Remember as a kid when everything we did revolved around toys and amusements? The interest level of any activity was measured by how many toys were on-hand (or how many could be acquired), if there were any games or treats or rides or playgrounds. Nothing else existed. Times when we were forced to acknowledge those alter-realities became countdowns to bliss.
I was reminded of this blissful ignorance when we visited Havre de Grace yesterday. From the moment we arrived, the only thing Summer saw was the playground. Forget wildlife. Forget sailboats. Forget ice cream. Is that a playground? Are we going to the playground? I want to go to the playground. Is it right there? Can we get out now? Look, Mommy, there's swings! Come on guys, let's go!
Once we were on the playground, Adam and I seated comfortably on a bench, I was able to appreciate her persistance as passion and, more basically, zeal for life. Do I get that excited about anything anymore? I wondered. The responsibilities of life creep into our playgrounds, slow at first, like clutter. Not knowing how dense and unmanageable the chores will eventually get, we're meticulous in pruning them at first. A little pruning every day, and then we can play. It's acceptable. We tolerate it because we don't want to lose sight of the playground. It takes us months, even years to realize that each day we spend more time pruning than we do playing. Finally, we let it go, pruning only what's necessary to walk by the playground until one fine day, with one little shriek of delight, our children uncover it.
I immediately jumped off the bench to swing with Summer.
We were able to finally coax Summer off the playground, only by promising her that we'd return again later in the day. We ate lunch outside at Promenade Grille, where we found a mother duck protecting her eggs in a large planter. We walked the boards to the lighthouse, stopping in the Decoy Museum on the way. We practiced our duck calls, and eventually made our way back to the dock (and the playground). We ended the day with a sail on the Skipjack Martha Lewis. Adam helped hoist the sails. I got showered with bat droppings! It was hot but fun. Our pictures are posted on Facebook. When we arrived home, we found Summer's sunflower had bloomed.
Some might dub the table I use to do my scrapbooking as my playground. It's certainly rich with amusements and surrounded by various crafting tchotchkes: in the built-in shelf underneath the table, in the rolling 8-drawer cart to the right, on each of the chairs around it, on the large 3-drawer Pier 1 wicker cabinet (a $60 steal) to the left, and on the floor behind me. This work area seems to acquire new items every day.
Over the many pages of the Biltmore album, which I've been assembling using former 12 x 12 pages, I've been collecting remnants of background papers. (Note: With the new true 12 x 12 sizes, this is the thing of the past.) Today, I decide to use them in combo to pay homage to page gone by - preserving a memory of my scrapbook in general on a single page: a scrap page. I arrange the strips symmetrically. (image 1)
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After arranging them I realize I need one more strip. Before I trim that, I adhere the rest with tape runner so I'll know exactly the width I'll need. (image 2)
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Since the background is so busy, I cut photo mats from black card stock with the straight trimmer, so the pictures will stand out. Then, adhere them with tape runner. (image 3)
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I reprise my epiphany from a previous page and write captions on strips of vellum. To adhere, I cut frosted photo splits in half, apply, then remove the backing. As designed, they dissolve into the background so vellum maintains 100% translucence. With that, this simple page is done. (image 4)
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For those power-preservers who regularly exhaust all pictures and are looking for new challenges, consider retaining and gathering remnants or "scraps" from current projects, taking pictures of each of your projects and design pages that recount or retell the story of a project: how long it took, obstacles you faced, why it was important, etc. It will make a great commemorative reference album to all of your projects and help orient future generations to your stories.
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