GOT CROWD?

       Yowzers. Just when you think you've seen it all, they shake things up in the soup kitchen. The annual "Crowd Fest" is in town this weekend, so I had to take a detour just to get there, and then I had to squeeze thru orange cones to get into the front parking lot because the back lot was locked—don't want those Fest people using our lot. So the morning began with a twist. Joey said, "That's my Miss Joy; I can just see you squeezing thru those cones!"

       Joey was at his station, rolling out the frozen foods he'll serve for dinner. Lunch was well underway, and I needed to make 28 sack lunches. I used to think those were for shelter residents who went out to their jobs during the week, but that was wrong. Those sack lunches are for all the residents, and that's all they get for lunch on weekdays. Wouldn't you just die?—that's the first thing that comes to my mind—ham 'n cheese, turkey 'n cheese, chips (of various natures), a cookie, and a soda, five days a week.

       The bread is seldom soft because it's been donated because it's not super fresh; the chips are often stale, and the sweets range from donated muffins and gooey blueberry croissants, to old cookies. Most of the soft drinks have Xs marked on their caps, indicating they've reached their expiration dates. I have to haul myself up and remind me that this is what we have, and this is what I can give them.

       There's a new guy in the kitchen, Kyle. He's muscular and handsome… and no doubt fresh from prison. He worked hard the whole 3 hours I was there. He scrubbed pots, he cleaned out the deep fryer (a major effort), he mopped. He and Joey get along really well and, truth be told, Kyle cost me some of my Joey time today. But I'm thankful for Joey to have so much help with the heavy stuff.

       Took my hors d'oeuvres in and showed them to Joey. I said, "There are SEVENTY of these!" I'm not getting caught short like last week with the deviled eggs. Joey grabbed one, popped it in his mouth and said, "Now there's 69."

       We had biscuits, sausage gravy, eggs, bacon, fruit salad, and those little hors d'oeuvres. Mr. Picky stuck up his nose at my creations, but I called his bluff. "You don't want one of my hors d'oeuvres?" I whined. He put on his bashful grin and took one. They're all just big babies underneath.

      One of those big babies asked after my daughter today. I wanted to say, "She moved to Zimbabwe!" He's really, really pretty too… Just puts a chill in a mom's heart.

       Our new door-unlocker lady was in the kitchen often. She and Joey talked about many of the residents, and I learned a lot about shelter life that has eluded me. Bed #7 was tested with a breathalyzer, and failed, so he's gone. Bed #12 drank his way out as well. Bed #22 is "probably faking that limp," so he can stay longer. The door lady and Joey disagreed on that one. Alcohol seems to be the biggest burden our residents face. One beer can cost them their bed. I wonder if the work-release prisoners have as much problem with that.

       So the lady was in the kitchen, Kyle was in the kitchen, Joey and I were certainly there, and then another social worker came in saying he needed to cool off—it's too hot in the front of the building. NO WONDER everybody's hanging out in the kitchen today; we had the only really good air conditioning!

       I saw a child at lunch and heard his voice, but he was unfamiliar, and we did not have opportunity to interact. I did have the pleasure of interacting with many of the residents, and they are so delightful. Two fellows asked for a second plate of food! Joey said they could have them. I hate it when I have to seek him out to see if it's okay to give somebody food! I'll be making executive decisions in the near future.

       Well, those 28 sack lunches came together, I made a batch of fruit salad, served 18 work-release plates, and 25 resident plates. Then I peeled potatoes for the dinner menu. Anna came through the back door just as I was attacking a pile of onions—Heaven-sent angel!

       About that time Joey said, "We didn't get to listen to our music today, Miss Joy!" The music was there, but we didn't get to enjoy it together. I never knew that little kitchen could be so crowded, and so busy! And you want to come too… I don't THINK so!

SATURDAY PREP

       It's become impossible to let Saturday pass without thoughts of the shelter folks and Sunday lunch. I have my 1967 Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook. That's it. So we're not looking at getting anything gourmet out of this kitchen. I tell myself it will be easier to think of things to prepare when winter comes, but she's not buying it.
       Today I went in search of 4" wooden skewers—because it seemed to me that such things should exist. They do! And you can get them in a number of other lengths as well! Not only that, but they're right there in the grocery store with the food! I really need to get out more…
       My vision was of little skewers with assorted cheese cubes and olives.
       Feel free to share your recipes for "side dishes," pas trop cher, and easy to prepare for 45 people. Anyway, tomorrow (if they don't get mushy or anything), we're serving little skewers of cheeses and olives. I'm starting to regret not attending more Tupperware parties.

AND ONE, AND TWO...

       The math was not left to chance today. I needed to make 21 sack lunches (2 sandwiches each). I wrote it down. I lay slices of bread out on two big trays, 21, 22, 23, 24... no, wait... If each slice of bread represents TWO sandwiches, I just needed 21 slices for the base. That's been my problem, getting lost beyond the base. Sigh. Higher learning is hard.

     Turkey and cheese on wheat, ham and cheese on white, squeeze them into a zip bag, toss in two mayo and two mustard packs... we do eventually get where we're going.

     Joey was making pizza, mac n' cheese, beef stroganoff, and salad. "What did you do with the big box of yellow squash we had last week?" I asked.

     "It's still in there, but we can cook it, if you want to."

     And I did want to. I wanted to cook it last week when it was fresh and firm. Today it was largely spoiled, but there was enough to scrape together a big potful, after adding two giant zucchinis, 2 onions, a chunk of butter, gobs of black pepper, and salt. Naturally, someone donated more squash today...

       While I was mincing through the squashes (with a decent knife—where has that been?), I had an opportunity to apologize to Joey. Last week he had tried to pick my brain about his mom. She's way younger than I, but fairly invalid. He wants more control of her health care, and opportunities to go with her when she sees the doctor. I had changed the subject. All week it haunted me. So today I told him I was sorry. I told him I had lots and lots of experience with that problem, and that the truth is that he has no control, and all he can do is be there, wait, and live through it. We agreed that he could have her committed, but it would only be a bandaid. Anyway... we're all going, aren't we?

       Slick is gone. It's not the same without him. I need to find some new favorites, but it won't be easy to fill his shoes. Joey says Slick will probably come visit us.

       I took deviled eggs again. Those work-release guys can really give me the big-eye when they see deviled eggs. Their grins spread across their faces, their eyes sparkle, and I hear, "I love deviled eggs... could I have one more?"

       No, there weren't enough left to serve the resident homeless, lest someone feel left out.

       One of those giant cookies was donated today, layered with frosting, encircled with frosting, and sporting three large frosting roses in the center. I carefully cut it up, served it, and saved the center for Joey to take home—he does love his sugar.

       We had our customary C&W oldies to sing along with. Joey has a marvelous falsetto voice. He says I have a "really beautiful voice." See what a roaring ice machine and a large kitchen fan can do? Heck, all we need is an agent!

       PBJs were already made and baggied, so all I had to do was sack them with drinks and chips, and put them in the big wheeled bin that's taken to the curb every morning for the street folks. Rather than squeezing through the kitchen door with them, I put the sacks on top of the serving shelf and was going to walk out to the dining room where the bin is kept and take them from there. Joey saw none of that. "Miss Joy, where are the PBJs?"

       "I finished them," I said.

       "But you need to put them in the bin," he said, a bit frustrated.

       "I am," I nodded toward the sacks on the shelf. Then I went into the dining room and began loading the bin. "Go away, kid; you bother me!"

       He loved it—just loved it.

       Kid made a ninety-nine on last week's vocab test! He's tickled. He did miss some school last week, though, so he'll be taking two tests next week. He's gearing up to work extra hard, and to not be too hard on himself. Wonderful attitude.

       You've been served.

BRAIN PIC

       It's frustrating when I see something incredibly moving, and I don't have a camera, or it happens too fast to photograph. All I can do is save the picture in my mind. I took one of those pictures Sunday morning on my way to town.
       I was driving north on the 5-lane thoroughfare. To my right were two men on foot, passing each other. The man going north was very tall, lean, bearded and scruffy. He had a bright orange poncho, and he was carrying everything he owns... a stark vision of reality... What a heavy load.
       The man going south was wearing gym shorts and running with his black and white spotted dog. Light load—maybe even no load. They did not acknowledge one another.
       I suppose a brain pic is better than none. It's certainly perfect, if difficult to share.

SO, HOW'S YOUR MATH?

       Apparently, my math is in the toilet. There were 32 sack lunches in the fridge this morning! I was so excited! Quick check: need 15 more. Made 26...

      Joey served deep-fried corn dog bites and tossed salad for lunch. For dinner he's making rice, sweet potatoes, green beans, and pre-fab country-fried "steak" (super salty ground turkey, pattied, fried, & gravified). No gourmet foods today.

       It's Slick's last day. Tomorrow he heads out into the free world, to make his own way, to be a father to his child, to be a good citizen. I'll miss him in a very selfish way.

       There were two children and a baby at lunch. Joey and I put a lot of effort into preparing a "baby" plate... he started with baked beans (repercussions?), fish nuggets (removed the breading, broke up the meat), then a bit of rice. Later, I thought to give the baby a slice of cheese.

       So we struggled to find foods for an 11-month-old. Of course I got all motherly and wanted to provide better, but it's just not there. What I didn't know was that our sheltered homeless get $200 in food stamps per month, per person. Joey gets really agitated when he shares this information—he doesn't understand why a system would feed people twice. In fact, he tells me, one of the residents is soon going to retire from a job he's had 20 years, and is also working another job. Joey wants to know: what are they doing with the money? Good question.

       I gave him the downside: people who will live in a shelter when they don't need to are lacking the self-respect that he and I have. "You love your independence, don't you, Joey?"

       "Oh, yes, Miss Joy! I surely do!"

       "Me too."

       We had a lot of sharing time today. I am increasingly amazed at Joey's talent, his intelligence, his abilities... and those nagging disabilities. Today I just asked him, "Joey, do you think you have a little bit of dyslexia?"

       He thinks he does. No wonder nephew keeps coming out ne   h   p...

       In school he was placed in a "slow learners" class. That group got "certificates" instead of diplomas. But when I look at Joey, when I talk to him, when I observe him, there is nothing "slow" about him! Somebody has miserably failed that child. Thank God he has this wonderful niche in the shelter kitchen where many of his talents are put to use.

       On the upside, he's ready for his third vocabulary test, and shooting for an A. Who knows? Maybe something will click during the course of working on his GED, and he'll find a way to show how much he knows.

       And speaking of knowing stuff... I'm finding my way around the kitchen pretty well now! Today I even answered the phone—three times! Stop laughing. That's always been Joey's job, but today he was out in the dining room, mopping, and that phone just kept ringing. One call was a request to open the locked door, so a prisoner could come in and do some chores. Another was to open the locked door, so a man could get a sack lunch to take to his job. And the third was... oh dear... apparently that has fallen in the dark hole with my math.

       C&W music rocked the kitchen. I wrote down three long-forgotten oldies that I want to download. It's amazing how many things I have forgotten in my 64 years.

       Anna was due later this afternoon—PBJ duty for her!

      Slick was paged to the kitchen so I could get a good-bye hug. "Now go out there and kick some butt. I know you can do it!"

       "I will," he promised.

       Took a pain pill around noon, slipped away by noon-thirty—smiled all the way home.

*** JULY 4 ***

       Oh boy were we busy today! We have new employees guarding the locked door and keeping folks organized. I already miss the fellow they've replaced.

       So I gave Joey his Sunday hug and opened the refrigerator to make a sack count. We always need 45 sack lunches, and I always make up the difference between the 45 we need and the amount in the fridge. Generally, there are at least a dozen in there. Today, one lone bag sat in the back corner. It was screaming at me, "We need 44 more, or 88 sandwiches, Woman!"

       Dang.

       There was nothing to do but get started.

       Joey was making biscuits with sausage gravy! He was planning to serve applesauce with them.

       I had to ask, "Where's the protein?"

       "Eggs!" he offered. "Thanks, Miss Joy!"

       And without missing a beat he scrambled up several dozen eggs. I got to finish cooking the last pan and serve many plates. There were requests for seconds. I think everyone ate their fill.

       There was laughter in the dining room today! Big, bellowing laughter. And somebody accused Joey of "jammin'."

       "That's Miss Joy," he told them. "She's teaching me to jam."

       Right.

       Our second lunch crowd got tuna salad, crackers, and applesauce. Again there was laughter, but not so much. There was a new woman in the bunch. She's lonely; she's so lonely.

       Slick was in and out of the area often today. He mopped the dining room and did many chores. He's so cheerful, he's not yet 30, he's thoughtful, and I can't wrap my mind around his having been in prison. I hope he never goes back. He's too good for prison.

       Joey got a C on his first vocabulary test, and a B on the second! He's pumped. "I'm shooting for an A on the next one!"

       He's working it out—how to study—how to learn. He figured out that looking up definitions on the internet was interfering with his learning. He's writing his own definitions now, because those on the internet "have too many big words."

       Next week his vocab list includes family members: mother, father, brother, niece, nephew... We worked on nephew. "How do you spell nephew?" I asked—many times.

       The "ne" came quickly. The next letter was always just out of reach. "Like 'phone'," I prompted. His eyes opened wide... out came a ph.

       Then he searched for the "ew" sound. "Like 'few'," I suggested.

       Too far to reach.

       After 3 hours, I realized that he needed to SEE this word. I got a pen and paper towel and wrote it down. Then I wrote it again, separating the ne, the ph, and the ew.

       We talked about other words that end in ew. I wrote down "few" and "drew." Joey took it from there and those "ew" words just poured out of him—words I could not personally think of at the moment!

       Speaking of vocabulary, he has a really good one. He asked for a definition of nephew, and I suggested "the male offspring of one's brother or sister."

       "Offspring," Joey said. "That's a compound word!"

       You see? He's just a mystery—and I'd love for that kid to get some heavy-duty tutoring.

       Well... it is what it is, and we do what we do.

       I did suggest to Joey that he think about how he speaks his words, because how we learn them at home is not always helpful when we want to spell them. He literally soaks up everything I put out there. If I take too much time to think on it, I'll get chest pains.

       When I was ready to leave, I noticed a watermelon over by the washing sink. "Joey, what are you going to do with this watermelon?"

       "Well, I was going to serve it for dinner, if I could find somebody to cut it up."

       Uh huh... good thing I brought my own knife again today, and my, oh my, that was the reddest watermelon I have ever seen! Both of us were gaping as it lay opened on the table, begging to be tasted. Then we tested it, and retested it—as we agreed we didn't want to serve it, if it weren't good enough.

       "That's the best wallamelon I've ever tasted," Joey said.

       Oh dear.

       I put on my most grandmotherly face, widened my eyes a bit, gently raised my eyebrows and said, "What?"

       Joey became seriously thoughtful. He knew exactly what I was doing, and he wanted to get it right. Think about it! In his whole life, he never ever gave a thought to that word, but in that moment, he knew—a thought was needed. He struggled, he retried "wallamelon," but he knew it didn't fly. And then... he got it! His eyes flew open, he looked so surprised, and "watermelon!" came out as clear as a bell.

       "And that's a compound word too!" he exclaimed. "Water and melon! Watermelon. Watermelon."

       Independence Day—oh, boy, howdy :)