Turkey Day is over—for most of us. Folks living at shelters will be eating turkey and fixin's until it's gone, no matter how long that may take. They are still picking at huge pans of peas, rice, and turkey at our shelter, but for lunch today Joey made breakfast! He had the ovens full of fat biscuits, a 2-gallon pot of sausage gravy, scrambled eggs, and canned fruit. "I got you a bag of fruit, Miss Joy," he announced after showing off his plan. He knows I won't buy a plan without fruit or a vegetable.
We had a new community-service helper—a young fellow who is quite charming and obviously from an upscale home. He was quiet and industrious, but his serious demeanor faded as the morning passed, and I think he might have even been enjoying himself by the time I left. I hope he's there next week; I want to be a greater influence.
Angry Child and his mother have moved away. They have a place of their own now. I spend a lot of time trying to imagine whether the child's circumstances are better or worse—alone with his mother. He won't have a shelter full of folks to insulate him…
We did need puddings and string cheese today because there are two new children—little guys, but big enough for bubble gum. I didn't get a chance to interact with them, but I was happy to see they have two parents, good manners, and are well behaved. That family will be okay—just as soon as they get on their feet again.
Bitty Baby brought his parents to lunch. I had mashed some peaches and pears for him, and he scarfed them down, his little cave popping open as soon as he swallowed. I offered several times to help his mommy hold him, but she didn't need any help. Heck.
Pretty Woman has metamorphosed. Covered in makeup and cheap perfume, she looks much older now, and she has a new dilemma. I no longer see her as a victim. Some people accuse me of being too quick to judge, but this one is hanging herself.
Our Angel was feeding the pigeons when I drove in, but the lunch crowd was so busy that I didn't see him again.
The deaf fellow is still there. He took one look at the lunch plates and signed, "No! That's breakfast! I want LUNCH!" I tried everything I knew to convince him that it might be breakfast food, but it was really good! No cigar.
He held his ground until I was thoroughly discouraged. Then I had an epiphany: I grabbed one of the sack lunches from the fridge and held it up. Yes! That's what he wanted—lunch! Later, he brought his empty biscuit & sausage gravy bowl to the counter to ask for more. I wasn't in on his first helping, and we didn't talk about his menu adjustments. We did talk about how much I need for him to slow down when he speaks to me… and before he left he held up his hand, "I love you." He patted my back softly, and I gave him a hug. It must be so lonesome where he lives.
Well… another memorable day in the kitchen has blessed my soul. Maybe by next week the leftovers will be over.
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