5 “Must-reads” That Should be in Every Woman’s Personal Library

Happy Women's History Month! There are still a few more days to recognize the awesomeness of women, and I'd like to introduce you to a mentor-woman friend of mine who is here to share wisdom on being the best woman that you can be. Enjoy!


As we celebrate National Women’s History Month, I am reminded of all the sisterly support and growth I have experienced over the years, from the wisdom of women.

Sometimes this edification and guidance comes by way of sage advice from girlfriends in my “Fave five” group; other times it shows up through empowering reads offered up by my favorite female authors.

Either way, it’s a God-send.
Words are powerful. They enable us to share “ah-ha” moments, provide healing, offer hope, transcend, and feel connected through universal experiences.
Even the “Good book” extols its virtues.

With this in mind, here are five bodacious books that will inspire and enrich you in your journey to wholeness.

Helen Reddy said it best in a popular mantra from many years ago, “I am woman hear me roar!”
Here’s to our collective awesomeness!

Note: These titles are either authored by females or written for the female audience. Many of these books are available online or at your local book store.

1. Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs---Edited by Vicki Ward
This diverse, dynamic collection of stories from women across the world is the perfect “blend” of true stories on love, loss, renewal, survival and friendship. What I also enjoy about this title, is that the stories are short, but substantive. Readers can sample one story at a time, or go from cover to cover, with a minimal investment of time. Something today’s busy readers can appreciate. I give it five stars!

2. The Little Book of Inner Space---By Stafford Whiteaker
Consisting of approx 150 pages, and compact enough to fit in your pocket jeans, this little dynamo packs a mean punch! You’ll find an array of meditations, affirmations, and quotes for the mind, body and spirit. Prepare to lose your excess baggage and be enlightened!

3. He‘s Just Not That Into You---By Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo
This popular relationship guide serves as a reality check for many women. It decodes the double talk of “Mars” inhabitants and helps women see their actions with greater clarity. More than likely, you’ll find a few of the characters you’ve dated amidst the many scenarios!
4. Simple Abundance---By Sara Ban Breathnach
Oh my God! I love this book! I received it many moons ago from my friend Carol, and it still feeds my soul and spirit, with grace, faith, and inspiration for today's woman. Name a topic and you’ll likely find it housed within these pages. It addresses every issue under the sun for women of all ages and backgrounds--from self- love, to spirituality, to creating a home that's a haven, to balance.
Consider it “required reading” for a better understanding of the complexities of life and a better quality of life.

5. Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff (for women)---By Kristine Carlson
Ladies, listen up. If you can only afford one book from this list, purchase this.
It’s the one book that has been one of my best investments over the years, (and I literally have more than 100 books in my home library). For me, this page-turner has so much sagacity and soulfulness, that my one regret is that I did not find in my former years. It’s written by the wife of Richard Carlson, (of whom I have been a fan for ions). I actually have so many pages “dog-eared” that it’s almost looking like an art project! Here you’ll get tips on busting your blues, making peace with the mundane, anger, boundaries, healthy self-esteem, and other relevant topics.


As you seek to become a better you in 2012, consider that you don’t have to go it alone. There are many valuable resources and self-help products at your disposal to create the life you desire and deserve.

But, most importantly, remember to love and accept the “you” you are today!

Visit Jennifer @ www.penandprosper.blogspot.com

Praying for Pariahs

It seems like one of the "Jesus" people has done it again. Perusing the internet recently, I ran across an article about a Christian principal of a public high who school who resigned after making controversial comments during a school assembly. She is said to have remarked that gay students were going to hell and pregnant teens lives were over.

The principal reminds me of the mother in the film, Pariah. Audrey, a devout Christian, and devoted but strict parent is so consumed with her daughter’s budding sexuality that she is blind to her own disintegrating marriage. Pariah, a multi-faceted coming-of-age story will probably turn many potential viewers away because of its subject matter, but the story is so much bigger than Alike, the central character’s sexual preference. Alike must come to terms with all aspects of her burgeoning self while trying to please her parents, please her friends and everyone else. Isn’t that what we all struggle with as we grow into our own?

There’s a pivotal scene in the movie when Audrey learns that Alike is a lesbian and Audrey loses her self-imposed rigid control. Later when Alike attempts to reconcile and says to her mother, “I love you,” Audrey responds, “I’ll pray for you”and walks out of her daughter’s life.

Alike is a brilliant student, an excellent writer and a seemingly good daughter—her “problem”: she likes girls. Watching the scene I don’t know who I felt worst for—daughter or her mother. And even though Pariah is movie, there are so many pariahs in real life.

Once during a book club gathering, we got into this heated debate about homosexuality. So, I said to one of my friends who has children, what if one of your children were gay. And you would have thought I was in the room with Linda Blair in The Exorcist as fast as her head whipped around to tell me, “Don’t that on my children!” I quickly retreaded and used my nieces and nephews as an example instead because I don't have children. I love all of my nieces and nephews to life. I told her if one of them happened to be gay I couldn't see myself loving them any less.

Another time I was talking to a woman who was upset because her son had been looking at male-on-male pornography. During the course of the conversation I asked what if that was his preference, and she said, “I don’t believe in that.” I didn’t offer a rebuttal; I just listened. And I don’t know what ultimately happened with her son. But I wonder what will happen if is in fact gay.

“I don’t believe in that,” was the same thing my Christian co-worker and friend said when we had a situation involving two girls from our classroom. It wasn’t so up-close-and-personal, plus it was creating havoc at work, so I said to her that it wasn’t about her morals or values. We had a problem that was getting of hand and we needed to address it. We had to have a conversation with our students about respect and how to treat people period. A male student confided in me that he had been sexually propositioned by another male student,so I shared my concern with a male colleague who refused to address the issue because he said homosexuality doesn't exist in Africa.

This gay-bashing by religious zealots baffles because I have yet to figure out how homosexuality became the sin of all sins. Some many people sin on Saturday and show up to church on Sunday, but we’re not as quick to send them to hell in gasoline drawers. It’s gay people's sexuality that bothers us and I don’t understand why because heterosexuals engage in the same activities with or without spouses or sometimes with someone else's spouses. Are they going to hell as well?

Gay people didn’t fall out of the sky. They belong to us—they’re our family, friends, colleagues and neighbors. How does the the right to judge super cede the right to love? So while we’re praying for the pariahs in our midst, we need to pray that God blesses the rest of us with some compassion. Lord knows we need it.

Phenomenal Woman By Maya Angelou

Today is International Women's Day, so in honor of all the phenomenal women I am blessed to have in my life, this classic poem celebrating the wonders of womanhood is for you!

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Whitney: A Reflection

While many people sat glued to their TVs watching the funeral services for Whitney Houston, I went about my day. I had a full agenda that day so I knew that I would not be tuning in. Not that I had planned to. I don’t like funerals. So, I am not in the habit of watching any of the funeral and/or memorial services for well-known people.

Like so many others I am shocked and saddened by Whitney Houston’s death. I am grappling with her passing because I feel like I grew up with Whitney. We were born in the same year. I recently celebrated my 49th birthday. Whitney didn’t live to see hers. It is disturbing when someone your age dies because your immortality is staring you in the face.

Her death reminds me of the way we love in the African-American community. Hard. Strong. Unforgiving at times, but forgiving in the end. We place our icons on pedestals, and when they fall, they hurt themselves and they hurt us. But we rebound take and them back with open arms no matter how far down they have fallen. It was this way with Whitney.

When Whitney first appeared on the scene we loved her Golden Voice; she belonged to us. But when she crossed over, we got upset. Never mind that it was about the dollar, to us it was about loyalty. She was a “sell-out.” Then she married “Bad Boy” Bobby Brown and got her black card black. Then her star started falling, and all you could hear was the tsk, tsk, tsk tongue sucking comments of those standing in judgment.

All is forgiven in her passing. We are fiercely protective of the image that we want to project of our beloved Whitney—a sharp contrast to the one we feel is being forced on us by the media. All they want to talk about is the crash and burn where as we want her to be remembered as the shining star that she was.

In the days following her death, everybody with an opinion has an opinion on Whitney— her drug use, her relationship with Bobby--you name it somebody has something to say. The truth is we will never know what really killed Whitney Houston. We’ll learn what the toxicology reports say, but we’ll never really know why Whitney Houston died that night. And when learn the “cause of death” will it make her any less dead? Will it soothe the souls of those who loved her?

There are those who are saying that her family and friends didn’t do enough. Somebody should have intervened. Again, we stand on high looking down. Who among us doesn’t know someone in need of an intervention— drugging, gambling, drinking, beating or being beaten? How many of us step in? Or do we stay on the side lines and watch them self destruct? And we have the audacity to talk about what someone else should be doing?

I have never done drugs in my life. I’m not bragging. It is simply a fact of my life. I grew up when crack ravished urban communities—mine included. People who I went to school with are either dead or dead-walking looking for the next hit. My first love is strung out on drugs. He was brilliant, and I believe that he could have been anything he wanted to be. I see him and I am sad and angry at what his life has become. I want him to get his life together. I am also humbled by and thankful for what mine has become. Only by the grace of God have I not followed the same path.

We were all rooting for Whitney’s comeback because we don’t like to give up on one of our own. But the heart-wrenching lesson is that we don’t always get what we want no matter how much we want it, especially for someone else. Whitney Houston is gone, but her legacy will live forever. Her death forces me to reckon with what my legacy will be.

Soul Train Tribute

On Friday were were having an African-American feast in honor of Black History month. And while we were chowing down on a traditional soul food meal complete with fried chicken, greens, corn bread and banana pudding and peach cobbler for dessert, one of the teachers was putting slides together for our Black History Month program. He was showing clips of Soul Train.

Laughter filled the room as we watched the dancers shimmy and shake down the Soul Train line. Those of us old enough to remember were transported back into time, when watching soul train for the latest moves, stylish fashion trends, and an opportunity to hear our favorite artists was a must-do on Saturday morning. A native Chicagoan, I remember when Soul Train made is debut on Channel 26 before it moved to California.

We had no way of knowing that we were watching history in the making and the rippling effect that Soul Train would have in the Black community and beyond. What's a social gathering without a Soul Train line? Soul Train was not only a vehicle for African-American creative expression,it also opened doors for Black businesses that had been previously locked out main stream media.

My heart is especially heavy at the passing of the iconic Don Cornelius for numerous reasons. Not only was he was a trailblazer as evidenced by the numerous tributes this week, he did what each of us should strive to do--leave the world a better place. Soul Train was an integral part of my childhood and young adult years; I saw people on TV who looked like me. Mr. Cornelius suicide slaps us back into the reality of the world we live in, that no matter who we are and how much we have, happiness and peace within can elude us.

In parting I wish Don Cornelius, the Love Peace and Soul in the next life that escaped him in this one.

Red Tails - My Take

Opening weekend, I hightailed it to the movie theater to see Red Tails—the fictionalized account of the infamous Tuskegee Airmen. As a lover of stories that demonstrate the ability to not only transcend, but also transform one’s circumstances even in the face of severe adversity, I was excited about seeing the movie. But I left the theater muddling through a mixture of emotions; I liked it, but I didn’t love it. I wanted more than I got.

From watching an interview with George Lucas, the executive producer, I know that he wanted to create a work that honored American, particularly African-American heroes, but the light-hearted nature of the film watered down the trials and tribulations of men who were fighting two wars: one abroad and one at home. These brave men (and women) were up against an enemy who believed in racial superiority while fighting for a country that promoted its own brand of racial subjugation through its segregated military forces. Lucas said he didn’t want the men to be viewed as victims, but a more in-depth look into their lives would have made them even bigger Victors, not Victims.

Because Red Tails is a war movie, the interracial storyline was unnecessary and unbelievable. If any woman’s story should have been told it should have been that of Mary McLeod Bethune using her friendship with then first lady Eleanor Roosevelt to solicit support from President Franklin D. Roosevelt to create training programs for Black pilots. Instead we get the philandering, angry, rebellious soldier who finds love in the arms of an Italian woman hanging laundry on a rooftop that he saw from his plane even though neither of them speaks the other’s language. Maybe Lucas, who is in an interracial relationship wanted us to believe in the symbolic gesture of love conquering all and maybe it does . . . but not in this movie.

And while I’m on the subject of women, where were the Black women? You mean to tell me there were no mothers, wives or daughters waiting at home? There was a reference made to a wife and child of the missing solider in the film, so why not show a scene where she’s home longing for a letter that doesn’t come. That would have been more realistic. Red Tails paints a positive picture of Black men at a time when their vilification and /or victimization are an integral part of the daily news cycle. I get it. But you cannot uplift the image of the African-American man by stepping on the neck of African-American woman. To not show even one Black woman continues to negate our history in this country.

There is no History without Her story, and there is no one way of looking at history. It is not His Story—the story of White America. As a nation, we have to move beyond thinking of stories like the Tuskegee Airmen as Black history. Black history is American History and we need to get that into our heads. The fact that Lucas felt like he needed to make a plea for people to come out and support the film is a poor reflection on American culture in this pretend place of post-racialness that promotes the idea that mainstream America is White America. A movie with an all white cast is mainstream, but a movie that features people of color is put in an ethnic box as if it will only appeal to people of that ethnicity. A few years ago, a two-fer film was released: Our Family Wedding a comedy that was aimed at African Americans and Latinos about what happens when an African American marries a Latino. Even the film, Something New about a Black woman dating a White man was marketed to Black moviegoers. Why in 2012 does mainstream still equal White people? Where does that leave the rest of us?

I have seen so many good films done by various artists of color that play to very small audiences. I am constantly disappointed by the lack of support for films that may feature non-white actors, but nevertheless tell beautiful stories that are universal in their appeal. Isn’t that where we’re supposed to be headed down the path of diversity toward accepting and embracing each others' differences?

Despite some of my disappointment with the film, I am still glad that I went. I have two great nephews—6 and 15. And when the six-year old was having animated discussion with his older cousin about the film, and later the fifteen-year old and I talk about the film on the way home, I know that they know a little bit more about their history in this country than they did before they went, and for that I am grateful. In this age of finger-tip research, I believe that the conversation of Red Tails and the Tuskegee Airmen is one that will continue for some time. Any opportunity to fill in the blanks or color in history that has been whited out is one that is victorious for us all.

Cold Vs Snow

Slipping and sliding my way home on the unplowed streets of Chicago while holding on to the steering wheel like a pair of panties with the elastic missing, I am convinced that Cold is hands-down better than Snow. So, sit back and listen and let my words show that Cold truly is better than Snow.

On snowy days, you might as well be married to the snow brush. And don't expect to get any where in a rush. Because if you're not cleanning off your car 10 times a day, you're somewhere stuck on the express way.

You can get around cold weather by dressing in layers, but there is no maneuvering around snow thanks to the mayor. Traffic comes to a halt, especially on the southside where it seems like we can't get any salt. And once you get moving, it'll be just your luck to turn down a side street and get stuck.

Another thing I detest about white stuff, is the people walking down the middle of the street raising ruckus. You already feel like you're driving through an obstacle course, and here comes the street walkers begging for you to hit them and get some extra points.

I know cold ain't nothing nice, especially when your body feels like a block of human ice. But once you get inside where it's warm, your body will thaw out to its norm whereas it takes days for snow to go away.

So when it's all said and done, unless you're a kid, snow's no fun. Cold is uncomfortable, but the streets remain the same. Give me Cold over Snow any day.