Miracle:…(n)…an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.

I often utter the Spanish word, “milagro!!!” miracle!!!”…exclamation marks included in my verbal astonishment. I am sure milagros are part of the living experience in Mexico because they occur very rarely in the United States. A good example of an American milagro would be agreement on anything in Congress.

But Mexican milagros abound. For example, last night while we were sleeping, something happened to the electricity in our house. I am not sure what because not all the electrical outlets and lights were off. Just some of them. One wall receptacle worked in our downstairs bathroom, but the lights were very dim: a “brownout.” The water pump in our kitchen died, so no water. But the refrigerator and the overhead lights worked just fine. There is no way to explain this. The last time it happened different plugs, different devices and different lights worked or didn’t. The only plausible answer to these random electrical happenings is milagro!!! Then around 10:00 AM everything worked. Milagro again. A two-fer.

Of course, there is the matter of change. When I offer a $500 peso note to pay my grocery bill because it is all I have, inevitably there is either a huge eyeball roll on the part of the cashier lady or there is a polite momentito, por favor. She disappears to some upstairs secret place or a dungeon where the cash stash is kept, the line getting longer and longer with her absence, grumbling customers all hurling angry mental expletives in my direction. When she comes back with change, probably only enough for me and will be repeated with the next customer, I always say “milagro” to her. She is never amused. But God has a way of helping people get even. One day I was standing in line to pay $364.35 pesos. I pulled out my wallet, reached in my pocket, and handed the young lady the exact change and smiled. The girl shouted “milagro!!!” loud enough for the traffic outside on the Carratera to hear.

Guadalajara traffic milagros still astonish me. A Mexican offered to take me into Guadalajara, so I accepted the gracious offer. Then the fun began, swerving around two trucks, cutting in front of a hurtling bus, threading through a crowd of people trying to cross the street against traffic. I had sworn never, NEVER, to ride in Guad with a Mexican man at the helm. I now have evidence that getting to any destination safely with such a driver in a city crammed to bursting with identical, maniacal drivers is, without question, a milagro. There must be tens of thousands each day in Guadalajara. I wonder if God is amused by the sheer abundance of milagros?

Last week I saw first hand another one. My friend Jeanne who lives in Chapala, suddenly was unable to log onto the Internet. No problem, I thought, bringing all my computer geek talents into focus. The most likely culprit is the connection. Right? Maybe the telephone jack was corroded or the Ethernet cord was loose. Wrong. I tried everything, rebooted, turned off the power. Nothing. All the lights on the modem were green. It should be connected. Apparently even though everyone else in the universe was on the Internet, Jeanne wasn’t and couldn’t. I checked, knocking on neighbor’s doors. They were all Googling their asses off. So I began to plot the appropriate engineering methodology. I would take her computer to my house and hook it up to my network…if it works, it is her modem that is the culprit, then I would…..and so on. The next morning, Jeanne tried again, all green lights on just like when I worked on it, and voila….up came Google. There is no logical explanation for this happening. It must have been a milagro. I’m in the process of documenting this one and will send it to the Vatican for official recognition.

Milagros come in many flavors here in Mexico. The best weather in the world is our lakeside area. Even with summer rains and the largest lake in Mexico, it still is a dry climate. Clear, cool and wonderful all the time: the daily milagro. My daughter’s feral, coal black cat, Golum, got out of our yard one night. He won’t let anybody get near him except my daughter. We searched all day in the neighborhood, stayed guard all night with the street door open in case he would sneak in, to no avail. Then a friend happened to walk past an uninhabited, fenced-in house nearby, heard a plaintive yowl off in the distance. How Golum got there is still a mystery, but finding him was definitely a cat milagro. Our construction maestro can fix and build anything. His hands are milagros.

I can hardly wait for the next one. It might be the splash of an avocado in our pool rather than the cement. Since we have a mosaic of the Virgin of Guadalupe on the bottom of our pool I always attribute the avocado-in-the-water milagro to her.

Wait! This just in! Oh, my!!! An American milagro. Apparently Congress just agreed to something. God is definitely amused.

Recently I was sent an article that on first blush seemed fairly balanced. The subject, as always these days, was “healthcare reform.” After a fine jaunt through how state governments have determined the shape, objectives and nature of the health care industry since World War II, calling it a “classic government-sponsored cartel,” the author finally got down to business. Apparently I am an “ilk.” He says, “None of this justifies what President Obama and his ilk call healthcare ‘reform.’” Additionally I am a demagogue, sanctimonious and rail against things.
The person who sent the article to me suggested that I think outside the mental box I have apparently crept into. So, in the spirit of tri-partisan compromise, I have given this some serious thought.

I intend to form a new, third political party. It will be called the “Ilk Party” and will, like all parties, have a motto: “The Ilk of Human Kindness.” The Ilks will have many objectives, but it will begin campaigning for healthcare for all citizens, Ilks and non-Ilks alike. We will have as our vision, items definitively contained in the Constitution: “All Ilks are created equal” and “We the Ilks,… will provide for the common welfare,” and so on.

Parties need clubs, so I expect that along side Rotarians and Moose, there will be an Ilks Club whose charitable objectives will be in line with our new Party. We Ilks have counterparts: the Bilks. For example, Bilks seem to think that healthcare should be a free market industry, in other words the status quo.

Bilks don’t want governmental bureaucracy. They evidently prefer unfair business practice bilking instead. When a legitimate claim is rejected or stonewalled on some small print technicality, the insured gets Bilked. Bilking is well known in the free trade business. Being poor is a result of bad decisions, as the mantra goes, so their ilk can’t be bilked. They are simply being punished for not choosing a non-bilking insurance company. We Ilks know,however, the only unBilkable insurance would be the Public Option.

And so, fellow Ilks, let’s un-Bilk, cut the imbilkical cord and march forward. For our Bilking friends: please get help. There is a cure for you, a twelve step program called Bilkaholics Anonymous.

Let me begin by saying I have come upon one of the most startling and curious observations in the course of human history: all songs are cha-cha’s. All of them.

You think I’m mistaken or exaggerating? I shall illuminate your bewildered ignorance. Let us start with an easy one: Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land.”

“This Land is your land, (cha-cha) This land is my land (cha-cha)
From California (cha-cha) to the New York islands (cha-cha).”….and so on.

Bob Dylan? Surely not, you would say. Picking one at random: “North Country.”

”Well, if you’re travelin’ (cha-cha) in the north country fair (cha-cha),
Where the winds hit heavy (cha-cha) on the borderline (cha-cha),
Remember me (cha-cha) to one who lives there (cha-cha).
She once was (cha-cha) a true love of mine. (cha-cha-cha).”

If you’re still not convinced, play the songs and keep cha-cha time. So is Sweet Adeline, the barbershop favorite.

“Sweet (cha-cha) A- (cha-cha) deline” (cha-cha-cha). I need go no further.

The Star Spangled Banner? Definitely a cha-cha. “Ohhhhh say (cha-cha) can (cha-cha) you see (cha-cha-cha) by the dawn’s (cha-cha) early light (cha-cha-cha)?”

Waltzes? Polkas? Definitely cha-cha’s. They just gave them different names in Vienna and Warsaw. Country Western? Hawaiian war chants? Elizabethan ballads? Bach two part Inventions? Gregorian Chants? All cha-cha’s.

And graceless and clueless men who can’t dance a lick can thank me for this universal rule. Clearly if all songs are cha-cha’s, all dances are cha-cha’s too. Any fool can learn to dance the cha-cha, but beware: you will be mobbed by beautiful women at La Tasca on Tall Boys’ nights. Anyway, if you need help, I am an expert cha-cha dancer. Ask my wife.

Speaking of music, I am puzzled by another amazing phenomenon I have discovered while living in Mexico. No Mexican singer can sing on key. Believe me, I have a more than casual experience in making this pronouncement.

We live near the Charro, the stadium just off the Tienguis on Calle Revolution. At least twice a month I am able to test my hypothesis. The bands start warming up around 2:00 PM for the evening show. The tuba player oompahs his base notes, the trumpets blaaaaat their melodies and then the lead singer begins, at the top of his/her lungs, completely off key. It sounds as if trying to correct the discord, they sing louder, choosing sheer volume to correct the blatant disregard for the melody intended by the composer. But since nobody in the crowd can sing on key either, it seems to the fans to be the best they have ever heard.

In closing, since this is an article extolling my brilliance, I take full credit for the following observations, virtually unpublicized, though undeniably true.

1. All intersections in Mexico have signs pointing where you want to go but not posted in the direction you are going. The sign is always on the other side of the intersection for cars going in the opposite direction, never on the side in the direction you are going.

For example, you are driving from the Lake Chapala area and your destination is the beautiful colonial city of Pazquaro. On the way you come to the small village of Quiroga, there is a sign saying “Pazquaro 10 km.” No problem, you say to yourself, smug in your amazing ability to translate kilometers to miles. As you go through the main plaza of Quiroga, there are many signs, but none signifying the direction to Pazquaro, so you logically continue past the intersection. If you are lucky…and stupid, endangering both you and other passengers in your vehicle…and turn around you will see a sign for Pazquaro which cars traveling in the opposite direction can read. If you don’t turn around, you are Morelia bound about an hour out of your way.

So I have a bit of advice to all automobile manufacturers in Mexico. Put submarine turrets with periscope on all vehicles. Someone in the car should always look backwards when passing a key intersection so that the sign that is never in the direction you were going can be seen.

2. All directional signs in Guadalajara point to distant places you don’t want to go to instead of some local area. For example, if all I want to do is drive to Costco, the sign inevitably tells me I am going to Juarez or Mexico City. Since I am directionally challenged, I really don’t want a quick stopover in Tijuana or Guatamala. Thus, I never get to Costco.

3. All Mexican doctors are required to have at least one of their names be Garcia. I know this to be a fact. My general practitioner is Dr. Garcia, my ophthalmologist is Garcia and my heart doctor is, I presume just to be certain of full compliance, Dr. Garcia Garcia. QED.

4. Now that I can speak a fair amount of Spanish, I wish to impart some rudimentary wisdom to those who are beginners. When you go to the store to buy charcoal briquettes for your barbeque, it is essential you ask for carbón, not cabrón. A cabrón is a very bad word person. The store owner told me politely that he did not sell cabrónes but I could try next door, a high priced liquor store run by his brother.

5. All Mexican songs have three words in them: Corazon (heart), amor (love) and lo siento (I’m sorry). Any song without at least one of these three words is not authentically Mexican. If the words somehow became illegal, all Mexican songs would be prohibited.

Oh. I almost forgot: all Mexican songs are cha-cha’s.