LAST SUNDAY IN MAY

       Just when I want to say there's a boring pattern in the Sunday kitchen, circumstances prove me wrong. Who wants a boring pattern, anyway?
       Joey's work on his two-times table has not come very far, but I could see that some thought had been put into it. "Next week," he promised.
       I'd get disheartened, except "next week" actually comes around once in awhile—you'd think Joey had studied Pavlov's dogs. He's paying attention to the world and knows which continent we live on. Having to think about it before answering is okay.
       The 36 sack lunches were underway when Joey announced, almost as a question, that he thought he might make some soup. It was one hour until serving time and the only evidence of a gallon of soup was four little cans of Campbell's that Joey had dug out of the supply box—less than a quart. So I asked him to help with the sandwiches (and open the cans, of course), and I started a huge pot of stone soup. I found two more cans of Campbell's in the supply box, several cans of tomatoes, a can of corn, and some elbow macaroni. After a generous sprinkle of parsley, we declared that it was soup and let it go about the business of simmering. Neither of us thought the soup would serve both crowds, but in the end, there was some left over.
       All through this early prep time, Joey complained over and over that he'd just mopped that floor, and it was sticky again. He couldn't find the cause and had decided to just blame his shoes when I stepped into the walk-in cooler and sloshed through a sticky puddle. "Joey! I found it!"
       We planned for 16 pre-release folks for lunch, but only four showed up. It is a holiday, and many of them have family they can visit, or who visit them. The whole place was quiet and lonesome.
       We did have a larger crowd of homeless, and there wasn't so much food remaining when all was said and done. Happily, there were no children today.
       I want to SAY AGAIN, in case anybody missed it: This shelter kitchen NEEDS a functional can opener—a $550 can opener. If you—or anyone you know—can cough one up, please do!
       "One" was on duty—always puts a candle on my cake. He wandered back to the kitchen for a cracker, and kept me company while I packed the last two dozen sacks. I warned him, "Be careful what you eat; everything in here has expired, and I'm going to expire soon too."
       "Oh, no," he assured me, "you're going to live a long, long time."
       "I am? How can you tell?"
       "You're a volunteer, and you're cheerful. That adds years to your life. And you don't do drugs or drink."