Sunday, August 28, 2011

A Book is a Book...no matter what the cover looks like

So this weekend was my 30th Birthday Bash and boy was it fun! Friends came in from all over just to celebrate the awesomeness of me (see how modest I am?)

And I couldn't have asked for a better time. Well with that being said, as a treat from my "wife" Nicole, I was given a leather bound journal and she asked everyone that came to the party to sign it and she would give it to me later. So the night went on and the party swelled to the point where I probably couldn't have more fun - but then everyone sang to me and Nicole gave a very moving speech that made want to tear up. I still think maybe it was the alcohol - or maybe I am just that big of a sap.

Later, after the party had ended and I had made it home (safely thanks to my wonderful brother) I sat down and opened the leather journal to read the contents of what my friends had written to me. And what I read made me smile and cry and beam with pride. I have some of the best and I mean BEST  friends in the whole world. Some of the things that were written moved me to the point of tears and I loved it.

Nicole gave me one stipulation - the book had to be used. Whether it was for writing down my thoughts, dreams, quotes I like or even clips from magazines. It had to be used and dammit, I plan on using it! So a book is a book, regardless of it's cover. And it can hold meaning to someone without it meaning a damn thing to anyone else.



So maybe a journal is something that will inspire you as well.
Happy reading everyone!
~Anastasia

Sunday, August 21, 2011

What's made me better....

Has anyone ever had that moment when something, whether it be a book, movie or song, that has changed your life? Well maybe not changed your life, but at least helped you get through the time in your life that needs some assistance. I remember the first time a book helped me get through a part of my life that needed help. I was young, probably 10 or 11, and I had just read Maniac Magee for school (but so did a lot of us). Though I am not quite certain as to the circumstances surrounding why it helped me – it was 20 years ago – I remember that I felt better, more grown up, than I was before.
There have been several books like that throughout my life – “The Bluest Eye” by Toni Morrison was probably the biggest one that impacted me in my teen years. I read it when I was a senior in High School. I was 17 years old. My English teacher that year, Mr. Banks, was one of the most influential teachers in my life. He was great. He taught us it was okay to like things that we normally wouldn’t consider liking and I think that it made us into better students and eventually better adults. But I’m getting off track here…back to “The Bluest Eye”.
I read the book as part of a project where at the end of the quarter we had to do a presentation. This scared the crap out of me. First off, at that age, what teenager (especially one that has always kept to herself) wants to stand up in front of a whole class and tell people why the book was special? Because I sure as hell didn’t want to do that! But, I had to swallow my fear (let’s face it, it wasn’t pride holding me back) and get up there and tell people why I cried like a baby when I finished the book. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to compare the book to something relevant to a high school mentality. So one night, while watching the Disney version of “Beauty and the Beast” (don’t make fun of me, it’s a good movie) I decided to take the clip of the transformation scene and play that to compare the book. Now If you don’t know anything about the book, the rough synopsis is this:
Nine-year-old Claudia and ten-year-old Frieda MacTeer live in Lorain, Ohio, with their parents. It is the end of the Great Depression, and the girls’ parents are more concerned with making ends meet than with lavishing attention upon their daughters, but there is an undercurrent of love and stability in their home. The MacTeers take in a boarder, Henry Washington, and also a young girl named Pecola. Pecola’s father has tried to burn down his family’s house, and Claudia and Frieda feel sorry for her. Pecola loves Shirley Temple, believing that whiteness is beautiful and that she is ugly.
Pecola moves back in with her family, and her life is difficult. Her father drinks, her mother is distant, and the two of them often beat one another. Her brother, Sammy, frequently runs away. Pecola believes that if she had blue eyes, she would be loved and her life would be transformed. Meanwhile, she continually receives confirmation of her own sense of ugliness—the grocer looks right through her when she buys candy, boys make fun of her, and a light-skinned girl, Maureen, who temporarily befriends her makes fun of her too. She is wrongly blamed for killing a boy’s cat and is called a “nasty little black bitch” by his mother.
We learn that Pecola’s parents have both had difficult lives. Pauline, her mother, has a lame foot and has always felt isolated. She loses herself in movies, which reaffirm her belief that she is ugly and that romantic love is reserved for the beautiful. She encourages her husband’s violent behavior in order to reinforce her own role as a martyr. She feels most alive when she is at work, cleaning a white woman’s home. She loves this home and despises her own. Cholly, Pecola’s father, was abandoned by his parents and raised by his great aunt, who died when he was a young teenager. He was humiliated by two white men who found him having sex for the first time and made him continue while they watched. He ran away to find his father but was rebuffed by him. By the time he met Pauline, he was a wild and rootless man. He feels trapped in his marriage and has lost interest in life.
Cholly returns home one day and finds Pecola washing dishes. With mixed motives of tenderness and hatred that are fueled by guilt, he rapes her. When Pecola’s mother finds her unconscious on the floor, she disbelieves Pecola’s story and beats her. Pecola goes to Soaphead Church, a sham mystic, and asks him for blue eyes. Instead of helping her, he uses her to kill a dog he dislikes.
Claudia and Frieda find out that Pecola has been impregnated by her father, and unlike the rest of the neighborhood, they want the baby to live. They sacrifice the money they have been saving for a bicycle and plant marigold seeds. They believe that if the flowers live, so will Pecola’s baby. The flowers refuse to bloom, and Pecola’s baby dies when it is born prematurely. Cholly, who rapes Pecola a second time and then runs away, dies in a workhouse. Pecola goes mad, believing that her cherished wish has been fulfilled and that she has the bluest eyes.

The video was played and I remember looking back at Mr. Banks and he had this look of astonishment on his face - almost as if he didn't expect a 17 year old high school student to come up with that kind of message.

There are so many more books that have influenced my life and I am so excited to keep sharing these stories with you. Until then, happy reading!

~ Anastasia

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Beginning

To say that books saved my life is bit of an over dramatization - but in the world that books have created for me then yes, I guess that statement would stand true. I have loved the written word before I can even remember. When I was a child I used to lay on my bed and "read" even though the words on the page before me didn't mean a thing to me. It was all in my imagination - each book was a new adventure and I have kept that attitude into my adulthood.
I am told that when I was laying on my bed "reading" I would yell down the stairs to my parents "I don't know a word" In response my father would usually yell back "Spell it Annie!" A moment of silence would go by and then my voice (which I really don't remember because to me I have always sounded like an adult) replied "A. Q. T. F. B." From there, the usual response (after what I learned later was a moment of laughter) was usually "Bunny or cat." Fine with the answer I would go back to the book and continue to read - regardless of whether the story was about a bunny or a cat.
This is me at four years old. Part of me wishes that there are pictures of me with my "books" I guess I will have to go searching for those. Until then, I bid you happy reading.

~Anastasia