A Startling Fact about Top Play School in PalamVihar Uncovered
Facts, Fiction and Top Play School in Palam Vihar
The teachers have to be qualified to be teaching and equipped with the essential materials and methods. She is the most significant factor that decides your school. School is really the most important spot for the growth of the kid. Play school an essential function in developing child’s emotional and social skills as it enables the child to communicate with different classmates, make them play and learn simultaneously.
The school encourages its students to get involved in all round activities to guarantee complete evolution of the children. Therefore, if you too are looking for a Top Play School in Palam Vihar, then you have to look at going through our list.
Play school the child to recognize his field of interest and allow him to explore more. Sanskriiti Top Play in School Palam Vihar delivers a wide selection of facilities like digitally equipped classrooms and more for your child. Pre schooling plays a pivotal part in your children’s life.
The school has a rather well-maintained infrastructure. It has a library that has a good collection of books. It has a well-trained staff that is very dedicated to teaching. It’s the number one play school and among the top few schools in Palam Vihar.
Children get an opportunity to connect in school with different children that are coming from different family backgrounds, which then help them to understand to co-operate and learn to deal with the situations that arise from time to time.
When a kid feels easy and comfortable he will have the ability to learn more and stay focus. To participate within this form of play, children want to have gotten to a stage of development in which they’re intellectually able to comprehend and accept rules 11Patterns of Play 6. The child needs to be co-curricular active also. The closer and safer the place, the more secure your child and you’ll feel. You can search Play school near me Palam Vihar.
Every parent is worried about the maturation of their toddler and would like to make sure that the play school, their kid is admitted to, does fulfill their youngster’s needs and let them grow physically, mentally and creatively too. Parents should crucially select the play school which focuses on overall evolution of the kid. So, here are some suggestions to ensure it is enjoyable and pleasant for both parents and kids.
Significant cities have schools with best facilities where your children can get best education. Sanskriiti play school gives the best resources for your child. It’s also thought of as among the finest in the nation. The exact same is also true in regards to playing a piano or keyboards. It can help you to guide to produce a better choice with respect to your kid’s schooling and future.
Our focus is to offer the engaging environment to students where they can learn with each other to boost their talent. The environment must be somewhat vibrant and colorful.
The infrastructure of the school was dynamic with the newest equipment and facilities so they could compete with students on a worldwide level. There are computer facilities in every single class. If you search Play school near me Palam Vihar then Sanskriiti is the best option for you.
Can a Novel Capture the Contradictions of Female Desire?
Miranda Popkey’s début novel, “Topics of Conversation,” opens in Italy, in 2000. The unnamed narrator, twenty-one and set to begin graduate coursework in the fall, has been brought along on a wealthy friend’s family vacation. She’s the babysitter. One evening, after the children are asleep, their mother, Artemisia, a formidable psychoanalyst who was born in Argentina, joins the narrator on the hotel terrace. Prompted by a bottle of wine, a pack of cigarettes, and the narrator’s talk of a recent breakup, she is soon recounting the events that hastened the collapse of an earlier marriage. The narrator, mesmerized by the older woman’s poise, the conviction of her self-knowledge, listens but barely speaks.
Artemisia’s story is about power: who has it and why, how it animates and shapes desire. The story’s dénouement may or may not warrant the label of rape. Artemisia doesn’t use that word. The word she does use is “violence.” Her husband showed her his strength, pushing her against the wall, one hand on her shoulder, one on her neck. But, instead of fear, it was appreciation and relief that overwhelmed her: appreciation because he had restored to their relationship the power hierarchy that she preferred, relief because she had been “released from control.” This is a startling opening scene, but what startles most is not, as one might expect, the husband’s display of brutality. It’s the vast disparity, the deep conflict, between Artemisia’s desire for absolute narrative control and her desire for sexual submission.
Toward the middle of the book, some fourteen years after this Italian vacation, the same disparity crops up once more—but here it’s the narrator who internalizes it. Of the intervening years, we have learned that she married and abruptly divorced a kale-loving man, a classmate in her grad-school cohort, whom she describes as “nice” and “ever so understanding.” She is mocking him. He is exactly the kind of partner a liberated woman is supposed to want, and yet she despises him for it. Divorced and living with her young son in California, the narrator has assembled a group of other single mothers. Again, there is wine and talk. This time, it is the narrator who holds forth, carefully unfurling her own story. She recites it with a dramatic sense of remove; with time, the narrative has accrued significance, like rust on iron left in the damp. The story takes place in a hotel room. She is twenty—“an adult,” she makes explicit, if still a college student—when she begins an affair with a married professor in his early forties. The hotel is where they spend their first night together. He pushes her, fully clothed, face-first onto the bed, then sets one hand on her back and one on her neck and presses down. He steps back. When she twitches, he says, “Don’t fucking move.” Maybe twenty minutes pass before he orders her to get up. They do not have sex. “The whole time he was watching me,” she reveals to her audience of other mothers, “I didn’t have to do anything. There were no choices to make.” She liked it. She would never have known to ask for it.
This contrast—of women raring to assert their agency in one context, then willing, even eager, to relinquish it another—captured my interest in part because of its familiarity. I’d seen it crop up recently in widely praised works both written by and featuring brazen, outspoken, and almost always middle-class white women. It’s in Sally Rooney’s “Conversations with Friends,” when Frances tries unsuccessfully to get Nick—older, married, kind—to choke and hit her during sex. And in Rooney’s “Normal People,” when Marianne discloses to gentle, sensitive Connell, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, that another man has hit her with a belt, choked her—that she asked for it, enjoyed it. It’s also in the second season of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s TV series “Fleabag,” when Fleabag confesses—literally—to the priest she lusts after. All she truly wants is someone (by implication him, or maybe Him) to tell her “what to wear every morning,” to instruct her on “what to like, what to hate, what to rage about . . . what to believe in . . . how to live my life.”
These scenes both do and do not seem like ordinary kink. All sex, of course, is psychological, but the source of the charge here is more than just a dom-sub mind game. What vitalizes them is the friction of the characters’ incongruent desires: on the one hand, to embrace the simplicity of someone else’s authority; on the other, to assert their own authorship. Popkey’s narrator, though not a writer, has a literary sensibility—her dissertation is on “female pain in Jacobean revenge tragedies,” and her idea of a beach read is “The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950–1962”—and it’s on masterly display in the scene with the single moms. Like a plotting author, she engineers a game: they will go around in a circle relaying their origin stories, the narrative that explains how they got to this place, “with the wine and the kid and the no partner, the moment when that became inevitable.” It’s a premise that grants her permission to deliver a personal monologue, to test-drive the story of her becoming. She tweaks some of the facts (instead of a student, she’s an intern; instead of a professor, he’s a peer), but she is emphatic in the authority of what she’s saying. She tells the single moms that “there’s a line” through her life, and “it runs straight from that hotel room.”
Does she believe all this? Is she trying to make herself believe it? Years earlier, listening to Artemisia, she envied the older woman’s narrative control: “I, at twenty-one, did not, had not yet settled on the governing narrative of my life. Had not yet realized the folly of governing narratives.” And yet, a part of her seems to hope authorial mastery will overcome personal folly: “of course life is random, a series of coincidences, etc., but . . . to live you must attempt to make sense of it, and that’s what narrative’s for.” Maybe if she tells the narrative well enough it will be true. And, if it is true, then maybe she can finally be coherent; the past decisions that perplex her most, those moments that reek of self-sabotage or that hurt people she loves, were all along foreordained, set in motion by that catalyzing moment. Even if she had tried to, she could never have done anything otherwise. The right narrative, she understands, can release her of responsibility.
Rooney’s Frances and Marianne and Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag share with Popkey’s narrator a literary proclivity, which can also manifest as an anxiety. They, too, want to assemble the type of story that is also a kind of proof. Frances gets her first story published in the course of the novel, Marianne is bookish and academically successful, and they are both so-called digital natives. For them, communicating through text and e-mail, Facebook and I.M.—which is to say through writing—is as instinctive as speech, sometimes preferable to it. “I had been so terribly noisy and theatrical all the way through,” Frances worries after sleeping with Nick the first time, “that it was impossible now to act indifferent like I did in e-mails.” To be online is to craft—and control—a persona, however deliberate, however fussed over, however much it resembles (or not) one’s I.R.L. self. Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag is likewise aware of her audience—not an online one, although all of us watching at home are, in a sense, her followers—and may in fact be the one who’s most invested in authorial control. When she turns to the camera, to us, with direct narration, her clever quips and wry asides annotate and editorialize the plot. We are not observers of a neutral story unfolding; we are observers of a story unfolding the way she wants it to.
Once dubbed Harrisburg’s ‘mayor for life,’ Stephen Reed leaves complicated legacy
Former long-serving Harrisburg mayor Stephen R. Reed — once proclaimed the city’s “mayor for life” only to be bested in a party primary and later criminally charged as his beloved Harrisburg descended into debt — died Saturday at age 70.
Reed was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2006 and had battled it “courageously” ever since, according to a statement from his family.
Although Reed last led Pennsylvania's capital city in 2009, the indelible mark made by Harrisburg's seven-term mayor remains to this day -- for better and for worse.
On one hand, Reed is credited with bringing Harrisburg back from the brink.
When he took office in 1981, the city had been badly battered by white flight, population loss and business closings that had hollowed out a once-vibrant downtown.
On the other hand, Reed is blamed for using city money to fund a personal obsession with historical artifacts -- to the tune of tens of millions of dollars.
He also oversaw a botched incinerator project that burned through some $350 million, a move that buried the city in debt, forced it into state-monitored financial rescue and resulted in the sell-off of parking assets that sent rates skyrocketing.
Reed's loyalists defended him to the end.
"It only demonstrates that we all are capable of making mistakes and bad decisions, including myself," Fred Clark, former president of the city board that approved millions worth of Reed's artifact purchases in the 1990s and 2000s.
"No one is perfect. I also believe that Steve Reed is an honorable, dedicated public servant who has dedicated himself to others and to the city," Clark told PennLive in 2017.
Reed rose to power in Harrisburg's City Hall as an idealistic John Kennedy Democrat, a two-term state representative and former Dauphin County commissioner who believed in the ability of government to do big things.
Reed, who lacked a four-year college degree, having attended Dickinson College for a semester before withdrawing, promptly went to work on “big things” in Harrisburg.
While Kennedy had his race to the moon, some of Reed's Harrisburg "moonshots" included bringing minor league baseball to an overrun, crime-ridden, seedy City Island, a Hilton hotel to the capital's bereft downtown and later Restaurant Row to a city that once "rolled up the sidewalks" after 5 p.m.
These successes and more were credited with bringing Harrisburg back from the post-Agnes depths of the 1970s. Flooding from the 1972 tropical storm helped push residents and businesses from Harrisburg, a city already hit hard by white flight to the suburbs.
But as Harrisburg was branded an "All American City" in the 1980s, the man credited with leading the comeback was dubbed "mayor for life."
Ironically, these triumphs would provide positive reinforcement and political cover for some questionable financial practices that would help lead to Reed's – and his city's -- eventual undoing.
Reed's penchant for big projects bankrolled by bloated bond issues would saddle the city, and later the Harrisburg School District, with hundreds of millions in debt. Meanwhile, bond lawyers, banks and financial advisers handpicked by Reed would pocket big fees. These paydays only compounded when city debt would inevitably be refinanced, sometimes repeatedly, as Reed stretched out the payments further and further into the future.
Reed's stated goal was to establish Harrisburg as a tourist destination, positioning it as the third point in a geographic triangle, with Gettysburg to the south and Hershey to the east.
Harrisburg's attraction — along with the ornate Capitol, itself, and baseball on City Island — would be a series of museums, all the brainchild of Reed.
At one point at the height of his power and spending in the early 2000s, Reed envisioned five museums for Harrisburg. He began modestly with what he called the National Fire Museum in the city's midtown area. But for Harrisburg's next attraction, Reed would go big in more ways than one.
By the mid-1990s, Reed had more than a dozen years in office under his belt. He had honed Harrisburg's bond-issuing agency, known as the Harrisburg Authority, into a finely tuned money machine.
By then, the authority was issuing bonds for other municipalities and public agencies outside of Harrisburg. Reed convinced the authority's friendly, hand-picked board to direct the substantial fees it received from non-city bond deals into what Reed dubbed his "special projects fund."
The account's balance swelled into the millions, and Reed began using the money to amass a huge collection of Civil War artifacts. The authority board retroactively approved the purchases as scores of invoices streamed in from high-end artifacts dealers, the byproduct of the mayor's spending sprees.
History was a hobby of Reed's. Now he was turning it into one of Harrisburg's biggest projects ever — what Reed dubbed the National Civil War Museum.
By the time Reed publicly announced the project, to be built atop Harrisburg's Reservoir Park, the mayor had amassed a $17 million trove of Civil War artifacts, including Abe Lincoln's hatbox — but, alas, not the president's signature stove-pipe topper, itself.
Around this same time, Pennsylvania was earmarking hundreds of millions for four new sports stadiums to be split among Pittsburgh and Philly. Not to be left out, Reed managed to shake loose $16 million-plus in state capital projects funding to build the museum, with Harrisburg's $17 million in artifacts serving as the local match.
The National Civil War Museum opened in early 2001 to great fanfare. Already, Reed was privately envisioning his next museum project. And he was not only envisioning it. He secretly purchasing millions more in artifacts that he hoped to use as a local match for yet another state-funded museum.
This time, it would be a National Museum of the Old West — but located in Harrisburg.
That September, when Harrisburg's newly opened Civil War museum should have teeming with school bus trips, the triple terror attacks of Sept. 11 struck in New York, Washington and a field in Somerset County, Pa.
Tourism – the very currency Reed was counting on as the city's economic lifeblood – ground to a halt.
Harrisburg's Civil War museum began missing attendance projections in what would grow into a decade-long setback. But it wasn't just the fallout from 9/11. Critics said the museum's location atop Reservoir Park made it difficult for out-of-town tourists to find.
But by this time, however, Harrisburg had far bigger problems that threatened to blow a huge hole in the city's already-tight budget.
Reed had perfected the practice of paying off the city's old debt by borrowing anew. He applied this technique to budget-busting perfection when it came to the city's aging trash incinerator.
Problem was, the incinerator, located off Cameron Street in south Harrisburg, not only spewed smoke; it had been bleeding red ink, for decades. Worse, much of the money from Reed's repeated bond issues tied to the incinerator was never invested in fixing it.
Finally, the federal Environmental Protection Agency ordered the outdated plant to close in the early 2000s because it could no longer meet stricter air quality standards.
When the incinerator wheezed its last, the plant – and therefore the city – was saddled with $100 million in stranded debt, all due to Reed's repeated borrowings.
Money to pay the old incinerator bonds was now coming out of Harrisburg's general fund, and city deficits were piling up.
Believing he had no other choice but to double-down on the debt-ridden incinerator, Reed and a close cadre of lawyers, staff and advisers plowed ahead with a risky, $125 million renovation plan for the incinerator. The plan pinned its hopes on a new burn technology being touted by a small, untested company.
The result was a slow-motion, multi-year financial disaster that would ultimately saddle Harrisburg with $350 million in debt tied to the failed incinerator project. All that debt was a financial millstone that threatened to sink Harrisburg – pushing Pennsylvania's capital city to the brink of bankruptcy. But it would takes years for the full dimensions of this debt disaster to play out.
“I think his legacy will be the mayor who borrowed the city into oblivion,” businessman Jason Smith, who unsuccessfully ran against Reed in 2001, told PennLive.
In the meantime, Reed was still spending lavishly on western artifacts – including Annie Oakley's underwear – during multiple, city-financed trips to places like Arizona and Colorado. Word quickly spread among artifact dealers about the free-spending mayor from back east, and they rolled out the red carpet for Reed.
By the time the Patriot-News uncovered the breadth of the mayor's spending on Wild West artifacts in July 2003, Reed had spent $4.8 million for what he then publicly unveiled as a National Museum of the Old West.
Reed also outlined his full vision for Harrisburg as a heritage tourism draw: five museums, including an African-American history museum, a sports hall of fame on City Island and the Wild West museum to join the already opened Civil War museum and the much smaller-scale National Fire Museum.
This time, however, word of Reed's prodigious spending on Western and Native-American artifacts, which first appeared in a July 6, 2003, front-page story in the Sunday Patriot-News, marked the beginning of his political undoing.
Knocked off balance by the criticism, Reed put his Wild West museum plans on hold in early 2004, then scrapped the idea altogether in fall 2006. He reluctantly agreed to begin selling off the 10,000-item Western collection. But it was too late in many ways.
Beginning in 2001, Reed would face a series of three different Democrat challengers in the party primary for mayor. The third time would be the charm, when then-City Council President Linda Thompson won a shocking upset in 2009.
Ironically, the closest Reed ever came to realizing his vision of a Wild West museum was the lavish artifact display put on by a high-brow auction house in Dallas, Texas, one of several sales for the $8 million-plus collection that never recouped what Reed spent.
In a confessional March 2009 interview, as Reed was preparing to face Harrisburg voters who would turn him from office after 28 years, he expressed rare regret for his artifact obsession to the Patriot-News:
"The biggest mistake that I made was not securing broad community buy-in to the plan to create nationally scaled museum facilities clustered in Harrisburg, Pa. It wasn't that there was any secret about it, but there wasn't any broad community process where everything was unveiled at one time, input invited, and so forth and so on. In retrospect, it would certainly be done differently... The genesis of all of this was the concept of Harrisburg becoming a much bigger player in ... the tourism business."
Reed's lavish artifact spending – along with the nearly $350 million in debt from the bungled incinerator project – generated many calls for criminal investigations of Reed.
At one point, now-Mayor Eric Papenfuse claimed there was an ongoing FBI investigation of Reed and that he was a source who was given a code name and asked to wear a wire.
The FBI never confirmed nor denied the investigation, but no federal charges ever materialized.
In June 2015, investigators with the state Attorney General's office raided Reed's Cumberland Street rowhome, hauling away saddles, a totem pole, what looked like a stuffed fox, a whiskey barrel and assorted other artifacts.
The publicly humiliating raid forced Reed to break his near-total silence since being turned out of office. As he vowed to a collection of press that all the artifacts in his home were his, the gaunt-looking former mayor also announced he was battling stage 4 prostate cancer.
A grand jury would go on to charge Reed with 499 criminal counts, many related to corruption by a government official for Reed's actions regarding the artifacts. But most of those charges were dropped after a judge ruled the statute of limitations on the crimes had expired.
In the end, Reed received a sentence of two-years' probation for convictions on 20 counts of theft by receiving. The convictions were related to city-owned artifacts found in the former mayor's home.
A second attempt to prosecute Reed – this time for the failed incinerator project – fell short.
Nearly 13 years after the incinerator deal was struck, Pennsylvania Attorney General Josh Shapiro called the city's incinerator financing a "house of cards" but said no criminal charges would be filed in connection with the questionable dealings.
The April 2017 announcement capped a state investigation into Reed begun in 2013 – a full four years after he left office.
The incinerator was sold to Lancaster County Solid Waste Management Authority in December 2013 as part of the city's financial recovery. The recovery also included city tax increases and the long-term leasing out of Harrisburg's parking assets, causing rates to soar.
In the irony of all ironies, the incinerator is now operating better than it ever has. Unfortunately, Harrisburg no longer owns this moneymaker that its residents paid so dearly for.
Born Stephen Russell Reed on Aug. 9, 1949 in Chambersburg, Pa., Reed moved with his family to Harrisburg in the 1950s. He attended Bishop McDevitt High School, graduating in 1967.
Despite being named a Finnegan Fellow at Dickinson College in 1970, he never graduated.
Instead, Reed returned to Harrisburg and went to work as a first responder on ambulance crew, beginning a life of public service that would lead to the state house, the Dauphin County commissioners’ office and, finally, Harrisburg’s City Hall in 1981.
Reed would never fully shake his impulse to respond to emergencies. Throughout his nearly three decades as Harrisburg's mayor, he was known to show up day or night at fires and crime scenes, right along with the city's emergency personnel. This nocturnal habit earned Reed the nickname, "Bat Mayor."
But it was no joke.
Reed was at his best when his city was threatened by floods from the slowly swelling Susquehanna River. Throughout several flooding disasters in Harrisburg, the chain-smoking mayor was a constant, calming presence, even as his usual poker face was lined with worry.
As the flooding threat loomed, Reed provided citizens real-time, reliable information on river flood stages. And when food waters struck, he donned hip waders to go into threatened neighborhoods, along with first responders, to oversee evacuations and eventual clean-up operations.
"I devoted my life to the city of Harrisburg," Reed began in his defiant statement upon being criminally charged with corruption in 2015.
That part was true.
Thanks for visiting PennLive. Quality local journalism has never been more important. We need your support. Not a subscriber yet? Please consider supporting our work.
--
The following have been published today on PennLive:
Former Harrisburg Mayor Stephen Reed dies at 70
We have Stephen Reed to thank for City Island, Harrisburg U, Restaurant Row and more | Nancy Eshelman
Stephen Reed wasn’t a crook but a visionary: Dauphin County Commissioner George Hartwick
Harrisburg Mayor Eric Papenfuse orders flags lowered to half-staff for Stephen Reed
Longtime Harrisburg Mayor Stephen R. Reed through the years: photo gallery
Stephen Reed’s dying thoughts on Harrisburg Mayor Eric Papenfuse, as revealed by Fred Clark
Stephen Reed loved Harrisburg Senators baseball so much, he bought the team
‘Politicians had to lie to discredit him’: Ex-superintendent Gerald Kohn on Stephen Reed
Critics, rivals remember Reed for his warmth, charm: ‘People still knew that he loved this city’
Whitaker Center thanks Stephen Reed for his help in establishing it as Harrisburg’s 'Crown Jewel’
Critics, rivals remember Reed for his warmth, charm: ‘People still knew that he loved this city’
No comments:
Post a Comment