CAN YOU SAY "WORK ORDER?"

       No, it's not yet installed. So I complained to the gatekeeper (the  young man who is new to me). He didn't know the story behind the can opener, but he had seen it on the shelf in the back of the kitchen. We talked about the simplicity of the job, but that it took a special drill bit and the nerve to drill permanent holes in a steel table.

       …and then he said it, "I'll put in a work order for our maintenance man."

       A work order. WHY has no one thought of that? And we are a facility that helps the helpless… there's an oxymoron in here somewhere.

       In the kitchen, the stove was empty and cold. Joey was mopping. I checked the fridge for sack lunches and saw that several of the half dozen sacks had been plundered (like last week). Joey reported the problem to the gatekeeper, so hopefully the plundering will stop. Residents are not supposed to go in the kitchen, but the night gatekeeper has been lax lately.

       I made two dozen sacks to add to the stash. Miss Anna will come this afternoon and fill in where I left off.

       For lunch, Joey had planned grilled cheeses (toasted en mass in the oven) and vegetable soup. This time, we carefully did not put any meats in the soup, so our vegetarian family didn't need their own special pot. I did take some yogurts and bananas for the kids.

       Joey had saved the soup making for me—a large bag of factory-made veggie soup thawing in the sink. I cut it open and poured it into the big pot. Then Joey and I rummaged through the mystery box for canned goods to add. He always tells folks that I made the soup. (Me, Campbell's, Luck's and Green Giant…)

       The babies don't live there anymore. I missed the little buggers…

       Joey has finished two of the five steps toward his GED. His "this fall" completion date was probably not realistic, but he's so pleased with his progress!

       The homeless group is steady, but our pre-release group is small; we had only two or three folks today. I don't know if crime is down or if making it to the half-way house is down…

       Several folks asked me if I was making dinner tonight… like I could cook anything as good as Joey. Lucky for them, I'm not. My back and legs gave out after only two hours, and as I left, the gatekeeper said he had filled out the work order. I suppose angels could do no better.

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

       The kitchen was too low-key this morning. Joey and I were not bopping around, my get-up-and-go left last week, and lunch was just soup again. I noted that some of the refrigerated kid foods had been consumed, and none of the baby foods. No babies today.

       Then I set about making sack lunches while Joey mopped. Even our C&W station seemed to be missing a beat.

       So that's how it was until the gatekeeper came to the kitchen. I met him only yesterday, and he's a nice young fellow. He told me how excited the children had been last night at snack time when he gave them the yogurts. He and Joey and I all grumped about the children who are having to eat "vegetarian." It's one thing to feed your kids like that at home IF you have the means to provide proper nourishment, but at a shelter… we think it's neglect. Grump, grump, grump.

       As the gatekeeper was leaving, I called to him, "Question! How did you know to give the yogurts to the children?"

       "Miss Lillian told me to," he said.

       Uh huh—seems somebody isn't as tough as she'd like us to think—certainly when it comes to young 'uns.

       Joey's huge soup pot was full of meats, so again I was faced with finding something for "those" kids. I made a big pot of cream of tomato soup, with chunks of cheese added just before serving. And I made them peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, which Joey says their mom gives them often. We had several dozen hot dogs in buns, for the mainstream's lunch (to go with their meaty soup).

       I was still feeling angry by the time the little fellas came for lunch, and I had served a number of folks when I saw this curly head standing just about shelf-high at the serving counter. I looked into hesitant little eyes, and I heard a musical sound, "Can I have a hot dog?"

       My heart skipped a beat. I did a very quick review of right and wrong, and replied, "It's okay with me."

       Joey was watching. He was so excited! "There IS a god, Miss Joy!"

       And we celebrated for some time after that, even launching into one of our recordable infomercials—but wait! Call now and we'll throw in a little Buddha!

       The kitchen took on a new glow; our day, our purpose seemed satisfied. And I'm changing: instead of forcing myself to make the sack lunch count reach 45, I made 24 and left the rest to another person in another time. When Joey said we needed PBJs for the street folks, I made up eight sacks, and then I brought my totally tired self home.

       …Can I have a hot dog…

       Wow.

COLD PRICKLIES!!!

       Map and I were in town this morning, so we stopped at a grocery and loaded up with foods for the shelter babies and children, and then we dropped them off. The gatekeeper told us Joey wasn't there, but Miss Lillian was…

       We proceeded toward the kitchen, and we met the tall touchy-feely social worker in the hall. "You know Miss Lillian's back there," he cautioned.

       "Yes," I whined. I really wanted to give my sacks to him for delivery, but it wouldn't be right to ask. He squeezed my shoulder encouragingly.

       When Map and I walked into the dining room, Miss Lillian gave us a very blank look. I tried to convey our mission across the serving shelf, but she wasn't receptive, so I pushed through the door into the kitchen.

       I explained to her that the babies had a sack of their own food last week and asked if it was still there. "They're not allowed to have their own food," she snarled.

       She did give me a sack to put the foods in… and she seemed to agree that the vegetarian children might need some yogurt and fruit… but maybe I just imagined that. While I labeled a sack for the babies and put the other kid-friendly foods in the fridge, Lillian blew off my whole project with how SHE DOES THINGS around there, and how NOBODY gets a special food because everybody else would want the same. The fact that I was providing for the wee ones didn't phase her at all. "Those babies are almost two!"

       You know, they're one. You can say "going on two," but one is one, and I told her, "They don't need sausages!"

       I left with "At least they'll get some kid foods tomorrow, and she followed up with how they'd get some today, implying (I think) that she'd give out the foods. She added something about the babies' mother feeling thankful, and I said, "She's a sweet little thing." Lillian's mouth twisted to one side, her brows came up, and the eye roll was intense. That was all.

       As we left, poor Map said, "Boy, you can feel the hostility in there! Why didn't you wait until tomorrow to bring that stuff?"

       "Because we're in town today, the children are also hungry on Saturdays, and it's not about me." (I accept that sometimes it is about doing things my way…)

SPEECHLESS

       I don't know what to say about today. I was on my feet 3 hours, nothing hurt, I packed 3 dozen sack lunches, and we served soup... Joey says we're gonna be serving soup every Sunday for a long time. I can't remember why.

       He forgot about our vegetarians, so I made up a pot of meatless soup for them, and I took a bag of toddler foods, fruits, and kid-friendly things today. I was excited to see their little vegetarian faces when I pulled out a strawberry-banana Trix yogurt!

       But the children didn't come for lunch. Joey poured up their bowls of soup for dinner.

       Only one of our babies came today, but he ate enough for himself and his brother! His mother was so pleased to have real toddler foods, and I left her a nice bag full of them in the kitchen, for other days (with her name on it). I've never thought specialty foods would survive in the pantry because too many volunteers and "community-service" folks come through there—and the good stuff is... well... good. So this little mom has a bag of baby foods with her name on it. Finally.

       The tall social worker from 3rd floor came to the kitchen late. I got a hug! I've heard he's a "touchy-feely" person—he is. He even put on a pair of gloves and helped serve plates.

       One was not there again today, but the nice lady from last week was. It's amazing how much having nice people around can change how we perceive a day—as a good day, or a not-so-good day.

       Joey did "okay" on his test last week, but he LOVED his theater class! He has one more of those and hopes to find other things to fill in his social life. Joey's a doer. World needs more doers.

       He was checking his spelling as he labeled some pans of food, and after he finished, I asked him if he'd ever made other words from one word's letters. He had not. So I asked him to look at "heat," and tell me what other words he could make from those letters. He studied it a minute, covered up the "he" and said "at!" Then "he." Then "eat" and "tea." He was fascinated with the game. I hope he plays it often.

       We had a new child today—a little boy about 11. Cute, cute, cute. I couldn't wait to offer him a Trix yogurt. "Yes!" he said.

       "Say 'thank you,'" his mother prompted. All our mothers do that—people don't have to be self-sufficient to have good manners. And speaking of those, a very young man from last week came to the counter especially to tell me that his cold was much better… and not only that, but he had a great day last Sunday because he found Jesus.

       I gave him the thumbs up. "Nowhere to go but up, is there?"

       "No," he smiled, pointing down; "we don't want to go there."

       He gave me a nice send off when I stepped into the parking lot, too. I hope he didn't hear me when I sat down in the car and cried out in pain as my back got bent for the first time in 3 hours.

       You have a neat week, too.

       Oh, and keep the you-know-what on your prayer list.

WARM FUZZIES

       What an unusual morning! Joey had a big pre-fab bag of frozen vegetable soup ready to heat, and plans for sandwiches. Of course, I had to make 50 sandwiches for the 25 sack lunches, but those came together quickly, and while Joey wanted me to make more of same to serve with the soup, I suggested opening some tubs of chicken salad I'd seen in the cooler.

       We fried a few pounds of ground beef to add to the soup, and it was very good—and it ran low. So I dumped in a can of refried beans, a can of chili with beans, a can of tomato sauce, and two cans of other soups from the mystery box. We didn't hear any complaints.

       It was nice and cool in the kitchen today. Our fix-it man had come by, but not before Miss Lillian went home sick for several days suffering from dehydration (we presume because of the heat). Joey missed his week's vacation, school, drama class, and just putzing around. And he's miffed with himself for "feeling selfish!" I told him it was normal to feel cheated, but that he was doing all the right things—being there where he was needed.

     So… you won't like this… but the you-know-what is not yet installed. I am told that the fix-it man suffered the loss of a dear friend recently and is just not up to snuff yet. If Joey can put his vacation and classes on the back burner, the least I can do is let the handyman grieve.

       Babies! We had three babies today. One is on the tit, but the other two are still zooming in like weeks past, chowing down on whatever is available. I'm getting better at planning for them. Today, they had little bowls of soup, chipped up turkey, cheese (seconds!), milk, crackers—oh, I need to take them some fruit. Aw!

       Their mom has lost her beleaguered look. She's really pretty with rest and nourishment, and I told her so. What a precious family.

       The "vegetarians" are still there. I was feeling awfully, horribly angry at this young woman whose small children aren't allowed any meat. I was feeling even angrier that I had prepared a meatless soup for them (no easy task when depending on the mystery box), and that they just took a seat at the back of the dining room, as if they were waiting for someone to take their orders.

       But I couldn't just leave the kids out there, wondering if food was in the offing or not, so I got Joey to tell them their soup was at the counter (I was just too mad to do it). Later, still stewing over the lack of calcium in the children's diet, I went out and asked them if they wanted some milk or cheese. One child looked furtively at Mom, then said, "I can have dairy!" glancing again at Mom. And permission was granted. Then the other child said, "I'll have some too!"

       So I gave them lots of cheese and told Joey to give those young'uns cheese at every meal.

       Our pre-release lost two of their small group last week—drugs, booze, a taser… a taser? The five remaining were more talkative today. Do you suppose they knew all along that their comrades were playing with fire? That would put a pall on things.

       We had two new families today that stood out in the group of homeless. One was a married couple and child; the other was an older couple (maybe 55 or more). I would not have picked either out of a crowd as needing to find housing and food at a shelter. They are surely prime examples of why the rest of us should never get too comfortable.

       One took today off, but a really sweet lady filled in for him. She isn't happy about the can opener situation either, so naturally I liked her right off. And the social worker from upstairs dropped by for soup and a sandwich before I left. Last year, I thought that man was shy or quiet, but you know—he's neither, and he's a lot of fun.

       Another fellow brought a sense of humor to the kitchen today—a strapping, handsome, 40-something who's SO missing a front tooth! When he smiles, the gap is the first thing you see. So in he strode, and up to the counter for lunch—grinning as usual. "Hey," I carped, "cheer down!"

       I knew he'd get it—and he did.

       We have another "Mr. Wilson," the 400-hundred pounder—bless him.

       It was 2-1/2 hours before I left, and I hadn't taken a THING for pain—nothing. In fact, I didn't hear a peep out of the pain until I'd walked out the door.