In my closet sit stacks of scrapbooks stuffed with letters, articles, snapshots, ticket stubs, museum brochures, and other whatnot that I’ve kept since I was an undergrad. They’re like little time capsules I can go back to now and then, to remember what was important to me at a given time in my life. And they remind me to keep adding new experiences to blank pages.
I dig Facebook and Twitter as much as the next person, but there’s something about the tactility of scrapbooks that’s deeply satisfying to me. It’s like my playtime. I don’t bother with fancy paper cutouts or stickers or whatever; for me a scrapbook is more like the kind of personal record I wish I could find from one of my ancestors. It’s both a journal and a dreambook.
Blogging is a scrapbook too, I guess. Only much more open!