Time to revisit...

As I've been going through some of my family's things this past month, certain items I've stumbled across have made me realize how much in common I had with my Grandmother. We were close when I was a child and I'd love to hear her own childhood stories, but as far as sharing her personal collections with me, she was generally private with those things. I was also private with that sort of thing. I wasn't hiding anything. I just didn't think she'd be interested. Perhaps she thought the same thing about sharing those things with me. What a shame. 

Among her quirky collections, I found albums of coins, stamps, and postcards, which brought a huge smile to my face. It made me think about the whole "Nature vs. Nurture" debate. I'm not an avid collector of coins or stamps but I have enough to organize in an album if I ever decided to do so. Postcards on the other hand, I've been collecting since I was a teenager. I couldn't believe I didn't know she collected them as well. Her collection wasn't very big, but it was enough to make me feel much closer to her even though she passed on almost two years ago. There was one postcard in particular that touched me in an unexpected way. It was a postcard from Twenty Mule team Canyon in Death Valley, CA. I always knew she liked nature and the outdoors. She was the one that introduced me to National Geographic magazines and Wild America on T.V. But I never knew she also liked this place. I really wish I would've known. Even with that feelling of regret, I felt happiness. Happiness that we were more alike than I thought.

Grandma's Twenty Mule Team Canyon Postcard ~ 1970s

At Twenty Mule Team Canyon ~ 2010

Even though I missed that opportunity with my grandmother, I'm really glad I took my mother to Death Valley before she passed. One of the special moments we shared out there was hiking through the Natural Bridge. We talked, collected colored rocks, and had a really great time. Moments like those weren't too common in our relationship unfortunately, but those good times are what I'll keep forever...along with the rocks we brought back. I haven't been able to visit Death Valley or any other national park this year, but I'm definitely looking forward to some cooler weather so I can take some trips this fall & winter. I can't wait to make new memories, and of course I'll keep them close to my heart with each visit.

Mom and I at the Natural Bridge Death Valley, CA 2010

Another precious find in my Grandmother's belongings were some snapshots of a trip to Sequoia National Park when I was young. I have one memory from this trip and it was when we drove through the knocked down tree. Actually, I haven't been back there since these pictures were taken and it is definitely time to revisit parks I've been to, as well as see parks I've yet to visit. Parks they wanted to visit. Life is simply too short and I don't need another reminder of that fact.

With Grandma & Mom at Sequoia National Park 1985

The Memory of a Stamp

About 6 years ago my heart broke when I lost my passport. I was moving into my second apartment in Whittier and that was the last time I remember seeing it. I searched every single box and bag without any luck. With every move after that, I kept searching. To be honest, it took me years to accept that it was lost. Eventually, I had to convince myself that I accidentally threw it away. I wasn't sad because of the money I'd have to spend to replace it. (Although I wasn't crazy about spending another $100) I was heartbroken because of the travel stamps that I lost. It's not like I had too many stamps since I had traveled to other countries via rail, but the sentimental value of the first stamp I received back in September '02, along with my full page student visa, were priceless to me.

Over the past month, I've been cleaning out many of my Grandmother's and Mother's things out of the house, which has triggered a wave of emotions. I've found several personal treasures, however, the biggest surprise came my way yesterday. I was sorting out some things to donate to Goodwill when out of nowhere, a passport literally fell onto my lap. I opened it up and there I was at age 20. I'm sure I let out an audible sound of approval at that moment. It doesn't matter that the passport isn't valid anymore. I was thrilled it turned up and in a cliche manner too...when I wasn't looking for it. 

I've visited Mexico twice with my new passport and it wasn't stamped either time, much to my disappointment. I'll find out soon enough if Turkey and Romania still stamp passports. The new passports have microchips in them so I'm not certain, but I sure hope so...

My Salvadorian-Romanian link

Two more months until I take off on my last transatlantic adventure of my 20s. When I finally decided to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, I didn’t intend for this trip to cross the Atlantic. I actually listed El Salvador as my first choice on the application. I only wrote down Romania and New Zealand as my second and third choices as a formality. I had to complete the entire application and the dates for those programs worked for me. Just in case.

Why El Salvador? It’s the motherland. Literally. My maternal bloodline is Salvadorian. That side of the family raised me, therefore I am culturally Salvadorian. By volunteering there, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. I would visit the homeland and give back. But that wasn’t to be the case. As it worked out, I ended up getting the call from Team Romania. The strange thing is I still feel connected to my family. Well, to my mom specifically. 

When I was a child I became obsessed with the Olympic games. I really became aware of what the Olympics were in ’88 & ’92. Observing my sudden interest, my mom shared her own memories of watching the Olympics when she was a child. It was then that I learned she adored Nadia Comaneci, the freakishly limber Romanian gymnast who was crowned the sweetheart of perfection during the ’76 Montreal games. I watched old footage and pictures with my mom and I actually knew what the Romanian flag looked like long before I knew the Salvadorian flag. I never imagined I would visit the country then...or even a year ago.

I still have no idea what to expect, but because of my mom and her childhood heroine, I already know I’ll feel more connected to that place than anywhere else...other than the motherland.

Staying Afloat

Drowning in a drop of water C.2010

Ventura, CA 

I used to love hearing my grandmother's stories of her own childhood in El Salvador.  My favorite story was how she learned how to swim. As the youngest of 6 siblings, including 3 brothers, she didn't have much of a say. In true Darwinian form, she learned how to swim by being tossed into the local river which immediately tested her survival instincts. There weren't any water wings, inner tubes or one on one time with a swim instructor. There wasn't time to think. There was only time to "do"...and she did.

Life is short and there are times when we're all confronted with that fact whether we needed the reminder or not. But it's in those times of trial when survival instincts kick in and you discover how strong you can be. Through the loss of my immediate family, I've gained strength I didn't know I was capable of. As an homage to the two women that raised me, I hope to visit El Salvador before my next birthday.  I'll make sure I can make it happen.

Brain Tumor Awareness Month

Mom c.2009

May was always extra special in my small family. Mother's day for mom and grandma along with my mom's birthday on the 11th. Recently, I've also learned that May is brain tumor awareness month. My mom passed away this past March due to fatal complications with a benign brain tumor. Help me honor her memory during the month of May by registering with my team at the San Diego Brain Tumor 5K Walk. The event takes place Saturday September 10th, 2011. Much awareness is needed for this cause. Thank you for your support whether you can walk with me or be there in spirit. Team Ana's Flowers page link : Team page

Saint Christopher

St. Christopher

Mexico City

Mobile Pic c. 2010

My family was very religious while I was growing up, however, I wasn’t born into Catholicism. I do know it’s a huge part of my cultural history on both sides of my bloodline; Mexican & Salvadorian. I also know that my maternal grandmother’s family were devoted Catholics and she was the first of her 6 siblings to convert to another protestant faith.

I wasn’t taught the differences between Catholicism and Protestantism in depth. Grandma just emphasized that Catholics are borderline idolaters and they have extra books in their Bible. As time passed and began to question my family’s religion, I came to disagree with many of the aspects of my grandmother’s religious choice of sect. Althuogh, I did like the idea of eliminating the "middle man" and focus on a personal relationship with God as opposed to the Catholic route.  

It took a long time for me to become interested in Catholicism for my own cultural curiosity. My knowledge of the people that have obtained sainthood is still terribly limited. I attended mass for the first time at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome when I was 21. I didn’t bother to see the shroud of the Virgen de Guadalupe in Mexico City until I was 28.

Just before my first trip to Mexico City, one of my friends brought up the subject of St. Christopher and explained that she wears her St. Christopher pendant whenever she goes on a big trip. I recalled the story of St. Christopher but I had to research it again to refresh my memory.

 I felt ignorant for not knowing something that is so “101” among Catholics. Setting all embarrassment aside, I really liked this story. I don’t want to get into a discussion whether there is any historical record of Christopher’s existence. I’m not an atheist, but I’m also not comfortable praying to a saint when I can just ask the boss himself. But that’s beside the point. I was quite charmed with this story and I really love the idea of a protective representative of travelers.

Having been a nervous passenger on over 40 planes, thoughts like “why didn’t anyone ever tell me” ran through my head. The important thing is that now I know. I wasn’t able to find a St. Christopher pendant during my stay in Mexico City, but I think I’ll buy one here in the States, which is home base anyway. I don’t intend to wear the pendant as a good luck charm. I do feel as if I’ve been watched over through many situations in my travels. But as I get older and the feeling of youthful invincibility fades, I can find comfort in a story about the kindness of strangers no matter where your journey takes you.

Locks of love

Making a hair donation to Locks of Love is something I’ve always wanted to do. After a two year pattern of planning, growing, and trimming, I recently decided it was time to follow through.

My hair stylist and former roommate, Dulce, has been fantastic throughout the entire process. To be completely honest, my hair was long enough to donate well over a year ago.  The minimum length for a donation is 10 inches. Selfishly, I became attached to my long hair and (setting modesty aside) I loved the compliments I received, especially after a fresh trim. Dulce would probably dread my appointments knowing she wasn’t going to make the cut just yet.  To justify my delay, we agreed she would even out the layers and trim off the dye streaks. She would trim off about 4 inches during each visit. Needless to say, my hair grows fast.

I made the "big" appointment about ten days ago, much to the delight of my stylist. My hair was measured at 28 inches. I never meant to keep it long for so much time. For lack of a better saying, it just happened. I was excited about the donation and to change my appearance but I was nervous at the same time. I didn’t have a specific hairstyle I was looking forward to. At all. The main goal was to donate a braid of "virgin" hair. I hadn't given much thought to the style I was going to end up with. Fortunately, I found a picture online that gave me a rough idea. I was told I would be given the shorter version of the style. After she cut off the 13 inch braid (which was then put in a bag for me to mail off) she kept hacking away at my hair. It was her revenge after all of the prior trims and hour long blow-dries. Another couple of inches were cut off and an additional 6 balls of hair fell to the ground as she ran the thinning shears through. It's safe to say I've never lost so much hair at one time in my life. Not only does my head feel much lighter (not to mention the headaches have stopped), but it was all for a very good cause. I mailed out my donation on Valentine's day. I should've done it much sooner and I will certainly do it again.

Before (Spring 2010)

The 13inch cut

During

After