Dear Reader,

I must confess, I hate to write.
I never thought that I had the potential of becoming a "writer." I still don't. After all, hitting a tennis ball doesn't qualify anyone for US Open. But when wild, unexpected and forceful thoughts come to mind, like the one to write a book, I blindly follow.
Writing is a torture of great magnitude for my aging brain, which was never exposed to conventional literary methods of writing. Perhaps, more importantly, it wasn't until my mid-twenties that I became familiar with the English language. In my chronicles, you will no doubt find mistakes and grammatically incorrect passages. My dear reader, I ask not only for your understanding, but your pardon. I hope that my Basia-isms, as my husband calls them, will not confuse or offend your sensibilities. Rather, I wish that they will entertain you and help you to visualize what life in Mexico offers.
Today I have two conflicting thoughts. First, who really cares about my personal perspective? On the other hand, why not? Aren't most of us attracted to the stories that overlap with our own experiences, dreams, struggles, hopes, and heart aches? To support and make my story more intimate, I have included web links to my photo journals.

I fondly hope, for what my Out of Mexico collection of personal opinions offer, that you will find in it enough bearing to leave you inspired and entertained.

With warm wishes and thanks, from under the same Sun,
basia