Between God and outer space, we are a country that loves the goofiest things.

I am not even being facetious, I saw a UFO last night. Without warning, an object appeared when I awakened at three a.m. to make my mid-night run, if you know what I mean. I swore it had not been there earlier, and I had never seen anything like it; lending credence to the concept it was, in fact, of alien origin. I cautiously approached the window, squinting at the brightness of the outdoor light illuminating the deck.

To test my theory it might be self-illuminated, I turned off that light. Click. Man, I gotta go outside. You see, "it" was cleverly evading a clear view from my safe cocoon of a house. The dogs and Mel slept soundly, one doing my favorite wheezy-snore, her paws moving in time with whatever dragon she had been chasing in her dreams.

I was forced to don my pouf coat aka severe weather parka. Once on, I resembled a sleeping bag with arms and legs, or the little brother in the snow suit from "A Christmas Story." It was below freezing last night and let's face it, some of us wimp out when confronted by awesomely frigid air blasting our bare skin. Slipping my shoes on, I pulled open the front door setting off the tinkle bells we hang there to make the cats nutso. Stepping onto the cedar deck now coated in a thin sheen of frost, my breath creating dream-like clouds of white smoke, I spotted it. DUCK, my subconscious screamed before I hit the deck, literally. That was cold as hell.

"It" came back for more, though. In a split second, this thing was no longer a UFO: an Unidentified Foreign Object. It was a bat. Cute little thing, flying around the outside light gathering moths and other succulent morsels to sate its hunger. I had not seen him for a while, and he usually sticks to buzzing the huge redwood and pine trees in the front yard. Perceiving him out of context had produced a synaptic misfire of visionary proportion. I clearly need to have my eyes checked, and all was well.

I fondly recalled the "New York" incident as I went back into the house, clicked on the outside light, and returned to bed. I had come home from work and our tomcat, Thomas, was chasing something around our turn-of-the-century farmhouse. Up the chair, down the chair, onto the table, over the couch, onto the table, onto the shelf, around, and around. The object of his obsession: a bat.

Laughing, I grabbed my pink (yes, PINK) Yankee's hat - even though I am a rabid Mets fan, it was a last ditch effort at sun avoidance - and joined the fun. Around and around we ran, sometimes clockwise then counter-clockwise. My theory: I would catch the bat like a player would catch a pop-fly; only instead of the bat-ball coming to me, I was trying to scoop the bat out of the air with the hat.

About 20-minutes later, I realized the futility of my efforts. Thomas, myself and the bat were worn out, catching our breath, when it hit me. I put on some thick gloves, and gently pulled the bat off the ceiling fixture from which he was hanging, resting. He was too exhausted and frightened to resist my careful tugging. Careful not to damage his delicate wings, my palms became his cradle. I looked at that that tiny face, eyes wide with fear, and talked to him as I calmly took him outside and set him free. He flew two circles around me before flying off into the night. That was my miracle. I like bats. I was glad my UFO no longer was.

Then there's the Jesus in the tortilla thing. Went to my favorite restaurant in Crescent City and ordered two soft tacos, extra cilantro, onion and lime. The one on the end flipped open, revealing something that, to this day, I cannot explain. It was miraculous and wonderful, awe-inspiring and absolutely the funniest damned thing I had seen in a long time.

One of the chefs must have had a really good time the night before, for written on that inner flap now exposed to the harsh light of day, in bright red hot sauce, was the name, "Jesus."

But when you read the headline, I bet you thought I saw an alien spacecraft and a miraculous vision of the Christ. Nah. With my luck, my vision would be of Bigfoot and I would never get over it. After all, this is Bigfoot country, you know. We love our quirky visions and the possibility of discovering something fantastic in the middle of the banal day-to-day. Perhaps we gain faith through miraculous visions of saints and sinners alike, and that is ok. 

Personally speaking, I would also keel over of a massive heart attack if an alien spacecraft so much as popped into my range of vision; let alone dropped aliens onto the lawn shrieking, "Boo," as I stood outside. Life is here to be enjoyed, and if one day brings you a touch of the miraculous, what a neat thing.