I Believe in Miracles

I Believe in Miracles (A Very True Story)
By Quizmo LaGrande


It was morning. It was grey. It was a day like most. June gloom. We stopped along our way to school.

Every day we’d stop. Sometimes just a slow drive by to suck in the salt air. Most times extra minutes to contemplate the loveliness around us. My favorite beach. A rocky beach where waves hit stone and water rockets to the sky. Grey sky.

Extra time. (What a wonderful way to get your kids to get up and get out—early.) Children unleashed to explore well watched tide pools at a lower (or rocks at higher) tide. I sit quietly watching the surging circus on once a spot of gravel in upheaval, now, a State Beach—level pavement.

So I thought.

Herbie, my bright white ’68 v-dub bug, love of my life (well, in car sense) sat perched on the rocky coast’s edge. Me and Herbie. I decided to empty the small black leather-like trash bag into the big, bright yellow trash barrel a few yards away. Just take a sec. I did. Feels good to get rid of the garbage.

However, Herbie, dear Herbie, had his own agenda.

I turned around and Herbie was rolling. Very slowly, but rolling. I thought to catch him, but there was a granite curb just a few feet ahead. I was confident. The pavement was flat. Surely, Herbie would stop there.

Herbie did not.

Herbie had visions of leis and straw hats. Herbie was headed for Hawaii.

Fortunately, Herbie didn’t make it all the way. Unfortunately, he was seriously stuck amongst huge boulders and rocks that blocked his path.

Kids out urchin gazing never saw a thing.

Aghast, incredulous, with thoughts of, “Heck, the kids are going to be late!” and “The Auto Club’s tow will tear up Herbie’s bottom and bumpers,” and “How do I tell my husband?” passed quickly.

The miracle.

Three handsome, hulking miracles appeared from nowhere. Angels.


Three handsome, hulking great angels gathered around my beloved. One, two, three, they literally LIFTED dear Herbie up and moved him back up to the pavement.

It all happened so quickly. I didn’t even have time to get the camera (in the glove box) to take a picture. Dang. Nor a ding or a dent. Thank you, Angels.

It was morning. It was grey.

The angels flew back to their heaven. I retrieved kids. They hadn’t a clue.

Now, I am a natural B-L-O-N-D-E with natural long, wavy B-L-O-N-D-E hair. I couldn’t help but start to giggle, as we rolled to school and I related the story to my “not gonna be late to school” children, and begging them not to tell their Pop. I got to thinking, what a great tale each of those angels has to tell! How they helped the ditzy blonde, on the beach, on an overcast morning, recover a wayward bug!

Then I looked down.

The ditzy blonde on the beach, on an overcast morning, with a Herbie requesting Hawaii, was wearing a bright red t-shirt.

A bright red t-shirt with bright white, huge, bold letters.

Letters that spelled…

KLUTZ.