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.
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