Lately, it has been hot, so I decided to do something that would make life a little easier. I cooked a bunch of different meals in the crock pot, put them into containers, and froze them. That way, when the weather is hot, I wouldn't have to do much cooking. Then a flyer came in from the local Mexican market. They had pineapples, plantains, mangoes, watermelon, cucumbers—fresh fruits and vegetables at really good prices. They also had beef shanks. So after the gym, I had my caretaker take me to the store. I already had plenty of food at home. I had meals in the freezer, food in the refrigerator, and everything I needed. I wasn't going to the store because I was running out of food. But when I got there, something happened. I felt happy. The store was colorful and full of fresh food. I could choose one of this, two of that, three of something else. I wasn't limited to whatever quantity happened to come in a package. I could actually look at what I wanted and decide what I wa...
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One rainy day, I was driving home from the beach, facing a 28-mile journey across the twisting, treacherous Ortega Highway—one of the deadliest roads in California. The rain poured relentlessly, but the highway was eerily empty.
I’m not a fast driver anymore—at least, I’m a recovering one—so I took my time, carefully navigating the wet, winding road. As I ascended the mountain, the road curved sharply. I turned with it, but suddenly, I hit an oil slick.
My car started to hydroplane.
Instinctively, I tried to straighten the wheel, but I overcompensated. In an instant, I lost all control. My car spun—one full 360-degree turn—hurtling toward disaster. To my right, the sheer rock face of the mountain. To my left, a steep, thousand-foot drop into the abyss.
I had no control. No way to stop.
Then—impact.
My car slammed into the only thing between me and death: a cement barrier separating the road from the cliff's edge. When I finally caught my breath, I found myself staring at a roadside memorial—a marker for someone who had lost their life in that exact spot.
I later realized it might have belonged to someone whose story had been told in a documentary, a person who had been shot and killed on the Ortega Highway. I don’t know why, but I’ve always believed that soul was my angel that night. And every time I pass that spot, I whisper a thank-you—to them, and to God.
A white plumbing van had been driving behind me, and it pulled over to check on me. A man stepped out, and even in the middle of my trembling, near-death shock, I couldn’t help but notice—he was stunning. Gorgeous.
Somehow, even in moments like these, life still has a sense of humor.
He asked if I was okay. I managed to nod. And just as quickly as he appeared, he left.
But the miracle remained.
It was just one more of a thousand times I could have died. And one more time that I didn’t.
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