TURKEY FEATHERS

       The shelter must have served at least two dozen turkeys this week (not a good time to be a turkey around here). Today, Joey was still serving up bird, gravy, rice, and dressing—made me a little green around the gills.

       Speaking of gills, mine were a little green all day yesterday, so I wasn't sure I'd make the cut today, but I lasted two hours, and could have gone farther, but another volunteer came in at noon, and I let her have the rest of the fun.

       We only needed 16 sack lunches, which I turned out fairly quickly. Then Joey nodded toward a half dozen pies and said, "I just don't know how I'm going to get all these pies cut up." Translation: I hate cutting up pies and will you do it? Come to find out, I hate cutting up pies too! But when I finished, there were 60 slices of pie individually wrapped on little styrofoam saucers.

       Mr. Wilson. First I thought Mr. Wilson was in the pre-release program. Then, when nobody could remember who the morbidly obese man is, I decided he was a "resident." Then, he went missing for two Sundays, and answers to my queries seemed to say he'd left. Listen up: Mr. Wilson is a pre-release. He's just as jolly as ever, he never fails to remind me to "be good," and he cares no more for his personal health than he ever did. My mind wanders into a fog, trying to imagine how Mr. Wilson came to be a prisoner in the first place.

       Speaking of pre-release, Cutie Pie was outside this morning when I arrived. I hadda get a hug and admonish him for smoking. Lord, Child, that boy's dimples would cave in Queen Victoria.

       I served all of them today, asking each his or her name, and I realized for the first time that each of them had experienced being arrested, strip searched, and incarcerated—I had mental images of those realities. It's hard to embrace the facts when I see them on Sunday mornings—people like me—young, old, hopeful and not. Some of their faces have no clues about their situations; others are suffering. And remember that preacherman fellow who was there the first time I worked with Miss Lillian? Remember that he remarked about the preaching that was going on in the kitchen, and that I told him I'd been healed and saved right there in that kitchen that very morning? He's still there! I heard him talking to Joey about his upcoming preaching plans—he's actually got something lined up! Just gives me the heebie jeebies.

       Speaking of Miss Lillian and preaching, the volunteer who came today said she'd been there yesterday, working with Lillian. I asked her what radio station was playing, and she said R&B. Apparently, there isn't a day when I'd not suffer while working with Lillian. Then again, it's not about me.

YES, IT'S SOUP… AGAIN

       Joey was IN today! I squeezed that precious fella and told him to never leave me again! Today, it turns out, was an excellent lesson in attitude and pain. Last week I had pain (and attitude). This week, after more than 3 hours, I could have worked longer, but we were done. See?

       When I arrived, Joey had an 8-gallon pot on the stove with some leftovers in it. They hadn't even been stirred together. There was rice, egg noodles, pepper steak, spaghetti sauce, and green beans. Miss Lillian had asked him to make a soup for today. He was just waiting for me to come in, and you know how I love to make soup. I felt like the man who made stone soup.

       I added fresh potatoes, carrots, and celery. I put in several cans of spaghetti sauce. Joey thawed about a pound of cooked chicken breasts, and I diced those for the soup. He offered a cup of green peas from the refrigerator. I put in a 2-quart can of green beans; it was a work in progress. Finally, we got some spoons and gave it the taste test. Needed salt. Joey added four different seasonings from his collection above the stove. He knows what he likes, and he uses it freely. The soup was divine! I won't mention that the egg noodles stuck to the bottom of the pot and we had to change pots… twice… because it was a non-event compared to the success of the finished product!

        We had so much soup (to go with all the leftover plates Joey had brought from the refrigerator), and he made biscuits, and we had little bowls of fruit. Anyway, we had so much soup that we told both groups they could have a plate plus all the soup they wanted. The soup was down to about 1-1/2 gallons when I left. At least two people asked if they could have more at dinner tonight. One young woman said it was the best soup she'd ever tasted—in her whole life. Folks came to the counter for more soup. Joey and I were astonished that not only did the soup survive being nearly burned, everyone loved it. The door-unlocker lady came to get a bowl, saying she'd heard about the soup in the office! The social worker came for a bowl.

        Truthfully, it was just soup. But today it apparently reached heights that we never knew existed for soup.

       About reaching heights: There were a few homeless fellows walking up the sidewalk in downtown, as I made my way toward the shelter. It was cold enough for me to wear gloves and a scarf and beg the car heater to get a move on, so I knew those guys had probably spent a chilly night (God knows where). But there they were, appearing to be "going somewhere." One never understands the comings and goings of the homeless. Maybe it's about having something to do. Anyway, a tall thin man was wearing a hiker's backpack—obviously prepared to be self-sufficient. Sitting on top of his backpack, happy as a clam, was a dark gray cat. They were family—you couldn't read it any other way.
       My pre-release favorite has finally realized that I have a crush on him. He came to the counter before leaving the lunchroom, to tell me bye. I'd given some thought to the used car lot he was wishing for last week, and I told him, "I thought about your car lot, and you can DO that! Just get a job (any job), save your money, and buy one car. Get a good one. Fix it up and sell it for a good price. Let the buyer tell his friends what a good job you did. Then buy another car, and another. Pretty soon, you'll have a half-acre car lot right here in downtown!"
       He left with a huge dimpled grin, as I called to him again, "I'm watching you!"

       A couple came to our back door today, and we were expecting them. They'd thrown a big party yesterday, and they had GOBS of expensive foods left over. It was unopened and on ice. They were just so happy to have a shelter to give it to! In a way, I understood where they were coming from. Joey, however, tried and tried to wrap his mind around how it must feel to be "that rich."

       "Joey," I said, "being rich is a state of mind. There are many, many people who have far  more than this couple who came today. It's not about what we have, it's about how we feel about what we have."

       I guess he understood, but the children in Joey's family are depending on social services for their Christmas toys again this year. It didn't seem kind to tell Joey there are millions of children who will have only a bowl of rice for Christmas… and every other day.
       I saw Mr. Wilson in the parking lot as I was leaving. He's NOT gone. Turns out, neither Miss Lillian nor Joey recognizes Mr. Wilson by the "morbidly obese" description I give them of him. So... some other fellow got an apartment and a job in a restaurant. Mr. Wilson has simply missed lunch for the past two Sundays. Judging from the plates of food he was carrying in, his family is not leaving him to starve—or to respect his diabetes. I hate that! He's such a jolly man, and the world will suffer a loss when the chocolate cake takes him out.

       So we had a great day in the kitchen! I made 62 sandwiches, packed them with drinks, sweets, chips & napkins into 31 sacks. I packed about 20 sacks with PBJs, drinks, chips, and beef jerky! Somebody had donated a case of little boxes of beef jerky (four sticks per box). It feels so good to be there when somebody needs to say, "Joey, let's give the street people the beef jerky; they don't get enough protein, and they can carry it in their pockets." It's just that Joey and the other kitchen workers have been there so long that they've lost their feelings of personalization—like who gets the moon pie and the big orange—not that we can choose who gets it, but that it matters. Every sack matters. Every sack has a human being who will open it and feel cared for… or not.

PHOOEY

        Joey wasn't there today. The door unlocker was a total stranger, and Miss Lillian had a man to come in and mop. Then she had him doing other things—I did feel replaced.

       The last time I'd seen Lillian, she was packing for her nephew's wedding up north, so I asked her, "How was the wedding?"

       "It was wonderful," she said. "And my nephew was great!"

       "You wouldn't be just a little prejudiced, would you?" I grinned.

       "No! He married a white woman!"

       "No, no, Lillian—I mean prejudiced because he's your nephew—you looked so proud when you called his name."

       I was sunk by then. I'm guessing she wears that hat all the time.

       After I'd made the 42 sandwiches for the 21 sack lunches, and nine PBJ sacks, I served up a bunch of plates with "just a DAB of beans" trying to please Lillian's waste-notness. Lunch was mostly leftovers. For dinner, she's making mac 'n cheese, corn bread, and roast beef.

       My little favorite and I had a chat today. He's getting out in 30 days; he wants to "go home and get a job." I asked him what kind of job, and he said he'd do anything—didn't matter. I asked him what did he want to do, and that (32-yr-old) boy said, "Hmm, I never thought about what I want to do."

       Really. Never. It was all over his face. He looked up. He looked down. He thought and thought.

       "Thirty-two?" I repeated. "There's still time, but it's getting away from you."
       "I thought you were going to say how young that is…" and I could see it in his eyes that he's understanding how it might get away.

       So I mentioned an aptitude test, and he said he'd had one just recently in the drug rehab program. He said he scored high on organizational skills that might be used in running a business. He said he'd just love to run a business—just any business, "like a used car lot. I could do that. I know I could!"

       We talked about management positions in fast-food places; yes, he has his GED. I told him I'll be watching. I surely will miss that dimpled grin. Oh, and he said the potatoes last week were wonderful! How sweet is that?

       Asking after Mr. Wilson, I understand that he has "found a place of his own, and a job in a restaurant." Everyone wishes him well. He was not a pre-release, but a resident. Turns out he was just always so close to the dining room that I couldn't tell which group he was with!

       As is her custom, Lillian was listening to the local African American radio station's Sunday morning shout off. The music hits me as screaming without notes, and repetitively. At one point, I told Lillian, "I think that record's stuck!" Nope. Lillian assured me the soloist was just letting us know how she feels, God loves me! God loves me! God loves me! God loves me! God loves me! God lo…

       After an hour of vocal renditions accompanied by musical instruments, the preacher set to work. Today's sermon was about dogs—all the different kinds of dogs. If I could have heard it all, I probably would have enjoyed it. He ended with, "What kind of dog do you want to be?" I'll be honest. I've never given it any thought.

       My back gave out after the first group was fed. There was no more food to prepare, and I could say with certainty that I was no longer needed. My back concurred.

DEFROSTING THE CAR

       One lone smoker stood outside the shelter this morning as I scurried in with coat, scarf and gloves. Our venerable door unlocker was nowhere to be seen. A man and I waited for her in the lobby… and we waited. Then, my favorite pre-release saw us standing out there and let us in! I do have a crush on that boy.

       Joey was rustling up pizza and baked beans. The fridge had only 12 sack lunches, so I started on 33 more, or 66 sandwiches… It went well, and when I finished Joey was asking for input on the dinner menu. He's making pork chops. He thought some instant mashed potatoes would be nice with pork chops but, you know, there's that 50-pound sack of potatoes in the walk-in fridge, and I thought they ought to be used, so he hauled the big sack to the peeling sink for me. Have I mentioned the dearth of tools in that kitchen? They do have a peeler, but it doesn't work.

     It took me 20 minutes to go to K-Mart and back. The new peeler works well. I peeled about 20 pounds of potatoes; Joey had to lift the big pot to the prep table for me. A young woman who is a real volunteer came in while I was shopping, and she and I put together 30 PBJ sacks. She did all of the serving while I peeled potatoes, then she helped me cube them. I left them in her trusty hands for the cooking—our plan was to boil them, then add milk, butter, salt and pepper.

       My favorite fellow was leaving the dining room when I returned from shopping, and I gave him a hug. He wanted to know what wonderful thing was I making for his dinner. I said, "homemade mashed potatoes, no meat!"

       "You remembered," he smiled. Of course, I remembered, don't be silly.

       Sadly, there is no means of mashing potatoes in that kitchen. I hope nobody's upset about the change.

       Joey gave me a full report on learning. He's at level 3, and he was upset, thinking he wanted to be number one. I asked him what level he started on, and he said "one." So I pointed out that 3 shows great improvement. He says reading and spelling are coming so much easier for him now! Isn't it amazing what a little effort can do? He's still reading the book, but I could tell he hadn't done much with it this week. He did write something for me! I've been nagging him to write since last spring, and finally he did—he even told his teacher that I had asked him to write. Sadly, he forgot to bring it, just as  he often forgets to take his new spelling list home from school. Somehow, things always get done, but if I were his mama, I'd worry myself silly. That child "almost bought a phone this week, but the guy wanted $150 for it, and after that he said I'd have to pay every month…"

       "Joey," I said, "you want a pay-as-you-go phone, remember?" We've had this conversation so many times.

       Mr. Wilson was of good humor today, I just didn't have an opportunity to enjoy him.

       I was 3-1/2 hours getting back to my car, but before I left, Joey gave the other volunteer and me an earful about SEX in modern times. He doesn't understand why girls are walking around half naked these days. "When I was growing up," he whined, "little girls wore ruffled dresses and little Mary Jane shoes. Now they just want to show everything!" I'm tempted to chuckle at his old-man airs, knowing Joey is well under 30, but he's right. When he was growing up, little girls did have modesty. One day they had it, and the next it was gone. I remember. It was just gone.