Marisa's Descriptive Essay: A Day At Home

After studying women and gender history in early America for the past semester, my views about American history have changed tremendously. Having very little prior experience with history, I had many assumptions and preconceived notions from high school history classes. Women were never even mentioned in my previous learning about U.S. history, so I assumed they took on unimportant roles and had little, if any, impact on shaping our country’s history. However, after this semester of delving deeply into the women of early America, I could not have been more incorrect. Although they were not typically in the public realm, we cannot fully understand history without studying women. The following readings uncovered the roles of women in the private sphere and were crucial to my new understanding of the importance of women in American history by bringing women to the forefront.

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is an autobiography written by Alison Bechdel. The graphic novel takes its readers through Alison Bechdel’s childhood using engaging diction and detailed drawings. One of the big themes of Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is the discovery of one’s sexual orientation. Over the course of her life, Alison Bechdel eventually comes to the realization that she is a lesbian. Ultimately, Alison Bechdel uses this novel to recount her experience of events that helped to shape her personal identity, which resulted in a transformation of the way she sees herself. In the end, Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is a wonderful narrative that shows its readers the complexity of personal identity, and how things like love, the values of

On the surface, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home seems simply to be a memoir of her journey towards discovering her own identity, and in the process, uncovering her father’s. However, the novel is far more complex. The graphic novel is not linear in the least, and mimics memory as it moves backwards and forwards in time, or returns to specific situations repeatedly. This is layered with the numerous references to previous literary texts in an interesting manner; combined, it provides emotional and informative layers to the novel. Bechdel starts to especially question binaries and pushes the boundaries of what it means to be a female and male in a relatively patriarchal society with no middle ground around the rules; as the novel shows, this affects not only Bechdel’s own pursuit towards her identity but has a significant, and ultimately fatal, impact on her father, Bruce.

Penny Pepperstein's in. the. house! It has been awhile readers but I am here again and back in action. Working with the NightLifeCo and of course my own Penny Peppersteins' Rock Bloggin' The Big O I will bring to you talented artists in every genre and I will bring to you the places to find them. Omaha thrives on entertainment and we need a place to enjoy that entertainment. Join me on this ride and hang on tight because things are about to get interesting.

Fun Home is a retelling of Alison Bechdel’s life through the lens of her relationship with her father. However, because of what she considers to have been his suicide, Alison is left with an incomplete picture of who he was in life. By calling Fun Home an autobiography, Bechdel enters an autobiographical pact with the reader that ensures that what Bechdel is telling us is the truth. However, elements out of her control leave Bechdel unable to provide certain objective facts necessary to her narrative. As an attempt to remedy these absences and in turn maintain the validity of her story, Bechdel uses intertextuality to fill in the gaps of in her retelling. By overlaying masterplots of fictional narratives over her own, the reader is able to get at an understanding of the kind of person Alison’s father was. In this way Bechdel is able to reveal things about her father that she can 't prove to be true, but are reflective enough of his life to become true.

The following morning the crisp air and golden sun flowed brilliantly into her room through the open window. The posts of the window where scratched up wood with an old part of a blond colored sheet covering it. Her sleepy eyes blinked slowly as the day began. After a whole evening and morning with the thought of school, a tornado of yes, no, maybe, and back again spiraling around. This went on about the dreary feeling morning. Her usual smile upside down and the sides drooping far down. When she finally got up and out of the rickety, springy feeling frame of the puffy stuffing, cloud like bed. Hesitantly climbing down the ladder

The deep, soulful sounding voice travelled effortlessly down the dimly lit hallway into Eva Gentry's bedroom, where the light of the morning sun slipped through several tiny openings in the thick sapphire blue drapes that covered both windows. Eva had grown quite accustomed to hearing that voice every morning for the past year and a half.

Nancy had finally moved to Australia. She just wanted to start a new life in a different place. She took everything that she stuffed and put them into boxes and shipped them to her house. Then it all goes down from here. Nancy had finally got everything set up and organized for the bed and breakfast. She put her sign up to let everyone know there was a bed and breakfast there. It took about a week until someone finally showed up and asked to stay for the night.

A bright sunshine spanning across the long horizon awakens all with open shutters. I awoke with the birds chirping in my ears, a bright shining yellow beam of light glistened the black dark sheets of which covered me during the ice-cold night, not as though they did much for warmth, during the coldest night of which I rest within these doors, shutters slammed back and forth awakening me from my rest, the dark night crept into the room with its unwanted cold breeze alongside with it. The icy, bitter wind pierced through the bed sheets like a pin through a leaf leaving a sharp numbing sensation through my body. Although a horrible night, a beautiful morning. I stood up and walked over to the rugged light brown window ledge and looked in wonder

It was a rainy morning, giving off a gloomy vibe. Justin's alarm clock went off, softly humming out a light and comforting tune. Sitting up and stretching out his arms, Justin rubs his eyes and blinks away sleepiness. "Good morning sun!~" He grins at the sun as it peeks into his room, lightening it. Throwing off his covers, he gets up and walks to his mirror. He yawned and ruffles his short and messy brown hair. The mop he called his hair was a bit longer on one side than it was the other, reaching down to his shoulder. His blue eyes sparkled as he walked over to his dresser, opening a few drawers.

The undertone of bleach hung in the air as Agnes listened to countdown on the Motorola radio, blasting Bay City Rollers. She looked up at the polystyrene tiled ceiling and stood up ready for the evening shift. As she walked along the slate grey floor of the emergency ward the afternoon sun streamed in the west-facing windows, abrasive on Agnes's mahogany eyes, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days.

The winter sun slowly rose over the horizon erasing the shadows of the night and all the storm clouds that had brought winter’s first snowfall. The fresh snow lay like a blanket over the streets cocooning the city in an embrace while the winter sunlight quietly snuck into the darkened bedroom. It encouraged the crisp winter breeze to play with the curtain attempting to keep it out. The sunlight scared away the shadows that seemed to try to suffocate the room; the sunlight dance upon a figure that laid on the bed that was in the center of the room. The figured rolled to their side trying keep the sunlight from ruining their sleep. Yet, as they started to fall back asleep the peacefulness that surrounded the room was pierced by the hi pitch alarm of her phone.

Tattered and torn, the city now rests around me, drained of its soul. The streets that once bustled with life, now, stands empty. Gone are the food vendors and the women in their bright clothes selling hand made goods from their carts and baskets. Gone are the children who played amidst the crowds, causing havoc amongst sellers. Gone, are the array of bright lights that announced the festive nights, as sounds of celebration and laughter brought the city to life. Now even at midday, the streets accompanied a deafening silence. Only to be disturbed by the sound of distant gunfire, that sparked waves of unease to settle throughout the town. With the wind now (howling) at my ear, all I see around me are the battered, beaten sidewalks and the shattered glass of broken store fronts which, inside laid rummaged by desperate looters.

I was an uneventful day and the bright morning sun gistered against the morning dew as it shun through my shiny bedroom window. My bedroom reminds me of a store with endless products and a theatre with a large television. I am just wealthy. My family is wealthy. I was heading downstairs in my blue nike bed slippers, hopped off with my favorite sweat pants and extended shirt. I was doing my regular routine of checking what my wife is cooking for breakfast.

As the morning quickly approached, basking the lands within the gentle caress of warmth from the kiss of light that painted the sky various shades - the female couldn't help but resent the sun for the first time in her life. The awkward angle had drawn forth a slight crick at the base of her neck, making any form of movement sluggish and slightly painful. If the angle alone did not cause her resentment, it was the lack of a decent nights sleep. It was rare that she even stayed up past the sunset, the cool air often forcing her to retire early an attempt to pass the time by. For the first time in her life, she had pushed past her exhaustion and pain, choosing to stay up with someone who...