Did I dream it or did someone tell me the story? I can’t remember where the truth ends and the talk begins.
– from Caramelo by Sandra Cisneros (p. 20)

When I was a kid, my family went camping on some bluffs overlooking the beaches of Santa Barbara. I can’t remember the name of the campsite or how old I was. I do remember joining up with my tía Susana, her sisters and a couple other families. There were a lot of kids left unattended as our mom’s played la baraja.

On Sunday morning, while everyone was still asleep in their tents, my mom woke us up for Mass at the Santa Barbara Mission. I’m sure we grumbled about having to go to church while on vacation, but we went anyway.

There weren’t many people in Mass that Sunday, it was much emptier than our usual 8 a.m. service at St. John Vianney. I remember thinking it was cool and weird that I was inside one of the same missions we studied in 4th grade.

At least I think I remember this. I stopped by the mission briefly on a recent trip to SB. It didn’t look familiar, nor did I get the feeling I’d visited before. Perhaps my memory is distorted. I know we went camping in SB and went to Mass on Sunday, but maybe it wasn’t at the mission. Maybe I imagined that part.