I can’t believe I have scrapbooked now for well over ten years. My obsession began, as most of them do, with a simple desire. Our first child was too incredible, and the memories we were piling up were far too precious, to be captured by standard photos slipped into boring albums. I started with a blue Rubbermaid tote, construction paper (that deteriorated within the year) and oodles of stickers…It had a tight lid to keep Josiah from sharp scissors and sticky gluesticks but I was such a paranoid new mother that it was still put on a topshelf! And I’d pull it out and work at
our dining room table while he napped. I look at those first pages and I just cringe at mutilated photos and mismatched colors and journaling in ballpoint pen. But Josiah loves them and that’s all that matters, really.
Five years later we remodeled our 1920s bungalow and John turned an old, spooky, dark, cobwebby (is that a word? but you get my drift-it was horror-movie-background-creepy) fruit cellar under the stairs into a light, bright craft room. It was “just for me” because at not quite 5’4″ tall, I alone fit under the 5’6″ ceiling. How I loved that little room! Since it was “just a cellar” and no one but me was ever in there I chose to write all over the walls. Whenever I found a favorite quote I would dash downstairs with a Sharpie pen and, in my sloppy penmanship, add it to a corner-filling in blank spots with new verses and fresh inspiration. I often wonder what the new owners think of it? Did they paint immediately? Most likely. But I like to hope they loved it and added more, of their own.