MAY 30—HOLIDAY WEEKEND

They're beginning to accept me—or take me for granted. I like it. Joey says, "You're growing on them, Miss Joy." Today, numerous of the pre-release and the shelter clients came by the serving bar to say thanks before leaving. They're growing on me, too...

Joey made steak burgers and potato salad for lunch. He had some honeydew melons, and I asked him when and how was he planning to use them. He didn't know. Said he didn't know how to cut them up—didn't think anyone would like them. Oh, dear. So I took a giant can of fruit chunks, cut up a melon, mixed them, and we had fruit salad. It was all consumed.

It was my pleasure to offer the pre-release folks extra meatballs today. They were standing in line for those. ...I often wonder if they are really "full" when they leave. Joey gives each person a plate of food, but it's obvious that for some the portions are small. A woman my size will get the same plate as a man well over 6 feet tall ...Jewish mother winces again.

Today I tried to bond with the @!#%&ing can opener. It's just an ordinary electric opener, but try shoving a half-gallon can under its nose. Joey makes it look so easy, but when I tried it, he said, "Miss Joy, that plane's just not gonna take off."

Goodness, but we worked hard today! There were only 52 sandwiches to make, but I did a lot of serving that I generally don't do. I even prepared a pan of sweet potatoes for the evening meal—covered with slabs of butter, brown sugar, cinnamon sugar, maple syrup, and a touch of ground cloves. Tonight: sweet potatoes, turnip greens, and barbequed chicken.

Our shelter residents give their bed numbers when they get their plates, so we can check them off the list. When I was handing out extra meatballs, one sweet old man said quietly, "I'm 34," assuming I'd need his number for extra meatballs.

"I'm 64," I smiled, "but I don't tell a lot of people." I heard a few titters from the dining room.

SCHOOL! Joey went to GED orientation class last Wednesday! He's pumped! I got the whole skinny on class, paperwork, pre-testing, filling in little circles, going to the lab. He goes back next Wednesday, and there are labs he can go to anytime to work on his skills. He can also do much of the work online. We talked about the convenience of that, versus the added attraction of labs where an instructor would be available. He's on it! Lurking in the back of his mind, Joey even has a dream of becoming a chef . Sky's the limit.

I left at 1:00—tuckered plum out. Several of the guys were sitting on a wall just outside the door, calling dearly to me, "Thanks! Have great day!"

I am. I surely am.

CHANGE? WHAT CHANGE?

We received a new foster kitten late yesterday. It's tiny and sickly. On my way to the soup kitchen this morning, I stopped at the animal shelter to get medicine for the new baby. The medicine must be refrigerated, so after greeting Joey, I told him about the kitten and the medicine. "I have to put it in the refrigerator. Joey—DO NOT let me leave here without this medicine!"

"Oh, Miss Joy," he promised, "If you drive away without that you'll see this little black spot running behind you, yelling 'You forgot your medicine!'"

And that was Joey just cranking up...

Pretty soon he showed me a giant cake that had been donated. He asked me to cut it up and put the pieces on saucers for the evening meal. That cake was huge and it was covered with a half-inch-thick white frosting; it had at least five layers, and the bottom of the pan held a gooey layer of chocolate. Somewhere in the middle were cherries.

"Miss Joy, this cake is so good it'll have you cussin' in tongues."

And later, "Those layers are like seven deadly sins."

Joey has told me about his fetal alcohol syndrome and how he craves sugar. It was interesting to watch him dance around that cake—not unlike an addict confronted with the drug of choice.

As always, we had our oldies country western music. There were only seven sack lunches in the fridge, so I had to make 38 more—or 76 sandwiches. I finally have the assembly-line mentality for that, and though it was a hard job, it did come to an end. I stopped often to help serve the clients. Our "interesting client of the day" was a tall pre-release prisoner who frowned at Joey's tuna salad and said, "I don't eat onions!"

Joey said, "It doesn't have onions."

The man frowned again and stared hard at the salad. "I don't eat celery." He rubbed his stomach like a spoiled 2-year-old and decided that all he wanted was a plateful of spicy fried potatoes.

The peanut butter & jelly sandwiches were already made, so all I had to do for our street people was sack them with drinks and snacks. We didn't prepare breakfast sacks today.

Joey says I can contribute anything I want to the kitchen! I can cook a big pot of soup; I can bring a casserole or a salad—anything I want! It's going to be a challenge to find a large amount of affordable, tasty, nutritious food... and an inviting way to serve it.

My name is officially on the refrigerator, along with Anna's, as a Sunday Lady. Anna wants to work Sunday afternoons, helping with dinner prep. We'll dovetail perfectly! That, and she has a man in her life—something Joey says was long awaited. It's all good; it's just all good.

CHANGE IS HARD

Today Elizabeth went with me to the soup kitchen. We took a huge can of peach halves, whipped cream, and cherries. It was Elizabeth's job to put the peaches in little bowls and garnish them. Today, our diners would have fruit.

Joey was so happy to meet Elizabeth, and so welcoming. He was inundated with cleaning today, beginning with a large apology for his "dirty kitchen." I don't see the dirt, but he swears it's there. Anyway, it seemed that he cleaned for most of the 2 hours we were there. Food prep for lunch had been done. The shelter residents had assorted plates made up of leftovers, chicken salad, tossed salad, and peaches. The pre-release folks had small pizzas and salad. There was chicken salad for those who don't eat pork (pepperoni). Here again, I am impressed with the respect we show others. Respect is important.

Oh! And Joey has signed up for the 3-hour GED orientation class! I am so proud of him! You know... people often say they'd like to do things, but apparently this kid is a doer. Proud, proud, proud.

Elizabeth and I made 17 sack lunches; 10 sack breakfasts; and 25 pb&j sacks for the street folks. I thought I was sacrificing my precious duties for her to have the experience but, when we finished, I couldn't imagine having done all that work by myself!

When the residents came in, Elizabeth was front and center with, "Hi, Sweety. What's your bed number? What's your name? What can I get for you?" It looked to me as if they're not accustomed to that much lovin'.

Right before we left, a lovely woman named Anna came in. SHE was the regular "Sunday Lady" before I came. Her job took her away from Sundays, but she intends to return soon. I saw the schedule today; it's on the fridge. There's a Monday Lady, a Tuesday Lady... and so forth, except for Sunday. Now Sundays too are filled. It might be nice to know that Elizabeth and Anna are available—in case I need to be off sometime.

Change? Of course. Change is inevitable.

MOTHER'S DAY

Got to the shelter before 10 this morning. Joey was already hustling up the beginnings of beef tips, gravy, onion rings, green beans, and a dozen assorted plates of leftovers.

I know my duties now. I started by making 64 turkey, ham and cheese sandwiches and assembling them into 32 sack lunches with drinks, chips, cookies. Those were refrigerated for tomorrow's clients who go out to their jobs. There were 4 dozen peanut-butter & jelly sandwiches already packed by twos. I sacked them with a sugar-free drink and chips. Those are for the homeless who walk the streets--nothing perishable, and little nourishment. Then I made up 10 breakfast sacks (bagels, jelly, cookie, diet drink). Always, we need 10 breakfast sacks. I keep wondering who they're for and when or if the number will change. Never think to ask Joey.

I made up baggies of bagels (knife, jelly, napkin) for the next person who assembles breakfast sacks.

Slick was there again--I'm fairly sure he "lives" there.

Joey had our music playing, and we sang along as opportunity allowed. My son sent a Mother's Day text around 11. His Olive Garden kitchen is having its busiest day of the year.

Our kitchen was relatively quiet today. It was 12:40 when I looked at the clock. I think Joey and I are both tired. Slick was sitting on an outside wall with a few others when I left. "Happy Mother's Day!" he called.

A young woman was throwing bits of bread to the pigeons. I tried not to step on her offerings... guilty of having a car... guilty of being able to drive away... lugging an enormous load of thankful.

I'VE MENTIONED

...how quiet it is in the dining room when clients are eating their lunch. It's a sad quiet. Last Sunday, Joey had three large squares of cake to store, but they were too gooey for plastic bags, so I quartered them and put the 12 little squares on the serving shelf. Then I heard them—voices—strong voices—and individual:

"Cake."

"Cake."

"Cake."

MAY DAY!

Another wonderful Sunday morning in Joey's soup kitchen. Today he actually made soup! It was delicious!

The rhythm of our duty seems to be clear—we spend the first 90 minutes talking while we work. The boy can talk! He even admitted at one point, "Here I go again, running over!" He poured out a lifetime in a short while, threading quickly through his birth as an alcohol-syndrome baby, his time spent in foster care as a young boy, his recovering mother, his baby-bearing sisters, and their offspring that he now parents. He went from living in the projects to a nice apartment. Joey is thankful. I can plainly see the scars of his mother's alcohol abuse, but he doesn't appear to have any resentment. It's hard for Joey to find his words sometimes; he'll sputter around looking for them, anxious to express himself, but he doesn't quit. When the words do come out, they are eloquent, meaningful... THIS is a memoir needing to be written.

I told Joey he'd make a great restaurant manager. After all, he's running a very tight kitchen almost single-handedly—orchestrating every meal, all of the clients' needs, his supplies, and preparing for what comes next. And his kitchen is far cleaner than the grocery store deli where I started my food career... However, he still needs his GED because the special-ed classes he had in high school didn't provide that. He asked me to go on-line and see what it entails to sign up for GED classes at the community college. I promised to do that. I asked him about his reading and writing skills, and he said "they said" his reading was college level, but perhaps filling out forms is a struggle. It's not his fault, and it is NO indicator of his intelligence. Boy, would I like to put Joey out there as an example to some of those who feel slighted in life.

I made 40 sack lunches (80 sandwiches) today, and packed them with drinks, chips, a cookie, and condiments. Then I made 10 breakfast bags. Then I opened some large bags of chips and reappropriated them to little baggies—for another day.

I met three more guys today. Except for Slick, I couldn't hear their names, but I assumed they held a position of authority. There is the usual fan-drone noise, typical of commercial kitchens, so I just smiled and pretended I heard the introductions. Joey I could hear—"This is my Sunday lady, Miss Joy." Isn't that dear? His Sunday lady. The other guys came and went—they do not work in the kitchen.

"Miss Joy, Miss Joy" was often heard as we shared our lives and our glee—that country/western station pumping out oldies to my heart's content. At one point I just had to stop and dance it off. Joey said, "Just go for it, Miss Joy!" Of course, when the clients come in to eat, I find my propriety.

No sore back today, no aching legs, same full heart. And NO, you CAN'T come help on Sunday mornings. Those are mine!