There are just some things we hold onto. Sometimes for a reason, sometimes simply because they’ve always been with us. There’s a small wooden jewelry box. My father brought for me during a summer our family spent in Mexico City, between my fourth and fifth grade years. I remember the afternoon he brought it back from the marketplace… he had bartered for it, a proud smile on his face. I placed a little charm inside, a tiny, Our Lady of Guadalupe, a souvenir from the cathedral we visited there with my grandmother. The scent of the wood still lingers when … Read the full blog post →