The Doctor is In.

A bit like a doctor that makes house calls on sick patients, I make house (or office)calls on the monolingual. Days like these make me feel like a one woman traveling carnival - the bilingual backpack toting, sneaker wearing Americana, who brings silly tongue twisters, colored markers to correct your homework and who'll tell it to you straight in the real English, not the silly British English of the school books. And even though grammar is a drag (unless you're a bit nerdy and you actually enjoy discussing the Saxon Genitive, ahem, guilty) each client requires a different approach. You can't use the same magic words for everyone to make them understand and the fun side of my traveling English gig is learning what that is for each student.

Jorge, the overscheduled family man engineer likes to write with expensive pens in a posh notebook and practice reading from his 'Modern Marvels in Architecture" book. He likes to start class late, end class early and really just talk about cool bridges and his kids. I stopped bringing the lesson book months ago....he's a social speaker who can't pronounce -ed endings. He's my decaffe latte, easy, slow going and relaxing student.

Antonio, the uber important doctor and director of the city hospital, who mumbles worse than rolling thunder, is trying at age 50 to learn English so he can talk with his patients. Only problem, he grew up speaking French and Andalusian Spanish. Whatever he doesn't add a "-th" to he drops the 's' off the end of and keeps telling me "Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday" all sound the same. The exact same. He's silly and likes to laugh. He needs English at a 1st grade level because he's overworked at the hospital 6 days a week, so he enjoys laughing at me trying to explain "Tuesday, Wednesday,Thursday" over and over again, as he snaps his imaginary suspenders in victory, having remembered the verb "to be". He's like cafe bon bon, strong espresso with sweetened condensed milk - an intense spurt, but so delightful even until the end because he's such a good heart.

The auditors are another story. It's a varying trio that shows up Friday afternoons for their company covered English class. Teresa, the girl with no boyfriend and few friends like to use our English class as a therapy session, spilling everything and edging everyone else out in the conversation. Fatima, the nervous speaker who would rather never speak in public, and just drink her waterbottle. Then there's David, the laid back manager, who speaks very well, and tries to crack (bad) jokes followed by an anxious laugh. David also cannot make eye contact. It's an odd bunch. We sit in a room the temperature of a winter sauna, sweating and fanning ourselves, trying to work through speaking activities without letting Teresa talk our ears off. They're like cafe con leche, not bad, but not quite the flavor you were going for.

And by 6:15, the back pack is packed, paycheck earned and I'm ready to put my feet up and sit by the ocean and listen to the ocean and watch the sea gulls float on the sea breeze in lazy circles by the port. Sometimes I wonder, how do I do it, 3 different classes...not literally, but psychologically...they are all beginners, which means I have the sensation of running my head into a wall over and over again, trying to help them understand and then trying to understand them. But I think I know...I'm just passing through. I ring the doorbell, face on. The alarm clock counts down to my finale and then I'm back out the door, leaving them with homework (or not). And so as much as I am drained by the drifting like aspect of my day, it's a secret blessing really, I join so many other lives in a humbling window of time. I'm brought in, I'm welcomed, I'm expected, I'm thought about, I'm worried about if I'm late, I'm given attention, I'm joked with, I'm questioned, and I'm wished well as I leave...and I'm sent with the kind words of "See you next week!"

Maybe they're not real friends, but they re-charge me all the same. It's true, I think, you get what you give...and even though they still might not know how to answer me when I ask "How have you been?" they stumble along with their answer and even more eagerly show off by asking, "How have you been Katie?" And they give me the chance to re-affirm that I'm okay.