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.