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The Buenos Diaz Psychic Network

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader


There are things that happen to me every so often that make me think there’s something else going on that is bigger than all of us, a life force of some kind that we can’t understand. Some may dismiss it as coincidence, but sometimes the situation is downright spooky.

Several weeks ago, I was sitting with a group of people who shared what the names of their pets were. One woman said she had a pit bull named Dora. Now, Dora is not a name you hear often, nor does one associate it with a pet, especially a pit bull. I went home that night and checked e-mail, and in my in box
was an e-mail from a very old friend (we met in kindergarten) named Dora. What are the odds? I haven’t heard from Dora for years, had no idea where she was, had forgotten her e-mail address. So when the woman said her dog’s name was Dora, was this a sign that an old friend would resurface?

A few months ago, I was on Coliseum Boulevard, sitting in front of McDonalds. I was waiting for the light to change, when I remembered a childhood incident. My mother, who was driving our 1968 Chrysler Newport, had run out of gas in probably the very same spot where I was sitting. Why I thought of that moment, I don’t know. But about 30 seconds later, what do you think was in the opposite lane, heading west on Coliseum? A 1968 Chrysler Newport, the same color as our old one. This happened shortly after my mother died, and I can’t help but think it was, as a former friend might describe it, my mother’s way of saying “hello.”

Years ago, that same friend of mine and I were looking around an antique mall. What did I find but a purse exactly like the one my father brought me from Mexico when I was a kid. Of course, I bought it, not realizing I still had the original purse my father brought me. Dad was saying “hello,” I couldn’t ignore him.

Nor can I ignore my dreams. As a kid, I thought I was psychic, because I’d dream about plane crashes, and they’d come true in a few days. The one that stands out the most vividly was the time I dreamed about a 727 from an airline I’d never heard of that crashed in the woods.

A week later, an Avianca Airliner went down in a wooded area. It as a 727. I was 13 at the time. What adolescent girl is familiar with what commercial airliners look like? I guess I was, because the year before, our family had gone to Puerto Rico. Three weeks before we left, an American Airlines DC-10 had crashed on takeoff from O’Hare airport. I was obsessed by the type of aircraft we would be flying on when we took our trip. I was relieved to find out we would be flying on a Boeing L-1011, NOT a DC-10.

And no, I didn’t dream about that one.

Another strange experience happened in high school. This guy was bothering me, and since he was in my homeroom, I couldn’t escape him. I hated him. I was wishing something bad would happen so I didn’t have to deal with him. Shortly after wishing, he ended up in a really bad car accident that kept him out of school for weeks. He was so messed up, he had to relearn stuff like the alphabet.

Consider yourself warned.

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©2018 Fort Wayne Reader. All rights Reserved.