Scrapbooking

My favorite hobby has always been scrapbooking
It's such a creative activity to do
For pictures and poems, I'm always looking
Forever scanning magazines through and through

I look for pictures of people and places
Some happy, some excited, some tired, some sad
I try to find real emotional traces
And whatever I like, to my scrapbooks I add

Over the years many books I have made
Scrapbooks of poetry old and new
Old web sites and online pictures I raid
Some of my scrapbooks are happy, some blue

Certainly, on this hobby you can say I'm hooked
There's nothing like it to keep me involved
No one would believe how hard I have looked
For rhymes and riddles that will never be resolved

I started this past time at our church
Each Wednesday all the ladies would look
Each one in her chair quietly perched
Consumed with finding the perfect hook

Everyone knows that you  must create ideas
Inspiring and intriguing to reel in a person
Someone who will cast off all their fears
And stop to read your poem for a life lesson

I love scrapbooking, it's so rewarding
It brings childhood memories back to me
School days when with friends consorting
Times that were so happy and carefree

Often I reread through my many books
Books I've created  by myself
Sometimes I find things that I've overlooked
Words that reveal how I once felt

Poems about family and friends so dear
Poems about God's creatures so lovely
Poems about Nature, Seasons, and Fears
Poems about things you can't buy with money

I'm planning on leaving my scrapbooks all
To my kids and grandkids after I'm done
When this life with its troubles are just a sad pall
And all they have left is the legacy I've begun

I never had many pictures or prose
Left me by parents or other relations
That's why I suppose I strive to compose
Scrapbooks to leave to younger generations

I want them to always remember me as
The Grandma that loved them so
I hope they realize that I had pizzazz
Even though I can't leave them much dough

The things that are important in life
Aren't always the things that are seen
When you live through all the sorrow and strife
You'll understand just what I mean

A love of poetry is what I will leave
For my children and grandchildren too
For what is a life and to what will you cleave
If great poetry is missing from you

By Julia Shaw
May 2020

Thèmes

Choix d'un thème pour un album ou une carte vous aidera à affiner votre choix de materials.Who est le public visé? Est la carte ou un album lié à une fête ou un événement important? S'il n'y a pas une personne en particulier ou un événement associé au projet, l'adoption d'une couleur ou un motif régime prévoit unité et balance.Examples de thèmes populaires incluent: vacances, bébé premier, anniversaires, obtention du diplôme, animaux, années scolaires, les anniversaires, les mariages, roman, prix, favoris (cadeaux, livres, films, émissions de télévision, des jouets ou des modes), le



jardinage, les vacances, les partis, les sports, souvenirs et mementos.After choisissant une conception unifiée, trouver des documents qui illustrent votre message. Matériaux
Les matériaux les plus indispensables sont cartonné, papier, colle, outils, stylos, et des embellissements de coupe ou photos.Cardstock robe soirè peuvent être achetés individuellement ou en packs de valeur; packs de valeur sont utiles si vous créez plusieurs albums et cards.Cardstock et du papier ordinaire est disponible dans des couleurs unies ou du papier patterns.Patterned peut être utilisé comme arrière-plans, des bordures, ou du papier de coupe embellishments.When, sauver les restes pour des projets ultérieurs, vous pouvez embellir d'autres projets ou utiliser de plus grandes chutes en photo mounts.For une aspect texturé, papier de déformation;. carton est plus facile de se froisser si vous appliquez quelques gouttes d'eau adhésif, des outils et des stylos coupe sont très variées. Les types de base comprennent liquide et le bâton de colle, du ruban, des ciseaux, tondeuses, des marqueurs et des albums de pens.For de pigments, toujours utiliser des matériaux sans acide qui ne traverse pas le pages.To créer bords bordée sur les pages de scrapbook ou des cartes, utiliser des ciseaux spéciaux, comme puncheurs. ondulées et de la vallée de pointe, ou en forme embellissements

améliorent le thème choisi albums et cards.Cutouts, des autocollants, des rubans, papyrus, vélin, les timbres et les citations sont des choix populaires, citations peuvent être employées par achetées quote-livres, manuscrites ou tenue mere de la mariee imprimées à partir d'un ordinateur Photos personnaliser n'importe quel projet de robe soirè métier;. ils peuvent être imprimés à la maison, ou développés par des boutiques et drugstores.Photos d'impression en ligne sont généralement organisés par ordre chronologique, en collages ou categorically.Categories incluent, mais ne sont pas limités à: des événements, des activités, des familles, des couleurs, des particuliers ou actions.Although ce sont des techniques de mise en forme les plus populaires, vous devriez Étalez vos photos seront cependant mieux s'adapter au thème de l'album ou carte.

http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-de-soir%C3%A9e-c-5

i remembered today
in the shower
that pottery kit
the aunt that now hates me
because i chose to live with my dad
gave me
for my
seventh
birthday.
i was so surprised
so excited
because i never knew that i liked pottery
until that bright yellow box
entered the scene
(my aunt did this sort of thing
a lot to me
with knitting
and scrapbooking
only those things
i hate)
ripping the box open
i found all the necessary components
the wheel,
the clay
those other funky things
and had gotten all set up
when i realized
that the motor that made it run
which was some sort of pedal
was not in the box
i searched for it
i cried to mom for it
finally
i found the box again
and it said
that the pedal
was sold separately
not included
you'd have to wait
mom'd say
i've waited
for thirteen years
and now i wonder
if i was supposed to learn that lesson
at an early age
whatever the **** that lesson was
because that pottery wheel
with no motor
and no hope of getting one
for at least thirteen more years
would be
me.

press my petals between pages of photo albums
you'll only visit every few years, trace my veins
tightly arranged into knots saying
"i was here"

keep me as a memento,
a thought you won't have
to go over more than once.

dust me off and hold me to your chest
throw me in the fire when everything has
passed, frame the better parts of me
as a way to remember the sweetest parts of the past

fall in love with the memory
of me.

Nights spent pulling away pieces of my skin remind me of trimming fabric from unwanted articals of clothing

My exterior does not define me
But I despise what's underneath

Maybe if I peel back far enough
And glare at the bare contents of my being
I'll see something worth saving

Thrifting, and scrapbooking my flaws

I do not enjoy this
I do not want to be this
These torn up jeans
This torn up soul

So I scratch off the scabs from every wound
Reopening my problems, exposing them to my ever changing mind

This scar stings my eyes the way the sun used to when I was a child

This scar has been there since I was a child

I believe that thought is called an epiphany
But I never wanted to realize these things about myself
So I throw them out
Leaving me hollow

Maybe something or someone can fill the cavity I myself carved from my chest

Maybe nothing and no one ever will

It's hard to tell

I feel nothing

I am nothing

I make you pancakes in the morning
Strawberries and whip cream
Just like my grandmother used to make
They call me the trash monster

Those tattoos of wings on your shoulders?
Those were the first two tattoos I ever stabbed into a person.
You were my first.

Remember I was the one who told you to pluck your eyebrows
How you cringed and refused.
plucked them the same direction
they were growing.
One by one.
So you wouldn't feel pain
I made you beautiful

They call me the trash monster

I paid for your world of Warcraft subscription.
I was at every birthday
your second mother

They call me the trash monster

My face is on national Televsion
Photographs of my living room.
The same one you woke up in every Saturday morning.

You wouldn't even recognise it.
Hidden beneath all of this spilt hourglass sand

So much between us now.
Prison bars
fast food shrapnel.

They call me the trash monster

A baby boy.
His little sister
Swimming in this filth
My depression hording

Their father left us for a 19 year old who lusted after his motor cycle
joined a gang
sells heroine

Left his autistic son and daughter
Taken now, my everything
From the nest

I was left to clean

They call me the trash monster

This filth
The broken wooden horse
The wax paper backs of sticker sheets.
The McDonald's bags n' grease
Scrapbooking strip cutters.

They call me the trash monster

Did you hear yet?
Do you remember me?
Did you throw me out?

on city bus she pretends she is riding her back pain.  there are phrases without mouths people try for.  bouncing baby boy.  preggo.  his body is here but his mind is gone.  she is privately obnoxious in the world’s tiniest museum of logic where she is first a scrapbooking orphan created by the emergency broadcast system and second a mascot assigned to one fleeing ballerina.  her thinking companion licks ice from Ohio license plates.  shares her soft spot for headgear.

My grandma’s favorite holiday was groundhog day.

I don’t know if she just loved the fanfare of it all;
If she thought it was so trivial and fun;
If Pansawtukee Phil was just too adorable;

Or maybe she was just a fan of Bill Murray?

(Which I mean—who isn’t?)

My grandma always had a knack for everything, not just the weird holidays:

It was continuing to remind me that penguins have knees,
And instilling at least one of her grandchildren with a love of the X-Files that never faded,
(Me again)
And people watching
from the car outside of Byerley’s —
Insisting it was going to be her novel
“Tales from the Parking Lot.”

She also used to tell us that my grandfather had been reincarnated as a cardinal.

And she would tell us,
In the springtime,
He, (or the cardinal,)
Would come visit.

And, my grandma adored talking.

She would tell anyone her life story
Whether they wanted to hear it,

Or not.

This included:  
nurses,
doctors,
a man named David at the Jewelry store,
some of my friends when we were just driving through on a road trip from college and stopped to say, “hello,”

Really, anyone who would listen.

She called it her gift of gab.

And, she was also really into scrapbooking
and creating slideshows of pictures
Simple ways of preserving the memories of loved ones

I don’t quite remember when her memory started slipping
When Alzheimer’s started digging it’s claws into
The facts, the stories...

Even the reality she knew and loved.

I’m sure, looking back, it was slow at first.
Like those first moments when Bill Murray wakes to the song “I Got You Babe,”

Again.

Not quite sure what is happening,
But confused.

The fear doesn’t begin until later,
As the events repeat again and again.

I remember my mother telling me of a moment
Where my grandmother was reliving her
Junior prom.

She lived with us then, and my mom had a baby monitor set up in her mother-in-law suite.

My mom woke to a crash through the baby monitor.
And when she rushed downstairs,
She found my grandma’s robes were laid out all around the room.

My grandma was on the ground,
The TV on top of her.

Her explanation of what happened is she was trying to steal the TV to buy a prettier dress.

In her lucid moments,
We told my grandma this story.

And she laughed
and laughed,
With the same confidence Bill Murray
has later in the film

Having accepted reality,
having accepted this fate.

Reliving days past
Knowing that a future
may never come.

It might be that the reason
She loved groundhog’s day was

The promise that spring is coming,
And with it, the cardinals,
And with it, new life.