto a puppet that is then floated down a river and of purifying oneself in seawater also exist. All of these popular nagoshi practices are intended as protection against bad communicable diseases. There is also a custom in some areas from Chūgoku to Kyūshū in which the last day of the sixth lunar month is called "nagoshi" and regarded as a turning point on which it is the custom to lead cows and horses to the river or the sea to entertain them. Scholars believe that this custom extended the idea of human purification to include domestic animals as well. See also Chinowa."
(<a href="http://eos.kokugakuin.ac.jp/modules/xwords/entry.php?entryID=1064"
Brand new Stagecoach North West No.11152 working service 1 to Lancaster University on Greaves Road. Sunday 13 January 2019 marks the first day in service for this batch of buses.
This bus is part of a last minute order for 18 buses allocated to Lancaster to overcome crowding on University corridor services since the October 2018 network revisions. This enables existing double deck buses to cascade onto service 2 replacing saloons.
APRIL 11, 2023 WASHINGTON DC. WORLD BANK GROUP/INTERNATIONAL MONETARY FUND 2023 SPRING MEETINGS
Overcoming Debt, Generating Growth
Rising interest rates and slowing global growth are tipping a growing number of countries into debt crises. Yet global initiatives to help countries overcome these vulnerabilities have proved insufficient. Debt transparency remains inadequate. These vulnerabilities are making it harder for many developing economies to recover from the setbacks of the past three years. This event explores what they can do to avoid debt crises and generate growth at a time when public-debt levels are at 50-year highs.
Speakers: David R. Malpass, President of the World Bank Group; Tina Vandersteel, Head of Emerging Country Debt, GMO; Raghuram Rajan, Professor of Finance, University of Chicago's Booth School; Raghuram Rajan, Professor of Finance, University of Chicago's Booth School; Nigel Clarke, Minister of Finance and the Public Service, Jamaica. Host: Paul Blake, External Affairs Officer, World Bank Group Photo: World Bank / Leigh Vogel
Took a little drive into Frankston today.
Sorry about the slight over exposed spot....Someone forgot their ND grad filters!!!
©EvLloyd.com
There will be a time that all the walls will fall.
There will be a day when what's modern collapses away.
It might take centuries but until then vines will climb.
Mother Nature will reclaim everything in the end.
She will tear down that fucking wall.
One chapter closes, another begins. We all know the drill...
I began my foray into retail photography in 2011. Sometimes we wish time could stand still, that a moment could be preserved for the future and saved from being thrown in the memory hole to be lost forever. Photography has been there for me as a hobby for me through the good times and pushed me to overcome those times that were horrible. Over the years, I've grown as a photographer and most importantly, as a person. I've met or talked to many great people and truly appreciate the support from all of you over the years. Through photography, I was given a sense of purpose in this world that sometimes seems to be lacking one.
Please enjoy these photos from my trip to the Galleria mall in downtown Cleveland back in June 2015. I somehow never got around to posting these photos from one of my all-time favorite photoshoots. These photos to me symbolize the high point of my photography, as I was actually being filmed by a crew from Vice at the time (visible in the background of some of these shots). I was always going on day trips to photograph new locations and posting regularly back then too. It seems like now is as fitting of a time as any to post some of these shots.
One of the hard lessons of life is that nothing lasts forever... I'm now 23 and focusing on going forth with a career. Lately, I've been mostly working six days a week; it doesn't appear that will change anytime in the near future. A large part of me wants to continue to capture and post new photos, but sadly I just don't have the time anymore. I have never made money off of my photography nor do I see any path towards doing so. One day, I still plan to own my own business and hopefully even have time for photography again. I'd love to get permission to explore abandoned places plus take the time and effort to capture some amazing photos that would put anything I have done up to this point to shame. It looks like it is going to be a while before (or even if) that happens though. I will likely still post some things sporatically, but nothing like I used to.
So one chapter closes and another begins. There's plenty to look forward to on the road ahead plus i'll be sure to look back on the past every so often.
So, it is with a heavy heart that I say farewell, at least for now...
Thank you all for being there through this journey; I wish you all the best and hope you all are successful on your own endeavours.
-Nicholas Eckhart
Full set of Women’s March NYC images here:
www.flickr.com/photos/jimkiernan/albums/72157677929379890
Other Protest Images, Here:
March on Washington (2014)
www.flickr.com/photos/jimkiernan/albums/72157649757466322
Ramarley Graham Rally (2013)
www.flickr.com/photos/jimkiernan/albums/72157633522048023
Trayvon Martin Rally (2012)
www.flickr.com/photos/jimkiernan/albums/72157629639260721
Occupy Wall Street – Day One (2011)
Don't forget to visit mThanks for checking my photostream.
Don't forget to visit my website and Facebook page
Website: Photography by Soumen
Facebook Page: Photography by Soumen
/Current/
Happiness in most cases overcomes me, i tend to fight the feelings as they scare me. What could make me happy could disappear the next day, that shit scares the fuck out of me. I guess that's why i run, i guess that why i corner myself. That's why i move so fast, that's why im like this. Why am i like this? I claim to have a definite answer but that i don't, i mean fuck does anyone? I guess in the grand scheme of things were all just trying to find our damn ways in this fucking thing we call life. But as of late i can't help but feel cornered further more than i have ever been before. Every time i start to feel the sweet lust of happiness it just disappears, back in the day i could pin point it to a definite subject, usually retaining to myself, but now? There is no guilty party, none that i can see. I tend to find it hardest to find my sadness’s answer when i'm alone, they days i am in my somber moods, i tend to close off. I see the world as this dark vessel, i write stories about imaginary people. People who i wish i could be, the hero, the courageous, the loved. I know it sounds clique but the people i create are me, there a bi product of my life. My writings reflect the troubled thoughts within my mind, that's why they tend to ramble, be incoherent and sometimes unneeded. Im sure of it, that even in these writings my brain has wandered off and became a vessel of different discovery. But these moments are the ones i see the world from a third person point of view, as if i was narrating each point in my life. I can look back upon the past moments and feel remorseful but not saddened. This is the only escape i have, so much shit happens to me. And i get cornered, i begin to close off until my heart lets me free for a while. No matter where i am this can occur, especially over these past few months this out of body experience has been occurring, due to my shitty circumstances. I know it sounds like i'm creating the most handsome pity party, but it's just my brutal honesty. Why should i say anything else? I heard so often as a kid, “it could always be worse!” how they fuck do they know? I sound angered but truly i don't understand the saying, just let me have my shitty day, just let me be sad, just let me be.
“Hey, its uh been a while, how have you been? Wait that's a dumb question I'm sorry, uh forgot this was a voice inbox, anyways it's been about oh god, three months? Yeah that sounds about right! Today would of been our sixth month anniversary, crazy right? Sorry that sounded weird, what I mean is… I actually don't know what I mean. But uhm I'm calling to- to uhm just check in, how have you been? Heard through the some kids that you got back together with Mark? Uh that's awesome Katie! Truly awesome, I miss you a lot, I was actually thinking about you a couple of days ago, uhm I was talking to my mom, and we brought you up when we passed by your house. Not saying I was at your house, ugh uhm you remember my drive to therapy right? Yeah I pass right by your house, weird right? Anyways we passed by and we began to talk about me and you. Don't worry nothing bad just simple chat about… how things went. After my session got out I began to like- think about you, not in a weird stalker way but like in a friendly way, I remember a couple of months ago you said you would love to be friends. But I said no, my bad! But I'm here to take you up on your offer, I figured that we should like catch up sometime. And chat, if uhm Mark would be like cool with that, don't want to like make anyone made. Oh crap! My bad,Uhm just realized I had been talking for like three minutes. Well I hope you call me back! And I would love to chat, alright I hope to talk to you soon katie. Have a good one.”
“Deep within the heartland lies his heart and hers, I know, I know here goes Nathan talking about some metaphorical bullshit! I know it's a common theme in my talks, but it works for the sake of the story I promise. So deep within this heartland lies him, just a small little figure in the grand scheme of the thousands of dying flowers, just on the edge of breaking. Yet there something so beautiful in the way the strive to stay within this garden, so there he is, in the garden of the perished… looking aimlessly for something, what could it be? It's her. A simple yet complex answer. Who is she you ask? Well this I don't know, no one does, you see in the heartland there is no name until given, I know, I know. Sounds pretty forceful right? Not really, I guess all it pertains to is the face he see’s. Once he lays eyes upon the person of his dreams, he will know her name. Yet it's strangely quiet? Why is that? Well that's because there's no one in the garden besides for him. He stands alone vacant in movement, staring aimlessly into the vast distance that is the garden. He has been waiting here for. Six years, the same thing from day till dusk. He doesn't sleep, he's doesn't eat, he just breathes. And looks further for his love. The garden over time has grown grim and pale. And so has he, his skin has wrinkled over these years. But his heart has remained the same, day in, day out, he looks further more into the garden only to see pale picture of dying roses. He shall remain here until, well I'm guessing you know until when. But luckily years pass fast in this land, we have traveled eight long years into the future, the flowers have all but died off, and he is dying to. Yet the girl has not been shown. One gloomy night he is standing with the flowers looking upon the now desolate garden, when he falls over. His back clashes against the flowers, his heart is beating. Faster and faster with each and every breath. It seems to be almost- time for him. Before he takes his last final breath he peers over at a flower, one that was once dead had bloomed once more. A beautiful site it was. He grabbed it gently with his hand, smiled. Then his eyes closed, and darkness overcame him.”
Heartland
Love Is A series of random writings. That i have created over time and some as of recent. I hope you guys enjoy this series, its a new direction im trying to take, and i hope you guys love this first teaser!!!
/Love/-Coming Soon!!!!
Pictures on Flickr reminded me that I had overlooked a very powerful social medium. So, here's my contribution. The children in the picture are from the African Children's Choir, a group in Uganda (children are from that country, as well as South Africa, Zambia, and Zimbabwe). They are orphans, having lost their parents to AIDS. Yet, they show an astonishing spirit, which they express in some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard.
Adelaide Barden (as Dorine) and Georgia Myers (as Marianne) from a production of Molière's 'Tartuffe' by Bede's Drama department, which was at Sweet Grassmarket, during Edinburgh Fringe 2017.
Ttile of this shot kindly supplied by Mrs. Malaprop. ;-)
Created for Faestock - Challenge #13
Background- inertiak.deviantart.com/art/InertiaKBG5-144640005
Texture- Thanks for sharing!-- www.flickr.com/photos/8078381@N03/4419847734/in/set-72157...
Brushes- www.obsidiandawn.com
Hommage to the fine structure constant, a mysterious, dimensionless number that governs the bond between charged elementary particles. Imagine the force between two bodies. What draws them together? What keeps them apart? What must you overcome to make a connection?
Pencil and marker on board. inspired by Maxwell's groundbreaking text: A Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism (1873)
Day 319 ~ Overcoming Fear
Monday, November 14th, 2016
Anna competed in the STAR bowling tournament on Monday. The kids had been practicing for about 5 weeks and all the parents, grandparents, and loved ones were invited to watch them bowl against other schools. Each lane had one bowler from each high school and 1-2 peer helpers. Fiesta Lanes also provided lunch. It was very well organized. I was a little worried when I saw the mascot for Canyon High School. Historically Anna has been terrified by mascots. She has been working on confronting this fear this year and had already talked with the mascot at one of the pep rallies. You can imagine my pride when I saw her hugging the mascot. Yay, way to go, Anna!!!