Miracle [mirөkl]
n 1: any amazing or wonderful occurrence 2: a marvellous event manifesting a supernatural act of God
1. Apparently a bunch of (subversive, obviously subversive) papist officials are agitating to relax the miracle requirement for sainthood.
It seems miracles are harder to come by these days, people of blogland. John Paul II has already eased the path to sainthood by reducing the number of required miracles down to two: one for beatification, a second miracle for canonization. Only two measly little miracles, that’s all it takes nowadays to become a saint. Shouldn’t be too difficult to be responsible for two ‘amazing or wonderful occurrences’. Personally, I make things disappear. Socks, mostly, and stuff from the fridge. Where do I go from here? Is there an application form to fill in? Do I have to prove my miracles with pictures? How will they know they haven’t been photoshopped? Or can I just quote my witnesses?

(On second thought: John Paul, don’t you know that fiddling with the rules brings unwanted attention to the matter of infallibility?)

2. In truth, people of blogland, I find myself constantly, secretly, yearning for miracles. If I could pray, I would.
I’m a strange blend of fierce atheist and closet superstitious. See:

At age 5: if I can run to the gate before I hear mom call me for lunch, there will be apple pie for dessert.
At age 9: if I can do thirteen cartwheels in a row without bumping into the wall, my step dad won’t be home for lunch. Or at least there won’t be a row. Or at least he won’t shout too much.
At age 16: if I close my eyes and hold my breath for 87 seconds, Loic will sit down with me at lunch. Damn, failed again, got to train harder. Maybe if I hold my breath for long enough I’ll pass out and then maybe he’ll notice me.
At age 21: if a squirrel jumps onto that tree, He will take me out to dinner. I’m not talking about the squirrel, silly.
At age 24: if I can spot three sparrows in the next five minutes, we’ll get to skip dinner and go to bed instead.
Now: if I see a duck-shaped cloud, well, anything is possible, isn’t it. A duck-shaped cloud, especially if followed by a black cat on the garden fence, will undoubtedly signify great things. A second chance at love. Strife digested, changed attitudes, plans and vows renewed.

I can be a fuzzy ball of superstition, people of blogland.
So, miracles – bring’em. I won’t question them. Too much.