Jesus wants me to learn Spanish

You know those private little moments when you know you are getting a message from the big man himself?

I worked with a teacher who would look me straight in the eye and say "I appreciate all you are doing to help Timmy (not his real name) read."

Well, actually m'am, I was just going to tell him to hold his tongue behind his teeth while we played go fish. But now that you mention it...

My first day here I had that moment. I was lost. I was tired. I was pretty sure I had jsut eaten a sandwhich loaded with mayonaise (I hate mayonaise and monkeys. If I could blunder onto Calles de los Monos I'm sure I would).

And in my frazzled, sweaty attempt to navigate the calle and avoid saying "Hey there! Where ya'll from?" to everyone - time stopped. A lady, probably 60 or so, with the bearing of a retired school teacher spoke to me.

"Teines la hora?"

It was too late, she saw the shadow of comprehension cross my sweaty face.

I'm not good with numebrs in any language. And Spanish has this menos de rule where once the big hand hits a magic number time must be told in what it isn't instead of what it is.

I stuck my wrist out to her.

She gave me the teacher nod. But she didn't let it stop there. We had to practice it there on the street corner.

"Son las sies y media." She slowly said it, and waited for me to repeat it back and add a little "Lo siento."

A little curt nod from la mujer and time resumed. I wondered if she was ever really there at all.

Every day I am unavoisably required to say something I didn't practice. I made it across the equator without a pen or a Spanish-English dictionary. Neither of these items is sold in the same shop. There is no earthly reason for the way things work here. And I find myself in akward situations everyone else seemed to skip.

In class I have to introduce myself as "una fornoaudiologica (a speech therapist)." I sit next to an "enferma" and a "medico."

I have been trying to avoid this one - but I am here in my apartment waiting for a plumber. Somehow I have to tell him that I have hot water in my kitchen, but not my bathroom.

All I can say is - Lord, please tell me there are some really cute kiddos in NC needing speech therapy. Or a muy guapo doctor en Buenos Aires!