Dangers of Reading

 Can you imagine a world without reading, if you were a woman?  At the time listed, women were little more than a breeder, servant, a stay-at-home mother and wife.  

life of a woman

fantasy vs. reality

Why were women discouraged from reading? “In Madame Bovary, I think Flaubert is channeling a century of worries about young women as particularly susceptible to the fantasies they find in novels and the seductions of reading,” Margaret Cohen, a professor of French language, literature and civilization, told Op-Talk.

From the late 18th century through the middle of the 19th, she added, women “were considered to be in danger of not being able to differentiate between fiction and life.”

Try that again, and bad things will happen to men who try to dictate who and what a woman was. Bring it, and see how women react to that.  

In the Li-Bree

Highclere Castle Library

Since the introduction of “Downton Abbey”, life in the great houses has fascinated me.  Not the stairs or the gowns and not the life style of the occupants, but it is the signature possessions that indicate “Now, here!  And here!  Well-to-do people live here!”

For me, the greatest indicators are the libraries (li-brees). 

Authenticity and status demanded floor to ceiling bookshelves, weighted with huge ancient books.  Faded leather bindings and spines, line up carefully with huge tomes on the top shelf, newer books in descending shelves.

Even in the respectable American homes, loaded bookcases mark the home as being one of means.

So many questions, I have so many:

1.   How is the library used in those houses?

2.   Do the Aged Leather bound books way up on top have a meaning?

3.   Did anyone read those books?

4.   If they did, where would one start?

5.   If the books were read, did anyone read them from start to finish?

6.   Who re-shelved these books?

7.   Would one have a cool library ladder?

8.   Who dusted those books (a female servant?)?

9.   What happened to those books as they deteriorated? And who ever checked to see if the crumbling books should be thrown out?

Did anyone actually know what books they had?

That is all I wanted to know. Well,not all, but I am certain you may have questions of your own. Any answers?

I want #78 on the third shelf down.

Eighteen Defining Thoughts

Your thoughts....

Share 18 defining thoughts….

I do not think I can hit #18, but will at least write a few.

#1 and most important is my relationship with God.  Even when my beliefs were wobbling, God kept His hand over me, protecting me.  Through Jesus Christ, my sins are forgiven.

#2 is the love my husband and I share.

#3 …my children who are now mature adults.  John and I were young parents, in our 20s, and did not know what we were doing.  Somehow, these wonderful people did not know that at the time.

#4 …writing, which began when I was barely able to read. Pencil on school lined paper or pen on better paper, writing is more than just tossing some words.  Writing is a constant growing experience which expands the brain and makes me smile.

#5 …art.  My aspiration at one time was to be an artist.  Have a minor in art.  I watched my gr-daughters quite a bit when they were young; we did art together, with me teaching. (I had a “Grandma Bag” which carried a variety of art supplies.)  Maybe I will be more active now that my gr-daughters are pursuing other arts.

#6 …quilting…which is also art.  Colors make my heart sing.

#7 …reading and journaling.  Books of all types and genre.  My husband loves astronomy and so do I.

#8 …my siblings are precious to me.  There were once five of us, three brothers and my sister.  Two brothers died while in their 40s. 

#9 …memories of my parents and long-past relatives. 

#10 …the stories from my family that I recall and write down, now with the speed a computer provides.

#11 ...seeing a baby...holding a baby...watching parents holding babies....a baby's smile...

Well, now you have it!  There are more but they would probably seem unimportant when I re-read this.

Baby!

                                                                         

Electronic Books! Bah!

My husband thinks he wants one of those electronic books.  The Kindle ™ started off a few years ago, and cost upwards of $300.  Now the knock-offs are between $100-150, and he thinks he would like one.

I know better.  I bought him an iPod for Christmas a few years back.  Our son loaded some songs on it, and my husband took it.  Somewhere.  He doesn’t really know where it is, and it has been two years since he last saw it.  It is a source of tension between us, since I spent about $290 on it, after hearing him wax on and on in praise of the iPod.  It was a cute turquoise, about the size of a miniature box of matches.  Maybe that was the problem; it was just too darn small.  He is in stage 3 of the search for the thing, which means I have asked him about it again, and he has initiated a third search for it.

The electronic book is bigger, though, and a ‘book cover’ can be purchased to make the device seem more like a book.  The problem is that my husband reads mainly in the bathroom, for looonnnnnggg stretches of time.  I know he is done when I hear the sound of the paper book hitting the tile floor, and then the flush.  He couldn’t do that with an electronic book.  Also, he likes to underline thoughts, words, ideas, etc. in the books.  It doesn’t matter what kind of book it is.  Fiction, nonfiction, science fiction—he underlines things.  It takes a little work to underline things in an electronic book, and seems to be a waste of time.  Finally, he likes to own books; he likes to take one off the shelf, and thumb through it.  It makes him feel almost rich, having shelves of books. 

No, I don’t see the purchase of any type of electronic book in the future, but then he may go behind my back and get one.  That would be unwise, very unwise on his part.  I would not be happy. 

Write! Just write!

“Write!  Just put your pencil to the paper, and start writing!  Write the spelling list, if you want!  Writing anything ultimately leads to writing something! “   As a teacher of writing, I must have said that to my students thousands of times.  Eventually, students lost the fear of the white paper, and started putting words together, and moved on to thinking of themselves as writers.  No, not just writers:  They were authors!

It all started with a book.  At the beginning of the school year, I chose some awesome books, with wonderful illustrations, excellent language, and magnetic appeal.  With younger students, I pulled out The Great Kapok Tree by Lynne Cherry.  Or I unpacked The Mitten by Jan Brett.  Then there was always Jumanji or The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg.  Amazing books with amazing illustrations and amazing springboard language, all them enticed those future writers/authors.

Older students discovered the writings of Lois Lowry: The Giver, Number the Stars.  Some loved Jeanne DePrau:  The City of Ember series.  How about Red Badge of Courage?  The Screwtape Letters?  To Kill a Mockingbird?  Who can’t read those, and find the head swimming in images, powered by words.

It all started with many books.  Students kept a Reading Response Journal, in which they wrote summaries, new vocabulary, their feelings about what was read.  The great thing was they didn’t have to grab words out of the word-storing part of the brain; they could use the words from the book.  In fact, they were supposed to copy those words when writing about the book.  Write a poem?  They wrote “found poems”.  They went through the book, and copied down lines with strong imagery; they used the simple predicates; they wrote down the subject of the sentence with its modifying adjectives.  Line by line, their poems shouted out the power of writing.  I love teaching.  I loved teaching writing.  I love writing most of all.