{"id":3898,"date":"2006-06-23T00:00:00","date_gmt":"1970-01-01T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3898"},"modified":"2016-07-07T15:00:09","modified_gmt":"2016-07-07T22:00:09","slug":"obsessed-or-possessed-by-scrapbooking","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3898","title":{"rendered":"Obsessed (or Possessed) by Scrapbooking"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Vintage

Vintage Scrapbook, Tulane University, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n

The fine line between “fun hobby” and “neurotic obsession” finally blurred for me last weekend, as I stayed up ’til 3 a.m. hammering little metal plates printed with sincere sentiments like, “A teacher takes the hand, opens the mind, touches the heart” onto little scraps of paper that would eventually find their way into a scrapbook<\/a> for Koss’s teacher.<\/p>\n

I don’t know if it was hammering my already-blackened thumb for the 13th time or downing my 17th Hershey’s Chocolate Kiss<\/a> and Red Bull cocktail<\/a> to stay awake, but I had a pre-dawn epiphany: I may not be completely well in the head.<\/p>\n

My fascination with scrapbooking began about 13 years ago. I was planning my wedding, a sentimental time of life known to turn even the hardest heart to mush, and you all know that I’m pretty mushy to begin with. Plus, I had recently quit my 70-hour-a-week job, while my husband-to-be’s career was gearing up. In other words, I had a lot of time on my hands, and for the first time in well, ever, the money to match.<\/p>\n

I was fish in a barrel at that first Creative Memories workshop<\/a>. Talk about easy pickings. Cardstock. I must have ten of each, in every single color. Squiggly-edged scissors? I’ll take a dozen. Stickers? I get to buy stickers, and I don’t have to share them with kids? I’ll take two — of each — in every single design and color.<\/p>\n

Visions of perfectly ordered memories danced in my head as the U-Haul pulled up to haul my stuff home.<\/p>\n

Once home, I immediately got out the merlot, the M & M’s, and the dental floss. No, I wasn’t being attacked by plaque. The scrapbooking teacher said that I was being plagued by something much more sinister: acid.<\/p>\n

That’s right, acid, the evil culprit that’s working right this very minute to deteriorate your precious memories into puce yellow, burnt orange and avocado green (no wait, those are just my pictures from the 70s). I tore my old-fashioned, outdated, worse than a shoebox, adhesive-style albums out from under my bed and used the floss to free what pictures I could from the evils of acid.<\/p>\n

I went through two bottles of wine, a case of dental floss, seven bags of M & M’s, and three boxes of Band-Aids that night. I saw the sun come up and made friends with the guys on the graveyard shift at the 24-hour Ralph’s down the street. I was definitely hooked.<\/p>\n

Having rescued most of my childhood photos, I carefully, painstakingly found them a safe and pretty home in an acid-free environment. There my memories can express themselves freely, creatively, and often elaborately.<\/p>\n

So what if that acid-free album costs three times as much as the one with the 40-year life expectancy? And who cares if my son will need a climate-controlled, five-car garage to house all of the scrapbooks he’ll inherit?<\/p>\n

The great thing about scrapbooking is how it brings families together. Or, at least it would, if my husband wasn’t actually a man, or if I let my child touch any of my things.<\/p>\n

I’m not crazy. My head is well. I’m making memories, here, so back off. Just one more page and then I’ll get some sleep.<\/p>\n

Is Leslie obsessed or possessed by scrapbooking? You be the judge, and tell us what you think at email<\/a>.<\/h6>\n

Originally published in the\u00a0Santa Barbara Daily Sound<\/a>\u00a0on June 23, 2006.<\/p>\n

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