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When I was young, some 40 some odd years ago now, my grandmother, on my fathers side, kept scrap books. She would peridoically pull these out and show them to her grandchildren. I loved doing this with her. I loved any opportunity to snuggle up close to her on the couch in the enclosed back porch; she was one of those soft shmooshy grandmas who loved to cook and bake and was always giving us good things to eat. Sitting next ter her on the couch, one of her arms around me, warm and loving, while the scrap book was layed out on both our laps; turning the pages slowly, quietly, lovingly explaining every detail of what treasures they held with in was nirvana. This memory recently taught me something.
Anyways...I sometimes go into the craft stores; I am not really a crafty person, I am artistic; I like to sketch, paint, etc., but ask me to come up with an idea for a window treatment, or a holiday center piece, and Ide rather just go out and buy one, or draw upon a friend, or family member, for their advice and talent. I have noticed that every hobby store now has about four isles dedicated to scrap booking! Isles of sheets of paper in different colors, and patterns. Isles of stamps, and ink pads, in all kinds of shapes, designs and colors. Scrap books of different sizes, shapes and colors. Stickers, ribbons, stencils, pens, markers, glue...the list is endless.
Sometimes I wander these isles in amazement and wonder. I ponder over anyone who has the petience, time and imagination (oh yeah money cause this stuff is not cheep) to involve themselves in what appears to be such a huge project. Then I think...modern day scrapbooking is an actual reflection of how society has evolved over the last 50 years... think about it.
When I was young, and sat next to my grandmother,looking through her scrap books they were full more of memorys, not, what appears to me now as, advertising. The report card that belonged to my dad, given in the third grade, was surrounded by scraps of material from clothes he wore then, shoelaces from shoes, and the old Tiger emblem from his baseball hat. A pressed rose given to her by my grandfather on valentines day was made more beautiful with an old greeting card and lace doilies ornamenting it. The little baby foot print of mine was made by her using an old post office plain black stamp and had little pink ribbons and cards that she had cut storks and hearts out of, all backed by used wrapping paper.
All of the remarks to each one of these memorys were written neatly with a plain black ink pen by her. Every bit of memory, every little bit of scrap, in the scrap book was relevent to each other. She kept it all and used it all to create a time line of our family. Now scrap booking is this multimillion dollar enterprise. People buy their memorys. Photos are surrounded by the 20 dollar stamp with rainbow ink, a piece of paper that cost 2 dollars a sheet, stickers that cost 5 dollars a sheet, rub on letters, etc etc all of this bought in an effort to make a memory more beautiful and seem more worthy? I dont get it...arnt memorys suppose to be wonderful enough without embellishing them? Isnt embellishment a distortion of a kind? A lie? What happened to just drawing upon what we already have to make a memory a treasure?
My grandmother grew up in the depression. An era where you used something, then you used it again, and again, and again, until it was used up. Our culture now is very disposable. If it doesnt work most of the time we just buy another one. If its too hard we dont try harder we just try something, or someone, else. Remembering my grandmothers scrap books made me realize that she taught me something invaluable. Every inch, every bit of our life holds meaning. We can choose for it to be a happy great one, or we can throw it away and forget about it. I think when we make an effort to keep the little scraps of our life precious we are remembering that it is the little things in life that truley do make a difference. Those little things put our life into perspective and give it meaning when we contemplate why we are here. We are here because of the little baby footprint, that report card from the third grade full of A's, and the pressed rose. It is not for the 20 dollar store bought stamp!
Over the last 26+ years of parenting, and 30 years of being with my hubby, I have collected an assortment of little pieces of paper, tidbits of clothing, scraps of wrapping paper, bits of ribbons and now keep them in a large rubber maid container that one day, upon my retirement, I will put into scrap books and show my grand kids (and who ever else wants to look at them.). It is a way of preserving family history which I feel, in this day and age, is very important. We live in a society where many of us live 100's, and even 1000's, of miles away from each other; sometimes seeing each other every few years, sometime not for decades. (Thank goodness for facebook and puters.) Making some kind of dedication to keeping memorys is important.
I think scrap books should reflect our lives, like our homes do. Have you ever walked into someones house (and I say house because there is a difference between a house and a home) and it is a brand new beautiful house full of brand new things bought specifically for the house. It looks wonderful that house with brand new floors, and fresh paint, new appliances, new furniture and every thing put away very neatly, color coordinated, onto the shelves. But it lacks a kind of warm feeling I think? I like the homes that are full of second hand furniture either passed down from family, or bought at a thrift, antique or second hand furniture store. I like family photos all over telling silent stoys of family gatherings, individual achievements and happy moments. Old houses are like old books, they store up the happy memorys and feelings of the family that lived and loved in them before you. If it was a good story you can almost smell and feel it seeping out of the pages and the walls.
I look around my home sometimes, especially after visiting one of thos pristine new homes, and feel a little...mmmm...lacking; like somehow my life and the life of my family is not that great because, well it doesnt represent alot of money and things. But then I take a deep breath and smell the happiness, I look at the pictures on the walls and feel the happiness coming out of them. I have colors in my house that most people would not think of using; but it makes my family happy. It occurs to me looking around my home that it is just like my grandmothers scrap book that I loved so much. Bits and pieces of things from all over all of which tell a story of a family.
I just took a simple square orange vase from my BFF, why? Well one it looks great on my blue retro table from the 50's bought in a second hand store, but I really took it because when I look at it I think of her. :) My dining room set came from my mother in law and she bought it second hand over 75 years ago from a jewsih family; you can still see the elbow indentations from sabbaths. And now there are a few stains added that are memorys of holiday gatherings. I can go through my home and tell a story of our family just by the pictures on the wall and the furniture alone; when you live thousands of miles away from family and have fragmented relationships with some of them being able to tell these storys to your kids is important. It gives them, and you, a sense of belonging. In a couple of months my son and his wife will be moving out of state, our adopted son may move back north and if our youngest has it his way he will be in Germany soon working for Mercedes. How do you keep a family togehter when everyone is so far apart? Scraps, you collect the bits and pieces of the memorable scraps of every precious memory in your life. Life really is nothing more than a scrap book. Save your memorys and keep them as honestly in tact as you can and then no matter how far away you are from loved ones you will always remember where those memorys originated.
