One of my cousins co-wrote a song which was recorded by a terrific Buffalo band Anatara (think Stevie Nicks meets Melissa Etheridge meets Springsteen meets Heart- a hell of a guest list for any party - www.anataramusic.com)
I often go to full volume when listening to the last verse in the car and yell along with the lyric-
"I'm going to go to a place, where no one knows my name
Confess to a stranger just to hear what he might say
And if he doesn't like it, I'll say 'honey that's too damn bad.
Take a good look at me because that's who I am'."
The song is strong, sassy and defiant... just like I felt when I told my old San Antonio Press Club buddy Renee that I am a serious scrapbooker.
Renee is a wild, wonderful, passionate pal with a mile-wide adventure streak. I could confess any religious, sexual or political pecaddilo to her without her so much as batting an eyelash.
I could see her easily asking "So how's it going in the polygamist, vegan, pagan coven you were telling me about?" without spilling a drop of the margarita she was pouring.
But the scrapping thing flashed terror in her eyes and I feared an immediate intervention right there on the California beach where we were - until that moment - enjoying a pleasant picnic.
No, I had not moved to Stepford or been probed by aliens. I tried to put it in terms she could understand.
"It's not about decorating things, as much as creating page layouts that tell stories about people I care about," I said.
But she was still too stunned to speak.
"It's just about cropping and showcasing photos, then writing the cutlines... you know... like we used to do for a living?"
Yes, people did pay us to do that and yes, we knew the end result ended up training puppies and lining birdcages.
Yes, if we bound everything the two of us had written over the years we'd have no living space in either of our homes.
But this was different. It was about leaving something of today's story for unborn grandchildren.
She looked like she was going to lose her Spam Roll.
The fear in her unblinking eyes was fixed for hours. I'm not sure she'll ever look at me again as she did before that moment.
She brought it up a couple of times over the course of the next few days, just in case I wanted to end the joke.
I even considered lying about it just to make her feel better.
But hey, it's who I am.
It's been over a year now, with the last few years carefully chronicled in sturdy books and sorting boxes full of old photos waiting to put the rest of life under shiny page protectors.
My Scrapping Sherpa remains my cousin Cheryl- the only person in the world who could understand how important it was for me to have a least a one-page spread of photos with Charlie and her kids from the Monsters Inc ice show I missed while I was in California. She delivered like a champion. Great shots.
Charlie and I decided at the last minute last night to go to a 10:30 hockey game where my brother Jim and Cheryl's husband Jimbo were playing. Charlie and I (and the Zamboni driver) represented everyone there who wasn't a player. Charlie sat in the stands while I circled around the boards with my camera trying to find semi-clear vistas in the plexiglass that weren't "pucked up."
I was looking for those dramatic page-centering moments and tight shots of both Jim and Jimbo for both my current book and Cheryl's.
I was adjustimg my camera to get the lighting just right and couldn't lift it fast enough to catch Jimbo flying into the air on an assist early in the first period.
When he didn't get back up the other players crowded around quickly, again ruining my shot.
So much for paying her back for the Disney on Ice shots. I sent her an email when we got home apologizing for missing the shots.
She answered this morning and told me it was OK. She understood. And anyway, this kept either one of us from having to use the words "groin pull" in our books.
It's all good.
Renee will just never understand.



Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs