Saturday mornings are for catching up on note-writing from the week while I wait for the dust to seep out of my clothes soaking in plastic bins and buckets outside. I write in Spanish with some inserted English words. I take a break to respond to an e-mail from my mom. I try to write in Polish, thanking her for a postcard she sent me, but my mind is still in Spanish mode and I think first of otra instead of inne for “other,” of tengo instead of mam to say “I have” the other postcards you sent me taped to my wall. I notice that this is the first time I can switch directly from Spanish to Polish. Usually English is my home base, my thruway, my point B that you must pass through to get from point A to point C.