The Scrapbook Phase

Friday, April 18th, 2008 by Alyice

For as long as I can remember I’ve been an avid picture taker. There’s just something wonderful about recording history as its happening and something remarkable about being able to jog one’s memory with a photograph—and it doesn’t even matter if the photograph is in focus or not.

In the beginning, I placed my photos into photo albums with sticky backings but as the photos began to yellow I realized those albums weren’t such a good idea after all so one by one I pulled my photos out of those albums and stored them in boxes according to date. Of course I ruined a few photos in the process but it was better than leaving them and watching them all deteriorate.

Then one day I discovered the art of scrapbooking and I was hooked.

There was nothing like cutting out the best part of the photo and gluing it to a page with other complimentary photos. My mother hated to see me cutting up photos because it was like I was leaving part of history (our life’s story) behind—but I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in the backgrounds or scenery. I wanted to see the people. I wanted to focus in on their facial expressions, the way they stood or moved, and the clothes they wore. I was positive that would be enough to keep my memories alive.

But as time passed I began to understand my mom’s point of view. Sometimes, photos of a person aren’t enough to hold onto the memories. Sometimes you need a little bit more—an object, a wall, the landscape, something…

Yes, my mom was right. Sometimes the background or scenery sparks memories you’d otherwise forget. And sometimes it’s fun to see the different phases in our lives which help define us—styles, trends, cultures, and even financial status based upon what we owned.

My scrapbooking style is simple: lots of photos, a few embellishments, and little text. And that’s okay.

I don’t need to spend $20 on materials or three hours of my life designing a layout for a single scrapbook page. As beautiful as those pages are, I know that what I enjoy most about my scrapbooks are the photos—the records that tell my children (and future grandchildren) about our family history.

And if I choose to be more elaborate with a few pages then that’s okay, too. The important thing that I try to remember when I scrapbook is that there are NO RULES.

Scrapbooking techniques and styles vary from person to person based upon creative talents, time factors, finances, and personal history. When I sit down to create my scrapbook pages I try to remember to let loose and go with my feelings because in the end scrapbooking is an extension of who I am as a person. And if the scrapbook is being created as a gift it becomes a reflection of who that person is.

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The Garden Phase

Thursday, April 17th, 2008 by Alyice

I remember as a young girl, living in the projects, begging my mother to allow me to grow my own vegetables. She didn’t think the soil was good enough but agreed to give it a try. We planted a patch of veggies close to our home and every day I would come home and water them—waiting anxiously for the day the sprouts would appear and real vegetables would begin to form. After weeks of impatient waiting it finally happened…sprouts turned into yummy looking vegetables.

Of course I was going to have to wait until my mom got home to pull them—just to make sure they were actually ready to eat. I counted the hours until I could get back home. I wondered what they would taste like. I wondered if they would taste better than store bought vegetables. And I wondered how many there actually were.

Only I arrived home to a huge disappointment because someone had stolen all my vegetables. Yep, they just plucked them right out of the ground—leaving nothing but the holes in which they grew.

Disappointed, I was ready to give up. But my mother thought we should give it another try. She was sure some animal had taken the vegetables so this time we put up a little fence. But guess what? They disappeared too—just like my mom’s underwear every time she hung them on the clothes line. That was the last time we planted vegetables.

Fourteen years later, after marrying my husband, we moved into a rental house with what appeared to be a nice patch of dirt—perfect for planting a garden. But I was wrong. The previous tenant worked out of the garage and used that patch of dirt to dump chemicals. Nothing would ever grow there again so we talked the landlord into patching the area up with cement, instead.

Eleven years later, after living in our brand new home for three years, I not only had my first real vegetable garden but we had planted several varieties of trees and even built a beautiful fort that would double as a play area for the kids and a trellis for grapes. We, however, were never able to reap the benefits of our labor as we moved out of state that same summer.

Five years after leaving my beautiful garden behind we rented a home with enough space to grow double the vegetables and soil that was amazingly nourished. With the help of my husband we planted corn, pumpkins, zucchini, cabbage, beans, carrots, green onions, and tomatoes. Every morning was spent weeding and tending to the garden and every evening was spent watering by hand. Sure, I could have used a sprinkler system but there was something so relaxing about the whole watering experience that I couldn’t give it up—no matter how much my husband begged.

The amazing thing about that first crop was that I grew it in a scorching hot summer when nearby farms and gardens were having difficulty keeping their vegetation alive. It was as though God had looked down from heaven and blessed me with the fruits of my labor and it felt wonderful!

Now, every spring I look forward to getting my hands dirty and my husband looks forward to seeing the excitement in my eyes as I discover a new sprout or pull freshly grown vegetation from my very own garden. It still amazes me that so much life can come from such a tiny seed and all it takes is a little tender loving care.

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The Cooking Phase

Friday, April 11th, 2008 by Alyice

Anyone who knows me knows that there are only a few things that I can cook and cook well— ceviche, tacos, enchiladas, gourmet hamburgers, meatloaf, and quiche. Other things I can make in the kitchen that my family enjoys are: sushi, Nana’s green bean soup, Val’s home-style chili, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, Gram’s dirt pudding (it’s not what you think), and Mom’s pumpkin pie. Everything else is basically a hit and miss and I miss far more than I hit!

But that didn’t stop me from spending a year, back in 2006, torturing my family as I tried to cook new and exciting things. I even tried to cook healthier—which they swore me to never do again! But that got old really fast as I discovered that I had very little patience for spending hours in the kitchen prepping and cooking then another hour cleaning up the mess.

Of course it was always a great treat when my mother-in-law, Val, showed up to help me cook. We’d prep, cook, and clean up together—making the time fly by. I’d learn a few tricks of the trade—always resulting in better cooking skills—and enjoyed an evening eating a feast fit for a king.

In October my daughter and I decided to throw a Halloween party but to make sure the food was eatable, she enlisted the help of her grandmother. We both chuckled when she asked grandma to come to her party and do the cooking. I learned a lot that day, including the fact that sometimes even recipes could use a little tweaking.

We made Frankenstein meatloaf with mashed potatoes, herb hand-shaped bread, and a few other treats. Then at Thanksgiving we got together to make turkey shaped cookies and apple pies. As you can see from the photo below, my pie didn’t turn out so well. But looks aside, it tasted pretty good.

I may never become a gourmet chef, but I can honestly say that I’ve discovered the secret to cooking good meals lies in having fun. Now when I want to cook up a feast and invite a few guests over, I start with a clean kitchen, turn on the music, and just take my time. I’ll sing and dance while I stir, cut, and baste. And I’ll hold conversations with guests as they arrive. I just wish my kids liked cooking more; it sure would be a lot more fun with them in the kitchen with me. Ah well, one day…

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