…. A scrapbook — of people I admire, places that inspire, a poem or a song to help one along, memorable quotes, share-worthy notes — bits and pieces of my sometimes-oddball life.
Before Christmas, while I was helping our friend Samantha Strawbridge Eddy start Spirit, I heard this song while driving over Teton Pass. Grady Kirkpatrick of Wyoming Public Radio commented that he chose it on the basis of its inclusivity, and NOT from disprespect of any faith. I liked the hum-along tune as well as the notion that sharing a meal can join those of radically different beliefs (and that families need to stay in touch).
At that moment it seemed the perfect blend of what was going on at the moment — the metaphysical direction of Sam’s store which she opened just before the winter solstice, and the research I was doing on cathedrals in France, our destination starting December 26th.
Somewhere on the trip — maybe because I wasn’t accessing FaceBook much — I decided to use this blog as a more permanent type of journal. Thus, “Scrapbook” is born.
I have friends who have turned scrapbooking into an art form. They capture their personal celebratory highlights and everyday stuff with equal aplomb. They choose photos and backgrounds and words with terrific care.
Me? I’m a little more sloppy. Certainly not sure that this will match theirs for beauty, but I am also called to make some stab at the preservation effort by recent perusal of my mother’s scrapbooks from seven decades ago. They are mostly a collection of match-book covers and various things from her courtship days with my dad. When I look at them, I want to know — Which was a special date? Who were all these friends? What happened at which place? What do these things mean? How do I interpret those memories? Is it even worth a try? Is anything worth keeping?
Well, in a word, YES.
I find when I’m busiest (like right now) is when I most feel the need to write something for myself. These essays might be short, might be thought-provoking, silly, just about anything but high-falutin’ — and likely as inexplicable (to some) as those now-fading pages of my mom’s. For now, I just want a place to throw things in. Sharing them is only about the technology, and I’m sure to repeat things that some have heard before. But that’s the magic of the delete key, or unsubscribing — or their converse.
PS: I picked this version of the Dar Williams song (out of many on YouTube) because it included the lyrics and no other image than burning logs…. Peter snapped this photo last weekend when I was bringing in firewood.