I’ve almost-died three times – that I can recollect. The first time I was still an infant in diapers, just a few months old. I spent much of my childhood on my grandparents’ farm. They had a vineyard and a huge vine shade all around the front of the house. Before the first grapes were fully ripe, the elders would start prepping barrels and grinders for the coming harvest. One day in the high heat of summer, everybody had left somewhere to do field work. They’d left me in the care of my great-grandfather. The family had put up a few wine barrels to be cleaned under the yard vine hugging the house. My great-grandfather was filling them with water from a hose. Somehow my perambulator ended up parked right next to a barrel that was being filled. The water flowed in. The barrel filled up. The water started flowing over the edge – right into my bowl-like, impermeable, rain-proof stroller. And yes, my divine person was present – asleep – in said stroller. My godly respite quickly turned into an unplanned swimming lesson. Let this sink in. Drowning inside your own waterproof perambulator. In the high heat of summer. Miles away from the nearest pond and the nearest cloud. At the safest place imaginable – your grandparents’ home. Can death get any more ridiculous than this? Can life get more absurd? I’m skeptical that it can, but I like a challenge. Next family member who tried to take me out was my grandmother. I was still less than a year old when she dropped me head first on the sharp edge of a raw brick wall. You might think this explains a lot, and it well might. But here’s the fun part. The doctors decided it would be a … Continue reading How I Almost Died – and What It Taught Me about Living