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Scrapbooking a Sentimental Experience
An example of why scrapbooking is so popular
by Barbara Lombardo (July 20, 2005)
(Note: The following is reprinted with permission from The
Saratogian of Saratoga Springs, NY. Ms. Lombardo is the Managing
Editor who also writes a weekly column. This was originally
published in the 6/18/05 issue.)
While the women who joked about being Desperate Housewives
trimmed, matted and 3-D Dotted, I flashed back to my first baby
shower when I had no clue about the items over which everyone else
ooohed and ahhhed.
It is now 18 years later, and the baby who was showered would be
the recipient of the scrapbook these women were helping me to
One week from high school graduation, I realized the certificates
and clippings tossed into a folder were not going to cut it. So I
was grateful to be invited to an emergency session for the seriously
The pressure was on. Scrapbook Sergeant Carlson showed off the
already completed book of one of the other moms, a Lamaze classmate
whose son is also in the Class of 2005.
My flip-book of Student of the Month sheets, Cub Scout badges and
sports page clippings stuffed into the sleeves of the binder was a
woefully inadequate keepsake of 18 years of achievements and
memories. Meager organization. Nothing mounted or matted. No angled
layouts. No decorative stickers or 3-D icons.
Take, for instance, the opening page sleeve into which I had
dropped the document from a legislator welcoming Saratoga's newest
citizen and a smudged birth announcement photocopied from The
Saratogian. I was proud of having had the foresight to save
"Well, it's a start," sighed the sergeant kindly,
rolling her eyes and rolling out a cart of colored cardboards,
special-edge scissors, razor-blade slicers, acid-free glue sticks
and 3-D Dots. She had me matte the certificate, reset the
announcement on her laptop and angle it on the page, and asked,
"Don't you have a baby picture to put in this corner?" Of
course I do. Somewhere.
The results of that afternoon's efforts were, if I say so myself,
impressive. The completed pages look great. Both of them.
At this rate, I'll be 3-D Dotting in the nursing home, still
commemorating my son's high school years in a scrapbook to be
presented at his retirement party.
What I had to do became clear:
1. Load up at the A.C. Moore scrapbook aisle.
2. Develop the film that's in the bottom of my purse.
3. Dig out old photos.
4. Get the darned thing done.
So last night I dragged out the archivally incorrect plastic bin
of pictures that go back B.K., Before Kids, sat on the floor and
pulled out photos of family, friends, vacations, get-togethers and
milestones large and small – first haircut, talent shows, the
Mayor's Cup, mock trial, the tennis team, the class president.
And I wept.
For babies turned to boys turned to men in the blink of an eye.
For my mother-in-law, who would have been so proud of the person her
grandson had grown to be. For wondering where the years have gone.
For fun times I'd forgotten. And tears of joy for being so blessed.
The scrapbook is for David, but the making of it is for me.
©2005. Reprinted with permission from The Saratogian.
(Note: To read previous entries in "Kate's
Collage," click on the titles in the right-hand column.)