Scrapbooking

Life is a collection of moments.

What a wonderful life I've had. I only wish I'd realized it sooner.

A human life is a single letter in the alphabet. It can be meaningless. Or it can be part of a great meaning.

When I hear somebody sigh, "Life is hard," I am always tempted to ask, "Compared to what?"

Life is like a rocking chair...you've got to push it to make it go.

You are the author of your own life story.

Life is like an onion, you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.

Never be sad for what is over, be glad it once was yours.

A happy life is built up of little clumps of violets noticed along the roadside.

Count your blessings.

It may not be the best, but it's not bad.

If you can eat today, enjoy the sunlight today, mix good cheer with friends today, enjoy it and thank God for it.

The special book upon the shelf

was made with many hands.

Our ancestors who posed back then

all came from different lands.

She learned to crop on Monday, Her shapes were going fine. She forgot to thaw our dinner, So we went out to dine . . . She added diecuts on Tuesday, She says they really are a must. They actually were quite lovely, But she forgot to dust . . . On Wednesday it was stickers, She says the designs are fun. What highlights, what shadows! But the laundry wasn’t done . . . Her journaling was on Thursday, with Pigma pens, including red; I guess she really was engrossed, She never made the bed . . . It was more acid-free paper on Friday, in colors that she adores. It never bothered her at all, The crumbs on the floor . . . I found a maid on Saturday, my week is now complete; My wife can crop the hours away, the house will still be neat! Well, it’s already Sunday, but don’t call me a great Pop! I cursed!@#$, I raved*%@, I ranted! The maid has learned to CROP!
When summer turns to winter,
And the present disappears,
The laughter we were glad to share
Will echo through the years.
Here is the perfect poem for a title page.

And hold each memory in place:
A creaking swing, a whispered word,
A promise only night winds heard...
A little footstep on the stair,
A small fragmented baby prayer.
My arms reach out through time and space
And do not find an empty place.

A crazy quilt;
Sorrow and joy,
and grace and guilt,
With here and there
a square of blue
For some old happiness
we knew--

and rarely did we see,
The importance of these treasures is
The start of you and me.

now here in black and white
Preserved with special care and time
Each page is done just right.

and think of days long past.
Our hopes, our dreams, our heritage
All safe and made to last.
Life is a scrapbook, torn and old
In which our little lives are told,
And when the twilight shadows fall
This is the sweetest thing of all;
To turn the pages of the years,
Remembering with happy tears
The faithful love, the perfect friend...
These things are treasured to the end.