In the spring of 2016, our son invited us to join his family on Easter Break. I love to travel but had never been to Cabo San Lucas, so I was looking forward to the adventure. Though my ancestors are from Mexico, I personally have no real roots in Mexico, no tías or tíos, nor cousins either.  My cultural connection is not based in Mexico, but from the traditions our mother handed down to us, although she was born in the United States. All that I had heard of Cabo San Lucas was that it was a vacation site for singles, a party town. I never knew about the dangers of swimming in the waters of Cabo San Lucas either, but would soon find out.

When we arrived the airport was bustling with signs welcoming people, and scores of locals vying for your attention to sign up for the popular excursions.  The environment was a bit overwhelming.

We finally make it to the car rental office, where shady persons tried to extort more money than we had agreed to. Our son Mikos took charge of the situation, but in his frustration I had to come in a couple of times to help with the translation. Because Enterprise Car Rental in Mexico is different from the United States, we did not want to start an international war, so we gave in to their demands.

Our granddaughter Maddie was worried sick because she had broken a chain letter. We explained that as Christians we do not believe in this type of superstition. When we arrived at our hotel, I had locked my luggage, but I could not open the darn suitcases. Using my date of birth in different sequences did not help the situation. In the meantime, everyone was excited to get down to the pool. Not me, because my bathing suit was still locked in the suitcase. Finally Mikos called the room and asked me, ” What’s taking you so long?” My reply, “Maybe Maddie should have sent that chain letter after all, I can’t get the lock on my suitcase to open!” Finally, after an hour with the help of a porter, I was down with the rest of the family at the pool. We took a stroll along the beach and Mikos and Wil got into the water. I noticed that the water was a little rough so I avoided it. It took Wil under and dragged him down. After that Wil did not want to have anything to do with the Sea of Cortez.

I’m not a summer resort type of girl, because the sun had taken it toll on my skin, and this whole bathing suit thing is overrated, I am not a fan, but do like a good piña colada. Just I was settling in lounge chair and sipping my drink, a huge lizard crept near my chair and I was petrified. Apparently these reptiles like to sunbathe too, as they were everywhere, and never posed a threat.

The following day we took advantage of the rental and headed towards San José de Cabo. We walked around the beautiful village. Mike and I were bumping heads that morning; I can never recall why I was upset but I was. We came to the steps of Parroquia de San José, a catholic church. I walked in and said a prayer to be freed of this spirit of anger. This beautiful humble church was most welcoming and satisfied  my need to be rid of all unwanted negative spirits. I love that in any part of the world, we can visit the Tabernacle of our Savior Jesus Christ.

The next day I wanted nothing to do with the pool. I looked out hotel our window and noticed the lounge chairs near the beach. I told Mike that I wanted to be by the water. We got out towels and headed down to the beach. I had recently purchased a bathing suit cover-up, that had flattering slip on pants. My cover-up had become my dear friend, and made me feel confident enough to walk around without feeling the least bit uncomfortable. We picked out a spot, laid out our towels and rested. From the lounge chair I opened my eyes, only to discover a red flag flying above me. In English and Spanish, it read: No swimming allowed!

I was getting really hot lying in the sun, so I told Mike that I was going to cool off  in the water. As I walked down toward the beach I could no longer see Mike only the flag waving wildly at me. I noticed a few local vendors selling silver jewelry; other than that, it was the sea and me.

The water felt so good on my feet, so I went in deeper. It took only a matter a seconds for sea to take me in. I had no control of the strong undercurrent that dragged me deep into the ocean. I felt my head hit the surface of the ocean floor, I was in shock and went into a panic. I could not come up for air because my body was being tossed out my control, almost as if heavy hands were holding me down. I came to my senses and started to pray, asking God to help me. Suddenly, just like Jonah, the ocean spit me out. I was drunk from all the beating I took. I looked back at the sea and my cover-up was being driven back to the ocean, I foolishly went back in to get it, saying, “Oh Hell No, you’re not getting my cover-up!” I grabbed the cover-up and the ocean dragged me in again. This time  was much worse; with one hand holding tightly to the cover-up, I allowed the ocean to toy with my body, knowing full well that I was in a perilous situation. Again I prayed, and again the ocean granted me another reprieve and spit me out. I was dazed, running away from the wicked sea and the near-death experience, when a vendor selling silver crosses came to me and said in Spanish, “Señora, necesitas una cruz más grande!” Translation, “Lady you need a bigger cross.” I could not agree more.

I finally got back to Mike, who looked at me and said, “What the hell happened to you?” I replied, “I almost died while you were all comfortable sun bathing!” I was a mess, with lumps of sand all over and inside my bathing suit. My hair was gritty, with millions of grains of sand, and my ears were packed with sand. I tried to shower off some of the sand at an outdoor shower but it was useless. I was a walking bag of sand, and with every step, I tried to rid myself of the excess weight.

San Lucas was watching over me that day. I apologize to my guardian angel for putting her through all this.  And, thank you, my  angel, for helping me retrieve my cover-up.

Psalm 93:4 (NKJV) The Lord on high is mightier Than the noise of many waters, Than the mighty waves of the sea.

About a month ago a dear friend of mine, Sarah, was having surgery. On the morning of the surgery I went to Mass and offered my communion up for her, but I felt a tugging in my heart to go and be with her. I drove directly to Kaiser Hospital in Anaheim, parked God knows where and went up to the surgery floor. I could not find where Sarah was, so I called Jason, Sarah’s husband, who told me to meet him in the cafeteria. I was on  the second  floor with a clear view of the cafeteria, but I did not see Jason. I called him again only to find out I was at the wrong Kaiser Hospital. Sarah was at the Kaiser is Irvine, about half an hour away. I went home, had my coffee and Ezekiel toast, and then drove to Irvine.

Using the GPS on my phone, I typed in the address. The direction instructed me to exit on a toll road. I was not going to fall into that trap because I do not have the proper tags to use the toll road and did not want to pay any fees. I exited on the next street, which is a really crazy busy boulevard, leading to the Irvine Spectrum. I started to pray because as the GPS was rerouting, I had to made a huge decision as to which of the five lanes to take. I was a little preoccupied with making sure to turn in the right direction when a motorcycle police officer flashed his light on me.  The officer and I went through the usual formalities, then he left my presence for a few minutes. When he returned, I was surprised that he had a really long ticket for me. “Why are you giving me a ticket?” I asked. In a stoic voice, the officer answered, “I almost hit your vehicle because of your sudden stop.”  “So you’re giving me a ticket? I was stopped because I was allowing the pedestrians to pass.”  Officer: “If you were turning, your wheels were not indicating that, and you were not completely in the turning lane.”  I asked him if he knew how much the ticket was going to cost me; he answered $200. The unfriendly officer suggested I attend traffic school. The last time I got a ticket was over 25 years ago.

I finally arrived at the right hospital and was able to pray for my friend before her surgery.  The Devil is always up in my business; my attacks come in unexpected ways to discourage my walk. I was upset about the distraction, but I put my emotions on pause to do what God asked of me. I stayed with Jason until Sarah was out of surgery.

It was a beautiful day, and as I exited the revolving doors of the hospital I took a deep breath and thanked God for Sarah’s successful surgery. Then I remembered the stupid ticket.

My husband never accepts this type of news well, so I was going to spare him, and not tell him… yet. The week before, a back part my front tooth had fallen out, and my other tooth needed redoing as well. This expense was well into the thousands, so we were just getting over the shock of  the unexpected expenditure, right before our trip to Europe.  To add this ticket to the pile was just going to be another week of Mike reminding me not to use the credits cards.

Before I told Mike about the citation, I wanted to get the ticket in my hands and investigate the full cost. About a week later the ticket arrived in the mail. Mike was out of town and I had gone to lunch with my friend Helen. As we turned the corner to my house, Mike’s car was in the driveway; he arrived earlier than expected. Well, what happened next is what God always does to me  in His humor.  Mike had the mail in his hands when I walked in. I felt like that character in the movie “The Color Purple” asking Mike, “Did anything come for me?” Much to my surprise, Mike handed me  the odd -sized envelope with the citation.

I opened the mail only to discover that the citation was closer to $300. I quietly left the room with the biggest pit in my stomach. I called for more information; aside from the ticket, there were court fees, and let’s not forget about the traffic school charges. I walked back into the room and told Mike. He exclaimed,”I just got the bill for the dental work, and now this!”  I was brave and answered “Yeah, but it really wasn’t my fault!” I was lying, and I knew it was all my fault. Finally the air cleared, and the conversation turned to, “Please do not use the credit cards until I can knock them down, especially,  TJ Maxx!” I could live with that.

I need to go back to my youth to explain why I operate like this. I have this innate fear of approaching these delicate matters. It was instilled into me by  my mother. When a young man would ask me out on a date, I would inform my mom early in the week, and she would say, “It’s Monday, and too early to ask if you can go out.” So when Thursday rolled around, I’d asked again, and her answers would be, “Why are you asking at the last minute? You should not go out with boys if they ask you out a day before!” My mother’s ambiguous reply scarred me. This went on most of my dating years, so this fear has transcended into my adult life. My daughter Sonja said that I reacted the same way with her. Sonja claims that when she was invited to sleepovers, I told her she was too young, and when she got older she claims that I told her she was too old.

So now I’m almost done with my online traffic school, instead of the 6 hours, it has taken me over 9 hours. The good news is that I’ve become a better driver, because I never want to get another ticket again, and the next time I’m taking to toll road.

My niece Leah is employed by an upscale eye institute in Arizona, where she has worked her way up to the position of surgical technician.  Leah is always checking our eyes for any sign of cataracts, glaucoma, and/or macular degeneration. During her visit in February, when I caught her staring at me during breakfast.

“What are you staring at?” I asked. Leah said “ You need cataract surgery.” Then she added, “Your skin is really hooded over your eyes.”

At this point I got up from the table with mixed emotions. Was Leah insulting me or being helpful? Leah later explained that I should make an appointment with the specialist about the cataracts surgery and see if I was a candidate for the eyelid procedure.

Since I was planning a trip to Arizona to get my eyes examined for glasses,  I went ahead and made an appointment for the examination to see if I really needed cataract surgery. It turned out that I did not.

The morning of my eye examination I told Leah, “You better make sure I can see the specialist about the hooding over my eyes.” Leah chuckled sarcastically and said, “That’s impossible. He is booked months in advance!” Under my breath I said, “I will see him today.”

Leah did the full medical eye examination. When we were done, I asked Leah about the ophthalmologist to examine   my hooded eyes. Leah rolled her eyes and said, “He’s too busy!” I asked her to please check. Thanks to Leah, the kind doctor agreed to see me. He examined my eyelids and said, “You really do have a lot of excess skin, but we need to do some testing to see if you are a candidate for the operation,” as this was considered a medical procedure.

Another two weeks passed, and I was back in Arizona for the testing. The excess skin was causing problems with my peripheral vision, so and after the examination I was cleared for surgery.

I told my family about the this, and shared the news with a few friends. They all responded, “So you’re having an eye lift.” It was useless to try to explain: first it was not my idea, and second, the blepharoplasty was performed by an ophthalmologist rather than a plastic  surgeon. I told my prayer group and they, too, thought the surgery was a cosmetic procedure. When they prayed for me, one of the men kiddingly said, “Lord, make Lynda young and beautiful.” Everyone broke out in loud laughter, including me.

On the morning of the surgery all was normal, and it was time to get the anesthesia. A kind  nurse found a weak vein on my right arm for the sedation. The anesthesiologist came to explain that after the arm IV, he would follow with injecting the outer parts of my eyes. By this time both of my eyes were covered. They put some type of tape around my face and over my mouth; it was definitely sticky, and resembled the blue tape used by painters.

I could still speak, but my words were a little muffled. I asked the doctor if we could pray, and he sweetly agreed.  “Dear Lord, guide his hands through this surgery, that all goes well and that no infection sets in.” With that I was out… well sort of.

During the procedure I could hear talking.  I heard the sound as the skin was being cut around my eyes; it was an unusual sensation. While I was being patched back together, I could hear the needle penetrating through my skin and I heard the thread moving through the sewing motion.

Immediately after surgery, some type of heavy  ointment was put into my eyes, causing extremely blurred vision. I was put in a chair that reminded me of a folding lawn chair, but I was coiled up in it like a groggy contortionist folded into a small package. I could hear the soothing voice of Andrea Bocelli playing in the background, so I felt that this was a confirmation that all went well.

Leah warned me about the bruising, and that it was going to look really bad, but I told her, “Leah, it’s not going to be that way for me.” Leah’s response was, “OK, I do this for a living, and you are going to be really bruised up.” Surprisingly, the bruising around my eyes was very minimal.

The doctor’s instructions were to take Tylenol because  after the anesthesia wore off the pain would set in. I never once felt an ounce of pain, not once!

I returned to church the following Sunday,and wearing my regular glasses, it just looked like I had a little too much smoky eye shadow going on. There were no double takes from anyone.

The only thing I could not do was shampoo my hair because I could not wet the sutures. Misty, my hairdresser, came by a few days after the surgery to wash my hair. I had to bribe my granddaughter into shampooing my hair. She agreed, but only if I wore sunglasses.

I am not a vain person, and I never gave my hooded eyelids a second thought. To me it was just part of aging gracefully. Since I had never even googled this procedure, I’ve come to the conclusion that this surgery was a special gift from God.