I’m afraid that I’m becoming addicted to Pinterest. For those who aren’t familiar … and that will include a few of you… Pinterest is a digital combination of bulletin board and scrapbook where you capture and “pin” ideas and resources that have interest for you. So, there I was, innocently checking my email early on Sunday morning when I was entrapped by my own weakness into surfing through many, many boards of the people who have re-pinned (copied) something from my boards. This is like eating potato chips … no, worse, chocolate covered potato chips!
I had added pins about using children’s artwork as the basis for adult creations, pinned information about eliminating certain crocheting stitches and tacking links to a site that will tell me how to make icicles out of plastic bottles … a skill that will no doubt serve me well. Then I focused on something called collages and I found myself drowning in lust for these lovely objects. Most were untidy assemblages of objects related to a theme, some quite stark, some achingly lovely, with laces and photos. Some were easy-to-decipher stories about a person, an event, a thought. While some of these found on Pinterest were clearly created with art in mind, there are many generated by other impulses.
There is an assemblage in front of me as I type. A picture of my beloved dog, my beautiful Chica, passed into dog heaven many years ago, sits next to the Prayer of St. Francis. There’s a cut-out butterfly below the front of a card that I like which is partially covering a picture of my cat. There’s a bag of used toner cartridges (I have to remember to take these to the store,) my Dad’s rosary, a pencil sharpener and a recipe for zucchini “crab” cakes. Front and center is a letter from Jim Abbott, the former president of St. Joe’s Hospital. There are pictures of my husband holding our oldest grandson and of my family enjoying a nosh or two at our cottage. Most recently added are pictures of the newbies, my son’s sons, the twins, their little infant faces smiling infant smiles, oblivious to the lack of sleep visible in their parents’ eyes. Rounding out this collage-of-sorts out is a card, “A Valentine’s Day Poem for Mom” and a crocheted potholder made by my grandmother. This gathering wasn’t planned. It evolved as bits and pieces crossed my hands and mind. It says something about me, but what I’m not sure.
You don’t have to look far for more of such collections. Check out the bulletin boards in the pharmacy or the grocery store. Posters about lost pets share space with offers to babysit or clean your house or care for your garden. There are often adverts for church suppers and fundraising events for people who are facing medical crises. They tell us something about our community.
At St. Joe’s Hospital there are boards where the nurses have hung notes from former patients and their families. I’m not sure who reads these, but I most certainly do. They are warmly intense, often singling out exceptional service and care by a specific staff member. There are so many on some floors that they are now in layers. I don’t know what is done with these expressions of gratitude, but I do hope they are saved somewhere. It’s good to know that people care enough to say thank you. And I think that the human interaction that these represent is something that deserves being pinned, saved as special.
There is one more object on my bulletin board about which I am thinking. I’ll open it next week. It says, “Happy Easter Mom!” The paper has taken on that sepia look that gives me a clue to its age. I’m fairly sure that it’s from my son. I opened it at least once on a long ago day and I’m looking forward to doing it again this year. It most probably contains a promise to clean his room or one of his computer-generated puzzles designed to confound any who would try to solve them. No matter which, or even if it is something else, I will love it. It seems to be a representation of the reason why I put things up on the board, to savor again, to remind me of something extraordinary. As this year’s Valentine’s Day and Easter season are hurtling upon us, may I share this wish: May all of your assemblages, collages and such, whether planned or not, be expressions of the joys in your life.
