31 July 2014

One Little Word [June AND July Edition!]

It has been a couple of months since I looked at my One Little Word album, or even thought about my word for 2014, Brave.

For June, Ali wanted us to focus on where we were with our word. What were we embracing, how were we living our words, what was holding us back?

I may have left in tears, but I left for my new life, bravely.
Well, in June, I lived my word more than I ever had when I packed up my life and moved here. I was so attached to bringing all of my Portland life with me, but Providence stepped in and I had the most humbling experience. I wanted to be in control of my move. I wanted to bring everything. Instead, I brought 3 suitcases on a bus. That was difficult. I almost turned back. I almost didn't come. I thought I'd "wait it out" and see if the car would start running quickly. But I knew I had made a promise and I sacrificed my pride and control when I bought the bus tickets. In June, I embraced the spirit of bravery and I left my entire life behind to restart in a strange land with only my husband and my kids.

I think the decisions I made in June really helped me live my word fully and completely. I wasn't feeling brave. I wasn't feeling much of anything except fear disguising itself as sadness and regret. But I still did it. I still made it here.

In June, nothing held me back. Not even the car breaking down three days prior to my departure date. I did it. I scared up enough courage and I did the scariest thing I ever had to do.

In July, Ali wanted us to take action. Three actions, actually. I haven't done any of them. I haven't had the time. In July, all of the bravery I felt in June has felt very far away. But I haven't felt scared. I haven't overwhelmed (much). I haven't heard the mean voices in my head telling me I'm ugly or stupid or anything else. I've been telling those voices to shut up. I am too busy to feel scared. I am too busy to not be brave in my daily actions. Every day I am brave when I learn how to maneuver a grocery store or I learn how to catch the Mexican bus, or even the bus in San Diego, because I don't know where it goes. I have to ask people for directions and for help sometimes. I am humbled every day from the "I can do it all by myself" independent woman who lived in Portland, into the "Sometimes, I need help, and that's okay" woman who is
learning how to live a new life.

Being brave for me this past month has meant learning to be humble.  It has meant learning to be patient with other people and with myself. It has meant learning to bite my tongue when I don't have anything nice to say. It has meant learning how to deal with people in society after my self-isolation in Oregon.

Maybe one of these days I will get back onto actually doing the class prompts, but right now I am too busy learning to be brave here in my new life.

One Little Word is an online class led by Ali Edwards. She encourages participants to choose one word to incorporate into their lives throughout the year, in lieu of New Year's Resolutions. This is my sixth year choosing a word and my second year participating in the class. I will share my One Little Word updates monthly throughout 2014.

25 July 2014

Mission San Diego de Acala

DISCLAIMER
This mission claims to be the first mission site of California, and it is, of Alta California. Since I live in Baja California, I recognize Loreto, Baja California Sur, as the first mission of California. That is my own personal opinion.

The other day, I happened to be in San Diego. This happens quite a bit as a border dweller; there are certain things that I need and I can only find them on the US side, or they are much cheaper. I happened to be in North San Diego the other day on an errand, and I had some time on my hands. It was early in the morning, and I decided to swing by the Historic Mission San Diego.

My own photo.
I have long been in love with this church, and this is not my first visit. I first visted the Mission when I was fifteen or sixteen and I was visiting San Diego when my brother was stationed here. He lived not far away, and one day my mom and I attended Mass in this beautiful building. My love affair with this building is long-entwined with my relationship with Hector. Hector and I met on July 16, 2001. This church was founded by Junipero Serra on July 16, 1769. For this fact alone, I dreamed of a beautiful wedding in this church to my beloved Hector. I always thought we'd live in Sounthern California, because San Diego was my favorite city. I just never realized how far south we'd actually end up. It was bittersweet when I walked into this church this time, because it is less than 25 miles away from us, but we will never be able to attend Mass together in this church.

I snapped pictures of the details, I love, but there are many more I didn't grab with my camera. Like the thick walls. The walls are adobe; they are about 3 feet thick. I love this old construction style. I didn't go into the garden, because I didn't have time on this visit, but there is a beautiful fountain. This is the place I first saw a hummingbird. The doors have amazing detail, but I couldn't get a very good picture of them with my cruddy phone camera. The uneven brick floors. You can tell that this buliding was build 100% by hand- you can smell the history inside the sanctuary.

The beautiful, veiled, high altar. I've also always loved the shell designs on the wall
and the canopy over the ambo.
The bronze(?) candle holders for the prayer candles. I love how they add to the rustic, old feeling of the entire place.
There is a million of these plaques all over the place commemorating the mission,
Fr. Serra, and California Historic Monuments.
A bust of Father Serra outside of the church.
The beautiful crucifix in the back of the church. There is another on the high altar.
This. This holy water font just draws me in. I love the shell, but I love all the wear and tear on it. It is a helpful reminder that you are entering a 245 year old building of God. 
I love attending Mass here, because it is such a treat. It is here that I fell in love with the California Missions and it is the first of many that I want to visit and experience. To me, it is a great testimony to God and His holy Church that after so many years, and after such a secularization of California, the Mission that really began the state of California is still holding Mass twice daily and is still in full operation. If it weren't for these missions, for the Church, the history of the state of California would have been very different. 

For more information about the Mission, including Mass times, Gift Shop hours, and tour information, contact the mission at their website: www.missionsandiego.com

23 July 2014

Water, water, nowhere?

I can walk (or drive) in any direction for 5 minutes and I can find an American company. If I had money, I could go to KFC, Carl's Jr., or Burger King and get whatever is on the menu. I can spend dollars here and get change in dollars. I used to swipe my Visa to pay for my gasoline, but I learned not to do that anymore.

However, I get reminded regularly that Mexico is a "developing nation" and this is NOT the US!

Here in Mexico, we get water service (which is awesome, because I could have to get it from a river or something horrid!). However, our water service can be....inconsistent. There is NOTHING more frustrating than going to wash out a cup to discover that there is no water. Not that we can drink the tap water here; I guess we could but I don't think I could because it smells bad. But it's annoying not to be able to shower or wash your dishes or flush your toilet... Usually the water is out for a few hours or maybe a day. However, we recently went 2 days without water. When Hector was here by himself in the old neighborhood, they were without water for 2 weeks!

As for drinking water, we have to fill up big garrafones (five gallon jugs) of filtered water. The store is either uphill to get the water, or uphill home. You get to decide what is worse for you. I usually go to the place at the top of the hill, because it is a lot easier to carry the jug downhill than up. A garrafon usually lasts our family about a day between baby bottles and relatives all drinking and cooking with the water.

Hector captured this rare picture of me working out, I mean,
carrying the water!
This makes me appreciate water so much more. In Portland, I would take super long showers that were always a consistent temperature, I would drink tap water, I could cook and clean my dishes with water that was always right there. I have learned that water is precious and I will never waste it or take it for granted again.

22 July 2014

Let It Go...

We are huge Frozen fans around here. We have been singing "Let It Go" since we walked out of the theater last December. Everyone knows the lyrics and everyone has something to say about them. I do, too.

You either love the song, or you hate it. And I bet you are all humming it in your heads now. You're welcome.

I love the Idina Menzel version (or the Movie version) but I am really learning to love the Demi Lovato version of the song. And I am not a Demi Lovato fan. In her version, the second verse is changed. It doesn't fit along quite with the movie, but it fits with how I am feeling these days.

This is the second verse of the movie version:

It's funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
Can't get to me at all

It's time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me,
I'm free!

Super awesome and uplifting. In fact, this is ther version I have on my phone to listen to when I'm feeling powerless and sad. I picked it to go along with my One Little Word for this year. This version of the song makes me feel alive and brave. I love it. Then I heard Demi Lovato's version:

It's funny how some distance 
makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me 
can't get to me at all
Up here in the cold thin air
I finally can breathe
I know I left a life behind but 
I'm too relieved to grieve

Those last lines! That is so me right now. Let's not get anything wrong: I MISS my old life in Portland. I miss my family. I miss my home. I miss grass and running water that stays on (post on that coming soon!) and I miss getting up and smelling the pine trees. I miss having a good oven and baking cookies. I miss drinking Pepsi and Starbucks. I miss my dog and even my mom's cats. I miss having time to blog and I miss having time to read. 

But I don't miss going to bed alone. I don't miss not having my son next to me. I don't miss breaking my back at work every day to just send my money away. I don't miss feeling like I'm suffocating with lonliness. I don't miss explaining everything to strangers. I don't miss the sympathetic looks I would get from people when I told them about our situation. I don't miss the pain and suffering of depression and sadness.

I left a life behind. It was a life I enjoyed. It was a life I was used to and I was comfortable in. But now, I am getting a breath of fresh air. I can breathe. I did leave a life behind, but I am too relieved to grieve it anymore. My life in Portland is officially over. My life on Mars is my life now. This is what I have to do. 

17 July 2014

Adventuring

Hector and I have always been what his mother describes as "patas de perros", or literally, "dog feet". It's a saying that means that we are always on the move, always going somewhere, never sitting at home. That slowed down during our three years of separation. We've decided that we needed to start that back up.

This past weekend,we took off towards the next little town, Tecate, just to spend the day and get to know the town. I have never been, and Hector has only passed through. So we loaded up the family into our trusty Subaru and headed east.
Don't worry anti-immigration people; the fence goes out into the desert, too.
Yes, this is where Tecate beer is made.
Tecate is about 45km east of the most-east outskirts of Tijuana. It is kinda in a valley, but higher up in the hills. The entire area reminded me of Yakima in terrain and HEAT. It was a HOT day in Tecate!

We mostly just hung around the city park, enjoying the day. The playground at Parque Los Encinos was the most advanced and "Americanized" style playground I've seen in Mexico to date. It was full of excersize equiptment for adults, too.


It was way too hot for my kids to be out in the hot sun like that for very long. Isaias's cheeks were turning crispy, so we decided to get ice cream. Things like tostilocos and mango ice cream cost a lot less than they do in Tijuana! That was exciting for us since we have been on a tight budget. 

After the park, we went on the look out for things to do in town. Tecate is an old-fashioned kind of pueblo, and not a lot was open on Sunday afternoon; we followed the signs to the museum. The city of Tecate has about 3 museums all on one property, but only one was open. 

Outside of the Art Museum. The art museum was closed.


Tecate Community Museum. For $30 MN (or about $2.30 US a person) we explored this place.

A replica of a Kumiai Indian house. 
Of course, trains. Isaias loves trains. This was his favorite exhibit.


Tecate couldn't have a museum without beer in it.
Besides the heat, it was a really fun day to do normal family stuff with my family. This is the way that life used to be for us; we used to take road trips all of the time. Unfortunately, we've traded in the pine trees of the Pacific Northwest for cacti and palm trees. This is the day where life has started to feel like it's going back to normal. 

16 July 2014

13 Years

On July 16, 2001, I met this greasy Mexican guy.

On July 16, 2014, me and that greasy Mexican guy are married, live in Mexico, and have 2 kids. What a ride it has been.
I never knew our lives would end up like this, but I knew from the very second that I met Hector that my life was never going to be the same. 

I love you till the wheels fall off....

11 July 2014

Ouchies

So... what an exhausting week it has been!

Sunday afternoon, I began to notice a painful lump on my back. It stung a bit, but Cecilia and I headed to San Diego to get stuff done. As the day progressed, the lump got more and more painful. I developed a fever and nausea, and I began to get very weak and dizzy. I was thinking about heading to the ER with Cecilia with me, but I though it would be better to take her home first. The pain was awful- Hector put a hot pack on my back and I screamed in agony so badly I scared the baby. I decided to head back to the US to go to the ER.

My only experience with Mexican doctors was not good. I decided that for me at that time, a trip to the US would be better; I got into line and quickly realized why Sundays are the absolute worst days to cross. For 3 hours I cried in pain while everyone else stared at me like, ''What is wrong with that guerita?''. My fever was coming and going so quickly I couldn't keep up. One minute, I'd have the sweats, the next I'd be freezing in the 80 degree night. I finally made it to the checkpoint and asked the Border Patrol officer where the hospital was. He asked me if I needed an ambulance. I figured after waiting 3 hours to cross the border, I could drive myself a couple more miles to the hospital.

The hospital in San Diego was not exactly an ER that I was used to. It was small, for one, and the back was really crowded. There were no hospital bed, but chair-beds, I felt absolutely terrible, my pain was definitely worse that popping Isaias's big head out without drugs and about equal as to pulling out my wisdom teeth without drugs. The doctor saw me for about 3 seconds, wrote me a prescription for 2 heavy-duty antibiotics and sent my on my way.

I went home to get my prescription the next day. I figured that paying for the prescription in the middle of the night at some random pharmacy that my insurance may or may not cover was kinda a long-shot, especially in so much pain and with a fever. I went home and somehow slept for a bit.

On Day 2 my back looked even worse. The hard lump was now about the size of my entire hand, and it was spreading across my back. It burned and I cried. Hector and I found a pharmacy here in TJ to take my American prescription. That usually doesn't happen. I lucked out and got my meds rather cheaply; thank God for that.

On Day 3 the hard lump hurt still, but the pain was subsiding and I was still having fevers on and off, but not as badly. By this time, I was feeling really, really tired. The infection and the medications were wiping me out.

On Day 4 the redness was spreading, but the pain and dark red inflammation were going lightening up.

On Day 5 it popped. It's gross for my family, but for me, it's just another day. I am doing my own dressings.

I'm still having fevers on and off, and I'm still fighting some pain, but it is nothing like it was. I am taking my prescriptions like I should, and I am getting better, and hopefully, I'll be back to my normal self sometime soon.

07 July 2014

July 4th In Exile

The Fourth of July- the epitome of all American holidays, because let's face it, it is America's holiday! It's a day full of celebrating "freedom" (I tend to use that term loosely) by barbequing it up with your friends and family while drinking large quantities of alcohol and lighting off explosives. That sounds like the most American thing you could come across.

But what about Americans like me? Who aren't in America anymore? Should we celebrate a country that "forced" (I also use that term loosely) us out by making us choose family or country? Should we celebrate America as Americans in another country? Does it disrespect the country that took us in? I wondered about how I could explain to my children that we celebrate this day in the US to mark our independence from tyranny, but tyranny persists today. I could explain the cost of freedom, but it's no longer the America that many veterans gave all for. It isn't just a 3-day weekend; it is a worthy holiday if it has been celebrated for 238 years... And how do I explain that we have to live in Mexico because in American where all men should be recognized as equal, they are not? As I sat in the park on Friday morning with my kids, these are the things I thought about.

I pondered all of these things throughout the day as I wathced everyone around me go about their normal business. Banks were open, stores were open, life was going on in Mexico because even though Tijuana is extremely Americanized, it is not America. It was not a holiday. We decided in the afternoon that we were going to head to Playas, which is the beach here in Tijuana. The border fence marks the end of Playas, where it runs straight out into the water. Usually at the beach, I am not so acutely aware of the fence as I was on Friday. I was on the wrong side of it, or was I?
You can see in the middle of the photograph the border fence; on the other side is California.
We decided to go to Playas because you can see the fireworks in San Diego, as well as Imperial Beach, and other places because there were FIVE firework shows going at once. And they were all coordinated. I don't know who plans those kinds of things, but they get a BIG A+ from us! Hector has not celebrated the 4th of July in 4 years; this year we did not buy the Old Navy Flag shirts like I usually do. It was an experience that we haven't had. As I watched the bombs burtsing in air, Hector asked me what it felt like to be watching something so American from Mexico, and I blurted out, "It's sad!". 

It was sad because I am American and I am not in my country. I don't belong in Mexico. My skin is an oddity, even in Tijuana which is so close to the line. I sometimes get heckled when I go to the market or when I even just walk down the street. People stare at me, but they do not approach me. English is widely spoken, but when I speak Spanish people are astounded. But I don't belong in America, either. I am either too conservative on most issues, or not conservative enough on immigration. I am not feminist enough; I am not skinny or pretty enough. Only in the US to I ever get self-concious about my appearance. I don't belong in the US because of my mixed-status family. I am lost here. I am lost there. I have to watch my American holiday, the truest essence of American Pride that there is, over the fence. I am an outsider, looking in at what was once mine; what I was once a part of. 

Even with all of that sadness, it was still once of the best Fourths I have celebrated in my life; my family was united. I missed and do miss every single person I left behind in the US, but last night, laying on the beach with my kids and Emilia and Hector, eating pizza and drinking coke, while Michael Jackson blared from some speakers, was American enough for me.

05 July 2014

Spiritual Saturday: The TLM

I missed Faith Friday this week, even though I had an awesome story to tell. So I'm telling it today, because I feel like I don't blog enough anymore. It's hard to get as blog post in everyday when it's so busy here.
On Thursday, I had to cross into the US to go take care of some business in San Diego. I left really early, thinking the line would take forever early in the morning, when everyone and their mom is crossing to go to work. Well the line didn't take that long.... I made it into Downtown San Diego at about 7:45, the library doest open until 9:30. What was I gonna do?

The part of town I was in was a fairly nice part of town, however there is a large homeless population. I didn't feel particularly safe as some of the people were jeering and yelling at me. So instead of standing around for an hour and a half, I googled:

"ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCHES NEAR ME"

The first church on the list was St. Anne's and it was about 2km away from me, so I put the address into my GPS and stayed walking. I ended up getting lost because I had to navigate around construction, but I learned the Barrio Logan neighborhood pretty well! As I walked up to the church, I could see the door's were open. It was 8:55 and Mass stated at 9! Boy was I lucky!

As I reached into my purse to pull out my veil, I looked inside and saw another woman in a veil! This NEVER happens to me. Even in Mexico, I'm usually the lone veiler in church. I was super excited and I went in and then I was breathless. There was a Communion Rail. There was a beautiful high Altar. Every single woman was in a veil. I had walked into a Traditional Latin Mass.

Before Vatican II, all Masses worldwide were said in Latin. The priests wrote traditional vestments, performed Mass with their backs to the congregation, and all women covered their heads out of a reverence for God and the Blessed  Sacrament. After Vatican II, these practices were done away with, after almost 1500 years. However, they are still performed, with the blessing of the Church, by the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter, or commonly referred to as FSSP. They are a group of priests who perform Mass and the Sacraments using the liturgical books of 1962.

During a Traditional Latin Mass, or TLM for short, everything is in Latin. There is also a lot more kneeling than I am used to. The church provides a booklet of the words and prayers of the Mass in Latin and English, but I couldn't keep up. Maybe if I had sat closer to the front of the church, but I was really taking it all in. As a language lover, Jadon to me is the most beautiful; it is old, traditional, and it sounds to me like the language of the angels. Hearing the most beautiful prayer of the Holy Mass said like that was like seeing heaven on earth. I was so lost, and I really had no idea what was being said it going on, but I just soaked it all in. You see, I had never been to a Traditional Latin Mass.

When the Mass had ended, I grabbed every newsletter and piece of informational paper I could find. I was amazed to see so many people in the US recording Holy Eucharist on their tongue and kneeling. In Mexico no one receives in their hands, but almost no one kneels anymore as it is also not required. I love seeing the long line of Tradition still being carried out.

This was truly a blessing from God, because that day I was really struggling; my faith has been shaken a lot since getting here. But I know I must hold fast, because my happiness and rewards await me in heaven, they will not come to me in this life here. I just thank God so much for last Thursday. It was the greatest.

I want to thank St. Anne Catholic Church from welcoming me into their parish. I was very pleased with this experience, and I would like to try to make it up maybe once a month, if border crossing allows. 

EDIT: My dad informed me after reading this post that I have, in fact, attended a TLM as a child, but I don't recall it. I'm sure I did, but a lot of my childhood memories are kinda fuzzy.

02 July 2014

My Least Favorite (So Far...)

There was once a time in my life where I enjoyed working out. 7 days a week I was either in the gym or working out in my own at home. I did weights, yoga, pilates, took boot camp classes, ran, walked, and did water aerobics. I would wake up at 5 to take the bus 2 hours to the college for my classes at 7 in the morning. I successfully gained almost no weight while pregnant with my son (and even that was only water weight due to preeclampsia). I was super healthly and I felt really good about myself physically. 

Then Hector was deported and everything changed. I was already suffering from postpartum depression but it got much worse. I was exhausted. I had to get a job, which was a full-time, physically demanding CNA job. I worked a lot. It was hard. I picked up a lot of unhealthy CNA habits, like eating fast food everyday and drinking large quanitites of caffeine in the forms of Starbucks and THREE (yes, 3) liters of Pepsi a day. Between the time that Hector was deported and me getting here, I gained about 50 pounds. 

Hector is determined to get me back into shape. He keeps pushing me to take Zumba classes down at the community center, but I feel very immodest leaving my house in workout clothes anymore. I have noticed that change since I've stared veiling. I am too uncomfortable to do something like that. However, luckily for me, Mexico comes with it's own built in work out!

Tijuana is all hills. I swear I have to walk uphill both ways (I'm only missing the blinding snow storms!) to get to anything. We live halfway up a hill. I seriously thought that we lived closer to the top, but apparently, there's a ridge and then it continues to go up. I about threw up when I learned that little fact. So, when I walk to Mass every day, I walk downhill. But not downhill on a paved road. No... that is too simple. I have to take "the short cut". Tijuana is filled with these common pathways that are just built into the side of hills, usually out of large rocks or tires. I hate taking these short cuts. They are usually very dirty, filled with broken glass and who knows what else. But they do save a lot of time. So I take them. 

Yesterday we needed to walk to the sobreruedas, which is a local open-air market that appears in a different spot of the city every day and everyone seems to know where it is going to be, but I don't know how. On Tuesday and Saturdays, it is on top of the hill, right above us. This is how I learned about the hill above us. It starts by walking uphill to where we buy our drinking water.That itself is awful enough. Then we continue on and cut across an old abandoned property, and up onto another road. Then, if by magic, stairs appear in the side of the hill. People are MEANT to walk this way, which is the most absurd thing to me. At the top of the stairs, you have to continue, but there are only tires and dirt to walk across. You've probably gained about a hundred feet or so at this point...

And Cecilia had to ask why she needed to wear tennis shoes...
Eventually, you come to more stairs. These are not nice stairs. There is no rail, They aren't even close to being uniform. One step may be 4 inches high, and the next 12 inches. By the time we reach the top, I swear we've climbed about 500 feet in elevation or so, coming from like,100. I don't know what the elevation is, honestly. It sucks though. On our way back down these stairs, I misstepped about I about killed myself, because really, if you fall, there is nothing to land on. It's walking up the side of the cliff. For someone terrified of heights, I was not impressed.
Cecilia getting ready to take on the stiars with her Dad. She is much more comfortable with these kinds of things.
When all is said and done, we made it to the top, made it to the market, then had to make it down back to the house. Again: I'm not impressed with this method of getting anywhere. I prefer to get somewhere quickly, where I don't have to spend much time outside in the hot sun, getting sunburned to crisp. Walking and climbing really isn't my preferred method of transportation. Going home my legs began to shake because they felt like they were dying. Hector has already commented on how I am losing weight already, which he contributes to me not being allowed to drink soda. I contribute it to the stupid short cuts. I swear in a month, I will have rock hard thighs!
Colonia Buena Vista
The view from the top. 

01 July 2014

Project Life Tuesday: Weeks 22-23

Well... hello Project Life! I have missed you.

I brought all of my scrapbook stuff. Well, not all of it. I brought my Rain Edition cards, and my album.We left so quickly that a lot of the things I need, like my paper trimmer, got left behind. That is the great thing about Project Life, though; you only need a couple of basics to put a scrapbook together. I hope soon that I can find somewhere to print some pictures, because I'd really like to continue working on the scrapbooks. Once I get less lazy, I will find my Walgreens in Chula Vista. Hopefully, I can get a visit from my parents before too long so that I can be reunited with my scrapbooking materials.

Today, I'm looking at my life in Portland, still. Looking at these pictures make me truly homesick. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was there, and in reality it was only the beginning of this month.

Week 22:

I took Cecilia to OMSI to see their super awesome dinosaur animatronics display. It was so much fun, but I missed my son. He would have loved to see this exhibit.



The rest of the week, I focused on Cecilia: She had a field trip to the Portland Art Museum. I didn't go, but I found a picture online and downloaded it for the album. She talked about the trip for days. It was also field day at her school, which I volunteered for. It was a lot of fun being at the school, hanging out with the teachers and the people who support Cecilia.

Right side
Left side. Hector sent me lots of pictures of my baby.
Week 23:

This week  I had jury duty and I was enjoying time in Downtown Portland. I was getting ready to move and making peace with it all. I look at this week with good feelings.

My pictures didn't turn out that well, so if I get time I'll take some more. But here is the Week 23 spread. From here on out, I'm only using Design A page protectors, because that is all I have with me.

I hope that I can get more caught up, and start scrapping my life here in Mexico. I would love for you all to see it!

Project Life is a memory keeping system designed by Becky Higgins. All products are available on Becky's website or on Amazon.com. Feel free to share links to your own Project Life pages in the comments below.