Nonstop Inspiration

His hand hangs on my wall.

When I came to his home, about a year and a half ago, with five cameras to share, he made sure I knew he was interested in participating. He was usually front and center in the group of kids hanging around me, listening intently. He even accompanied a group of us around the grounds before ever holding a camera, planning shots, just eager to be a part of the project.

The Fundación Niños de los Andes cares for young people through most of their teen years, and he was one of the older boys there; slightly shorter than me, thin, muscular, with a delicate smile, long eyelashes and his short hair shaven to the skin on the sides of his head.

He got his turn with the camera the next day, and proceeded to break my heart with it. Looking at the images he captured later, I wanted every photo of his to be in the show. His hand behind the mesh and this one are the ones that made it in.

Here are a couple that didn’t.

Like the girl who started all of this, two years prior, his work inspired in me a deep sense of purpose. I wanted to make find more possibilities for him. Luz y Sombra's first show in Manizales, Colombia, came together, all the while my friends and I tried, without success, to find some opportunity for this talented artist to learn or work with other artists nearby. He and I friended each other on Facebook, hugged, said good-bye, and never saw or spoke to each other again. He had moved on to the next part of his life by the time I got back to the FNDLA a year later.

That return to FNDLA was just six months ago. When Henry and I came home from that adventure last July, all 100 printed photos of the photography show, Luz y Sombra traveled from Colombia to Oregon in my carry-on luggage. Things got really interesting around here when, about a month later, two Colombian chef friends came to visit our humble locale and infuse it with sabor.

Together, we put on a September-long, first time in the USA, Luz y Sombra show/photo sale at the steadfast Bay City Arts Center, complete with two foodtastic events.
It was tons of fun, but I was also on a serious mission, fueled by memories of my young friend shyly telling me he'd have liked to continue exploring his artistic talents, had it been a possibility. Pursuing study in the arts is about as practical a path for a Colombian street kid as it is for any person anywhere who wants to pay their bills. While taking pictures with me is fun, self-expression couldn’t be a future. Or could it?

Here’s where I want to high-five that hand, because I get to find out next summer. Thanks to the money raised at the Arts Center, I plan to return to Colombia with two art scholarships.

The money raised from that work and those kids' photos will pay for two big kids from the Fundación Niños de los Andes to attend one visual arts course each, at any of the city’s many schools. There is enough money for tuition, supplies, and transportation, so that creativity can be more than a childhood hobby for the older youngsters who have more to share.

There's no reason this can't keep going. Feel like taking part?

Starting on December 1, 2016, the rest of the photos for Luz y Sombra will be shown here, and on Facebook, and will be available for purchase. All proceeds will go to art scholarships for more kids from the foundation.

These particular printed visions are very special for another reason, but I'm going to wait until the day the show "drops" online to write more about that. December 1, see all of Luz y Sombra's photos, buy any of them, and make some dreams come true.

This one is no longer for sale though. It’s mine, along with the inspiration its young creator ignited within me, to see big kids chase their artistic side into adulthood.

In Defense of Other People

Hola, world! It's been a while, no?

Yep, I'm back in Dreamland, aka Colombia, and have been for a couple of weeks, only this time I'm not alone. My oldest son is with me, experiencing all the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of this wonderful country.

We have gone high, we have gone low, we have been apart from familiar faces, and we have come to visit friends who are practically like family. Naturally, we have taken so many pictures. How could you not? This really is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Mountains, rivers, flowers, fruit, yada yada yada. 

Oh sorry, I don't mean to sound "over it" but we are lucky enough to live on the Oregon Coast, so we enjoy those things regularly, even if their intensity is muted by being so far from the tropics.

Instead of the impressive vistas, the aspect to traveling in Colombia that takes my breath away is the beautiful friends, some of whom I had the good fortune to meet in my previous travels, and who have welcomed us warmly in this one. Anyone can buy a ticket, make a hotel reservation, arrange a tour, and buy knick knacks. It takes something special to feel at home, so far from home. It takes other people. 

It has been my experience that people get kind of a bad rap. I get it, they're capable of some pretty ugly acts. I spent most of my youth seeing myself and my fellow human beings as fallen creations whose best moments were equivalent to filthy rags. Later, I embraced a very anti-social view, something like one sees on T-shirts. Others were foolish, aggravating, and inspired little more than eye rolls from me.

Sartre would be so proud.

Funny how motherhood can push a reset button in a person. The arrival of this boy, who is now my travel companion, made me feel more compassion towards others. I think he might have been the first person I met who was truly precious to me.

He was a little human sprout, so vulnerable and full of promise. The more time I spent with him, the more I saw the adults around me as babies, just further down the line. Even the harmful ones. 

But that was just one step in the journey. See, it's easy, actually downright primal, to love your child. He wasn't exactly an "other person." he was part me, and part the guy I love best in the world. 

Knowing and loving him was very much a celebration of my own self, even as it made me less selfish.

As the years and experiences have rolled by, I have come to believe that it is the otherness of other people that matters most. The more "other" they are, the more impressive a feat loving them is. That is to say that, the most inspirational journeys I have witnessed are those in which feeling love for another person isn't supposed to happen, but it does anyway. When those things that should separate us effectively don't, due to our determination to find a way to reach and care for one another.

You are probably familiar with the labels we put on ourselves help us identify similar souls, usually revolving around strong opinions, nationality, gender, race, orientation, deeply-held beliefs or lack thereof;  but these monikers also make us feel like we have little in common with those who wear the opposite brand. Our ancient tribal tendencies kick in and we pack up, in some cases clashing with what we see as opposing tribes.

That's when finding ways to love our ideological counterparts is almost an act of rebellion. It goes against our nature, which is what makes it so punk rock.  I am frequently on the receiving end of such defiant humanity, in this land where my son and I are a blond blue-eyed foreign assault on the locals' expectations. Before they know us, before they know how we will act, and whether we will be cold or rude, they reach out with generosity and kindness that completely negates everything I used to think about other people. 

In this country, they refer to it as "calor humano," or "Human warmth." It is most evident in the tendency to greet one another with physical contact, either with a handshake, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or all three. It is most effective in the tendency to invite strangers into their homes, offer them a cup of something warm to drink, perhaps with something sweet to eat. It is most enviable when presented as a regional virtue. People I spend time with here ask me, "Have you seen how we are? How we take care of each other?"

It's impossible not to see it, as I am swimming in it. It's something I miss when I am not here. It's why, after a lifelong journey away from my earliest assumptions about mankind, I can and do dole out frequent hugs and I Love Yous wherever I am. Because I can't unlearn what Colombians have taught me: how wonderful life is when we err on the side of being less cynical and more affectionate with one another.

Rolling With It: To An Extent

One thing that I love about traveling is you almost never know what is going to happen next. One thing I find challenging about traveling is you almost never know what is going to happen next. It's not all sunshine and fruits here in Colombia.

Yes, it is. 

Usually, it's sunshine and fruits and widely available wi-fi. At least I do my best to make sure it is, wherever I'm staying in this lovely land. Is that because I want to share six million photos of brightly colored houses and trucksful of dangling fruit on a daily basis?

No, that's just a fringe benefit. I need a sweet solid internet connection because I have to, must, feel absolutely forlorn if I don't, talk to my family every night before bed (for me. It's before dinner for them.)

There have been very few nights over the last seven weeks where I intentionally skipped a call. I have this whole thing, where I talk to my best friend in the world, Geza, whatever little people are hanging around the house, say some iloveyous and goodbyes, end the call, quit Skype, and cross the day off of my calendar, with a little feeling of relief that I'm one day closer to being back with them.While it is true that I am having one of the times of my life, it's no coincidence that I made the decision to travel in this modern era I like to call The Jetson Years.

I don't think I could have gone so far from those I love most, for so long, back in The Flintstone Years (aka: all the years before I turned 25)

Come, Climb Molehill Mountain With Me:

Having done a fair amount of work during the first part of my trip, the plan now is to check out something cultural. Last year, I had the privilege of attending the Festival Folclórico en Ibague.

This year, I made arrangements to visit Santa Elena's Feria de las Flores, in the mountains to the west of Medellin. I kissed my host family good by and traveled many miles to a room in a country house I had booked.

It was rustic,

peaceful

rural

...and the internet was down. It had been down for a week, and fellow farmmates were burning up all of their cell minutes waiting on an automated repair line that kept auto-promising repairmen would come, and guess what? They never came. I managed a couple of messages from the public library's free wifi, to let interested parties know I had arrived safely, then returned to the farm and waited all day, and then another whole day, for the elusive figure who was fabled to make internets where there were none.

I love you Facebook, but I could live without. I love you blog, even though you're called a "blog," but I could live without you. I love you internet, but I must be able to live without you.  When I feel that whiny Gollomesque attachment to <fill in the blank here> (suggestions: internet, ice cream, laziness, hip hop dancing movies) it feels like something I have work on.

Sometimes, you have to recognize that you must be the outside force acting on your own inert self and learn to love the feeling of challenging your limitations.

So somewhere around 24 hours in, I remembered that traveling is a regular plate of  surprises with a warm roll (with it) on the side. I decided to enjoy the situation. After all, I got to saw this wood,

 and hang out with this dog,

on this porch, 

and later by this fire,

 all while reading this book. 

If I had been able to share road pictures and stream episodes of Derek on Netflix, I would have read a lot less of a story I should have read many years ago.

The last line on the page, where Jim says he's rich because, by running away from slavery, he owns himself, is just another example of the fact that Mark Twain knows what's up. I want to see this book turned into a movie, and not one where anyone on the cover is smiling.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, while funny at times, does not flinch in its depiction of the stark realities of slavery, domestic abuse, alcoholism, poverty, and societal hypocrisy. Please see book cover photo, squinty grimacing or get out. 

What with all the drowsy dogs, warmth, and wonderful writing, it was one of the nicer evenings I've had in my whole life; all brought to me by Undesirable Circumstances.

Before turning in for the night, I stood on the porch and watched the moon rise. Gazing at inky clouds turning pearly as they moved across its resplendent face, I felt that peaceful resignation that comes when you realize the internet guy is never going to arrive. That's when I faced facts: Unless I did something drastic, I was about to spend many more nights in the same peaceful, edifying, old fashion, without talking to these faces even once.

So, I booked a room in the closest cheapest hotel I could find and got the heck out of there today.
The End.

 I love you, family. 

Successfully Screwing Up

Whew! What's "Whew!" in Spanish, I wonder? Juih?

Anyway, I love staying busy as much as the next traveling homeschooling working mom of four, but sometimes, when you've finished putting on a spontaneous photography exhibit for underprivileged children in South America, you've gotta stop and breathe for a second. Look back, take stock, and write a blog post.

That's right, thanks to the marvelous photography of the children living at the Fundación Niños de los Andes, and the support of the staff there, we were invited to show the kids' work at the Centro Colombo Americano, a prestigious cultural center that has sites in every city in Colombia. The exhibit will be up for another week and half, but we had our big inauguration three nights ago, in which there were lots of art patrons, lots of kids, lots of friends, and even a TV news crew!

Como se dice, "I'm totally not ready for my close up."

And I did it all by myself, without messing up once.

HA! or JA! Right. First, we have established that I did almost none of it by myself. Now, let's get to the error-riddled road that got me here, and gets me anywhere I go.

First, a flashback, if you will. About one year ago, I was here, in beautiful Colombia, at the Fundación Niños de los Andes school, teaching English to about twenty of the aforementioned Niños. I read a sentence aloud and asked a student to repeat it. She did, but made a mistake in her pronunciation. When I provided a gentle friendly correction, the rest of the class laughed at her.
I cut that nonsense out right away, saying,

"Listen! Do not laugh at somebody who makes a mistake because that person is doing something great. She is learning. Look at me, here, making mistakes with almost every sentence, but nevertheless I am here, working and getting better. That is how new things are learned."

 Although it probably sounded something like,

"HEAR! No to laugh for anyone who is mistaking. She are making pretty! Her am learning! Watch at me, I mistake all but anyway here I do gooder. Those is things new can knowing!"

Well, the kids all looked at me for a second. I didn't know if I had just blown their minds with a profound truth, or if they were all trying to figure out what the heck I said, but they stopped laughing at any rate, so I was happy and continued the English lesson.

Back to Thursday night. It was the culmination of many weeks of planning, hard work, and flat-out flubs. Shall I list them for you? Well, some of them anyway.

1. I left the USA with six cameras and a healthy supply of rechargeable batteries for the cameras that didn't have their own. Those rechargeable batteries never worked when I needed them. I charged them for days in the house where I am staying, and nada. Buying regular batteries as a stop gap measure got expensive, but that's how I managed. Somewhere close to the end of the photography aspect of the project, someone asked me, "Why didn't you go to Home Center and buy rechargeables?" Duh, I didn't know you had them here. Whoops.

2.  From the beginning, we worked with groups of five kids at a time, giving each child one hour of photographic phreedom to roam the grounds of their foundation and take pictures. In order to label the files on my computer, and keep straight who took what photos, I asked the kids to write their names in a little notebook I kept with me, never checking to make sure that they had written a complete name. When I organized the photos into folders on my computer, I was stuck, sometimes with just a barely legible first name.

In the end, when we were surprised by the news that we would be putting on a show, I had to sort back through all those names, and all those kids, sometimes with four Danielas standing in a row, asking, "Who took this photo?"

3. I never figured out how to program ^this^ camera to stop showing a date, so all of the photos taken with it had to be cropped.

This doesn't even scratch the surface, especially when you consider all the bungled Spanish I had to use at every turn. So many things I would do differently, if I had the chance.

Here's the thing I learned from all of this. You can dream big, you can plan a lot, you can have the best help, but if you can't breathe and work through an error, you will get stuck.

A couple of weeks ago, as I served coffee and snacks to a team of people helping me whittle 1000 photos down to a showable 100, they asked me, "This photo? Who took it? It just says Camila." I admit to sweating a bit in that moment, wishing I could go back and do it over again, hating myself for being too disorganized and unprepared, feeling a small but strong wave of self-doubt. Instead of looking for a hidey-hole and a soft blanket, I just said, "I mistaked. Wish I can do again, but we must encounter the child after we decide the names." And you know what? They just nodded, said okay, and went on. End of the world, it wasn't.

Who on this earth has attempted to learn a new language and started off fluent? Who on this earth has picked up a musical instrument for the first time and played it like a virtuoso? Who on this earth has tried to push themselves from their present reality to a future dream without having to accept his or her limitations?

Acceptance doesn't mean complacency. Pushing oneself to get better is a fine way to spend a lifetime. Acceptance means not spending a great deal of time and energy on self-punishment, or even worse, self-defeating fear that could stop you from trying in the first place. Taking on something new usually means not being that great at it, for a while at least.

photo by Kellen Ramirez

It takes a special mix of humility and confidence to remember that the road to someplace outside of you current abilities is a bumpy one, paved with reminders of your short-comings; but that it's well worth traveling.

Love is God

If you've ever visited this, my crusty little spot of the internet before, you may have noticed the "Secular Homeschool" button, down and to the left a bit. We, as a family, are part of a network of people who have taken on home education, without belief in a religion, and without use of religious homeschooling materials. This sort of thing is not easy to come by in the world of home education, so participating sometimes feels like slashing a path into the unknown with a big machete, learning and sharing new definitions for old words.

Let's start with the word, "secular." While it's true that I am now living a secular life, as a religionless person, I see the S word as saying nothing in particular about who we are as a family.  For us, "secular" does not mean anti-religion, and it certainly doesn't mean living a life devoid of faith, humility, and love. Truth be told, we have a lot in common with some of the believers in our lives. Don't you just love having things in common? I sure do.

Faith: If you've ever stooped over some cold dirt on a wet early spring morning to plant chard seeds, you know what faith is. If you've ever worked hard to earn money for a big goal, like a tablet or overseas trip, you are acting like that day will come when you will have it. Does this mean an unwavering belief that things will always go as planned? Certainly not. As a matter of fact, it means continuing forth, into the unknown, with a vague notion that you can handle the unpredictable inevitabilities along the way.

So began the big photography project: with a simple choice I made at the Fundación Niños de los Andes, near the end of  last year's stay, here in gorgeous Manizales, Colombia.

That's right, I'm back in la zona tropical!

Last June, a girl living in the Fundación asked to borrow my camera. I thought for a second, remembering that I had been advised not to give or loan the kids anything. I let it go into her small hands: an act of faith, for which I was rewarded with a camera full of special photos. The talent and photographic instincts displayed in the photos taken by the girl inspired me. I thought of this world, full of fancy things nobody uses anymore, and had an idea. After a year of asking my friends online and in real life to give me their unused digital cameras, I boarded a Colombia-bound plane three and a half weeks ago with six cameras, and a very fuzzy idea of what to do with them. I dunno, take them to the foundation? Get permission to loan them to kids? See what happens next?

With the help of a trusty friend here in Colombia, I spent about thirty hours with the kids at the foundation, over the course of three weeks, taking them aside in groups of five, explaining the basics of photography, and giving a pep talk to the effect of, "You are all artists. Artists use their unique perspective to share their story with the world."

I may not ascribe to any of the world's current religions, but I believe strongly in the magic that comes of kids being creative. Acting on that, my only hope was for some young people to enjoy the delicious discovery of self-expression. And take some neat pictures.

Humility: As news of this project spread, an incredible, unforeseeable opportunity emerged. We were granted use of space at a nationally-respected cultural institution to put on a show of the kids' best work. Is there a word for thrilled mixed with daunted? Because that's what I felt. Suddenly I felt the limitations of my abilities. Sure, I'm the big gringa with a bunch of cameras and horrible Spanish, but enough bragging. I had never put on a show in my own country, in my own language. What made me think I could pull it off here?

I could never have expected what would happen next. In came offers of help, in areas where I would need it most. How does one print and mount photos, turn in all pertinent paperwork, and publicize everything professionally - all in a language that one is still learning? Well, turns out, I don't have to know, because this idea has been a magnet, attracting loving souls who have emerged with their talents and abilities to help me accomplish all of the aspects of a real live art show.

Love: This is my fuel, and my guiding force. It's how I know I'm on the right track.Where there is love, something special is happening. After each photography session, when the children returned their cameras, we hugged and I thanked them for participating. The light in their eyes is something I recognized. It is the look of a child who felt and gave love.

Whether it was someone donating a camera or money, someone helping me manage the kids, an acquaintance calling contacts in important places, or complete strangers personally giving their energy to a project headed by a giant foreigner they had never met; as each person has come to this team, intent on presenting the kids' vision to the wider world, the love we feel for each other, for the children, for the future, for art, is what we have in common.

Dispatches from Dreamland: Recuerdos, a Recipe, and a Request

Remember when I took that trip last month? Boy, I sure do, every day. Leaving my family behind was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but now that I'm home again, I find my thoughts keep flying over the continents and seas to the people who shared their homes with me, and the kids I came to love dearly.

How do we remember things? I could sigh nostalgically over a photo, or my computer screen. There's also the recounting to my husband the billionth tiny detail about daily life there, but the other senses remember things too.

It should come as no surprise that one of my favorite ways to get to Memory Lane is by eating. There were some great food-related memories from that trip (that didn't involve making pizza.) For example, during my next-to-last weekend in South America, a friend I met at the Fundación Niños de los Andes, who also happened to be a chef, took me to her family farm, where I experienced the most delicious celebration of summer: Chiles en Nogada.

 shown here without the Nogada sauce

It's a Mexican dish, but we were eating it in Colombia. And last week, we ate it here in Tillamook. After a night of soaking, a full day of chopping, and a backyard fire, I remembered that afternoon on that mountainside with my mouth.

Chiles en Nogada 

from Marcela Jaramillo Garcia

 chef, teacher, and co-owner of Pishqa and Öll Cocina Artesenal

15 ml. vegetable oil (to fry garlic, onions, tomato, almonds, olives and raisins)
4 cloves of garlic
1/4 c. red onion (finely chopped)
1 pinch sea salt
1/4 c. water
250 g. ripe tomatoes (chopped/liquified)
1/4 c. blanched almonds, halved
50 g. black raisins, chopped (dried cherries would be great here, for the raisin-haters)
8 green olives, cut into fourths
1 t. chopped fresh parsley
1 clove
1/4 cinnamon stick
 8 g. black pepper

15 g. vegetable oil (for frying the fruit)
1 c. diced apple
1 c. diced pear
1 c. diced peaches
1 T. brown sugar
1 c. diced bananas
8 poblano peppers

Nogada Sauce
1/4 c. almonds, peeled and soaked in water overnight
100 g. queso fresco
200 g. walnuts
180 ml. cold water

In large saucepan, heat the oil for frying the garlic, onions, tomato, almonds, olives and raisinsa. Start off by frying two crushed cloves of garlic until they're golden and translucent. Discard.
Add the onion and tomato and cook for a few minutes. Add the almonds, raisins, olives, and parsley. Cook for 2 minutes.
Grind the cloves, cinnamon, and pepper. Add them to the saucepan. Cook them for a minute more and remove the pan from the heat.

In another pan heat the oil for frying the fruit. Start off with two more cloves of crushed garlic, cooked and removed, then add the diced apple, pear and peach. Cover and cook for a few minutes. Add the brown sugar and banana before stirring the fruit mixture into the onion-tomato mixture. Now you have your pepper filling. It looked like this when I was ready to spoon it into the peppers.

To prepare the peppers:
Place whole peppers over direct heat (we used a fire in the backyard fire pit), until the skin is blistered and burned. Like, all-the-way, black-all-over burned. Place them into a sealable plastic bag, to make the peel sweat and easy to remove.

Wait at least fifteen minutes before taking them out and removing all of the blackened skin. After all the black is gone, make a long slit in the pepper, from stem to end, remove the seeds and pat insides dry with a paper towel. Put on a plate and spoon in the filling until full. Then, slather them with this sauce:

Nogada Sauce:
Mix almonds, cheese, and walnuts together in a food processor, using enough water to get a sauce consistency.

Fair Warning: While the dad of the house and I loved everything about Chiles en Nogada, the kids were freaked out by the mix of sweet and savory. You know what that means, I need to make it more often!

When I ate this bright burst of flavors in Colombia, I was on the side of  a steep green mountain, surrounded by fruit trees and tweeting birds. The lightness and balance of flavors is simple and sophisticated at the same time. And, when made with green peppers, it bears the colors of the Mexican flag: red, white, and green.

While I'm no chef, my own stab at stuffed peppers was close enough to make me remember and feel grateful for having had the opportunity to eat Mexican food with new friends in Colombia.

These new friends came into my life because of the heroic organization, Fundación Niños de los Andes, where I spent much of my June.

Last month while working on our Happy fan homage video, I took my camera to the Fundación and soon found myself with a long line of kids who wanted to be photographed: alone, together, in trees, with their boyfriends, and friends. Typical teen activity, no? But more so, because these kids don't have anyone else on the job. It's one thing to call some beloved daughter, taking her billionth bathroom selfie, self-absorbed. It's another thing to see a pretty young girl with her whole life ahead of her, wanting a memento of this fleeting moment, when she and the guy she loves are just figuring out what that even means. Maybe she knows she's beautiful, and maybe that's beautiful.

There's no scrapbook of firsts for this girl. No curl from a first haircut or chubby ink footprints on parchment. No proud mother horning in with a camera to make sure these moments will not be forgotten. It's up to her to capture the magic, and she's not taking the job lightly.

After taking photos of every student with every other student, one younger girl approached me, asking to borrow my camera. This sort of thing is not done, normally. One does not go to South America, visit a place where the kids have very little, and hand one of them your camera. But, I've never been much good at being normal. I handed her my sturdiest camera in an act of faith. She ran around the grounds, taking photos of buildings, animals, her friends, and herself. When I was about to leave, she returned it, anxious to know if she would ever see paper copies of the photos she just took. I promised her I would print them up when I was stateside, and mail them to her. Then, I looked at her photos.

This girl can shoot! 

 That's when I got an idea.

It was at around this point in my trip when I was already planning next year's visit to Manizales, Colombia, to do more work at Fundación Niños de los Andes. As I scrolled through my camera files, looking at the world through her little girl's eyes, I felt the sudden urge to return with a camera or two, teach these kids the basics of photography, and see what kind of art they make. Imagine a small group of camera-wielding kids walking around the grounds of the Fundación, learning and discovering this unique form of self-expression.

Brace yourself. Maybe take a deep breath. I'm about to do some online begging.

It's just that, this where you come in, O, benevolent reader.

I'd like you to send me your unused digital camera(s) if you have any.  If, in your upgrading ways, you happen to have a camera that works well, but probably won't get much more action; and if you have an urge in your heart to do something nice for someone you don't know, I'd love to take said camera to Colombia and give more niños the opportunity to take more fotos. If I get enough, (including chargers/cords/cards and other necessary equipment), I can get permission to teach a workshop with more than one student, develop a structured lesson plan, and complete projects which can be shared here and elsewhere online. So you'll see the memories you helped make.

To contribute your hand-me-down picture taking machine, or ask me for more details about this project before mailing your precious electronic devices to some stranger off the internet, send an email to www.thomaslaszlo11@gmail.com.

Gracias