WHERE TO BEGIN???

      For the sake of the record, I was not here last week because my precious friend Sylvia died, and I went to the funeral—7 hours east. It was good to return to the shelter kitchen today and take my life up where it had left off… you know how we like to pretend that we have some control.

       Gate Keeper is gone. One greeted me at the door and gave me the news: Some of Gate Keeper's "paperwork" had not pleased the gods, so he was let go. In my wildest dreams, I cannot imagine such an event. I cannot imagine anyone replacing Gate Keeper. I am so distraught that I wasn't even thrilled to see One! And you know how distraught I was when One left to return to the night shift. I hate change…

       Anyway, One was there, but only until they find another day person. Remind me to not get attached.

       Joey had a young man doing community service today. Really, these "kids" who come in to work off their faux pas just make me crazy with their choices! This young man graduated from college and then started hanging out with the wrong crowd, and now he's working off his punishment for a felony, albeit a "small felony" that will be excused when he finishes his service. However, he has pussyfooted around until his time has nearly run out, and he has not served the assigned hours. Here is a prime example of asking for "just one more day, just one more chance, just one more excuse…" rather than sucking it up and moving forward. He did see the disappointment on my face when he told me he had a bachelor's degree, only he called it "surprise." Surprise!

       For lunch, Joey had thawed the containers of veggies that we had frozen 2 weeks ago for soup. He had boiled 3 dozen eggs, and I had gone prepared with my food processor, mayo, and mustard, to make deviled-egg sandwiches. They've never had those there, and I did believe that a lot of folks would turn up their noses, but that was not the case! We ran out of sandwiches!

       The soup was "okay," but Joey had dumped a huge can of tomatoes in it, and I had to take a lot of them out and add refried beans to get some of the acidity out. But it was okay, and we served many second helpings.

       Yesterday, I found fresh cauliflower and broccoli at the flea market for just peanuts, so I served fresh veggies on the side, along with baby carrots, and this time I made sure we had plenty of ranch dressing. Those were well-received too.

       Our pre-release group seemed small—maybe 8 or 10 of them. Always by the time they finish at noon, I am so ready to get off my feet, but when the homeless group comes in, the rush re-energizes me. I counted about 25, but at least 10 more straggled in late. One of the latecomers was so sleepy he could barely walk to the counter and claim his lunch. The last one looked like a typical street dweller which is unusual there. In fact, there were several really sad cases today. Joey even told me that one young man has cancer, and McCaulay looked extra maudlin today.

       So HEY! We have a new boy—gorgeous 10-year-old with long blonde bangs framing his cherubic face. He's with his father, tall, older, worn looking. When the child came to the counter I gave him his lunch and then handed him a little snack bag with gums and candies. I offered him a bottle of bubbles which he eagerly accepted. Then I offered him some art supplies. He took a drawing kit that had 5 different shades of graphite pencils in it. That child was so excited! Then I gave him a quartz crystal (a flea market find, 3 for $1). The child's father squatted low beside him in an attempt to make himself small enough to qualify for kiddie goodies. Big heart smile.

       Later, the boy came to the counter and asked if I had another drawing kit. Yes, I did. Any kid who wants to draw has an easy in with me!

       Yes, the adorable adolescents are still there, and they come freely to the counter for goodies now. I was a bit disappointed when the boy's mother came with him to ask for a second sandwich, because I have many times told the child to eat more, as he is growing, and he's old enough to begin speaking up. Still, there is Miss Lillian and her "no seconds!!!" Added to that, I have wondered if the child's mom might be helping him with his seconds—she's a right fluffy gal.

       Those kids happily accepted another bottle of bubbles, and I told their mom that if all the children will save their bottles, we can refill them in the kitchen. She was in agreement.

       I do love them, and as much as I know I will miss them, I hope they get a home of their own really soon.

       One came often to the kitchen; he tires of minding the desk. On his last appearance before I left, I asked him to give a jar of baby food to Mr. Huggy because Hugs keeps the pantry for special needs folks. First, One had no idea who Huggy was. After I explained at length and Hugs' real name was uttered several times, I was informed that Hugs was not there because he had a heart attack!

       I've had no word of the man in weeks, and my sick sense of humor kicked in, "Was she there when he had it?"

       One had no information about "her," so I explained that some time ago Hugs had taken a resident to live with him because he was "saving" her. One informed me that Hugs has "saved many women," so he had no idea to which one I referred. God, it's just no wonder the poor man's heart cramped up on him. I know: my seat in Hell is well reserved.

       So on the way home I stopped at the art supply and FILLED my goodie bag with fun things for the children—they had paddle balls and other toys for $1, and FIRST you get to paint the wooden parts with markers! How fun is that?

       Now if I can just get some more quartz crystals at the flea market next week, everybody will be happy—the new child's father wants one real bad. Grownups can't help it if they're tall.

JUST ANOTHER DAY

       Gate Keeper was unusually chipper when he let me in today. His first remarks were, "Joey just got here," and "What's for lunch?"
       In my own stupid daze, I had zipped off to my Sunday pleasures without my cell phone or my knives. I was fully steeped in the notion that Joey and I had planned this simple meal way last week, and nothing could go wrong. Why do I do that?
       Joey forgot to order celery and dill pickles for our tuna salad, and he forgot to order the pinto beans. He called his sister to go to a store and get some celery and dill pickles for us. Then he put eggs on to boil.  Eventually, I had opened about 2 dozen cans of tuna and mixed it with a half dozen boiled eggs, chopped celery, onion, macaroni, and dill pickles. We had a huge pan of tuna salad. 
       We found two large cans of black-eyed peas, and put those on to heat. And Joey opened two huge cans of fruit cocktail. We'd serve crackers, and the cream-cheese-filled celery sticks I had taken. There was even enough time to put together a dozen sack lunches.
       You know, people either love cream-cheese-filled celery sticks, or they don't. We had a very few who wanted to make a taste test, but none of them was completely won over. Those who knew they liked it didn't hesitate to have some.
       I don't think any of our offerings made a huge hit today, and the crowd was unusually small. Many of the pre-release were having a weekend with their families, and I don't know where all the homeless were. The kids and their mom are still there. The kids have opened up to me—I get real smiles and even bits of conversation. 
       Teacher's Pet has graduated. He told Joey to tell me "bye." I miss Angel. McCaulay is still there, and he's looking ever so much healthier, but I gotta tell you, that tall, handsome lad is a strange one. If he hadn't once asked me for something sweet, I'd think he was mute.
       Joey took my picture today. There's a luncheon coming up to honor the volunteers. I'm not going, but I hope they have a good time. It would feel mighty odd to be "honored" for enjoying myself on Sunday mornings.
       As I left, I stopped to speak to the kids and their mom. I had seen the boy with a football a few weeks back, but not since, so I asked him, "where's your football?" And he said he had given it to another boy. I was shocked! "WHY?"
       Because the other boy had nothing, and besides, there really was no place to throw a football at the shelter. I was not to worry, his mom assured me; her son would soon have another (very nice) football. In the meantime, we are compelled to admire two kids who need room to play, trees to climb, and grass to roll in, but content themselves with sitting next to a parking lot, reading a book.

HAPPY EASTER!

       Yesterday I bought broccoli florets, a head of cauliflower, itty bitty baby carrots, celery, and cherry tomatoes. I washed them, cut them up, and stored each in a large zip-lock bag. Today I took the vegetables to the shelter along with 3 dozen dyed eggs, Hershey kisses in Easter colors, and Easter Bunny gifts for the kids. There was happy in the air when I arrived. Gate Keeper is well, and that was my first stop. Joey was ready to sing back-up while I made Easter lunch—"Miss Joy, it's your kitchen."
       He had the chicken salad, corn, and biscuits. All I had to do was sprinkle a variety of the vegetables in 3 dozen little bowls.
       That is not how it went down.
       The phone rang and rang. A man needed the door opened so he could get something; a woman needed the door opened so she should bring something in; and one call was to inform me that my daughter had arrived to help (her last day of spring break). The lady making the delivery was from St. Prayerful, and their big Saturday night doin's had left a PILE of food. She wanted to give it to us! It took Joey, Elizabeth, the lady and me about 15 minutes to receive and redistribute her foods, so she could have her containers back. And what a surprise! Among many other things, she had big baggies with broccoli, cauliflower, baby carrots, celery, cherry tomatoes, and colorful peppers. You couldn't tell her baggies from mine. What a haul! I could give our people as much as they wanted!
     In the meantime,  I had discovered yet another beautiful box of not-so-fresh yellow squash in the big cooler. Atop that was a box of gorgeous tomatoes with black spots forming on them. And me without my knife. I couldn't stand it. I used the potato peeler to clean off the squash skins, and found a pathetic knife to cut them up. Adding an onion, butter, salt & pepper, the pot was on. There was time to prepare only half of that crate of squash, so I brought a few home. The rest will return to the earth—all because some people just don't want to do any real cooking. I did slice up and serve many of the tomatoes. (As the tomato slices diminished, Elizabeth tried to make more. "How do you get this knife to work?" she asked. I showed her how I poke a hole in the tomato for a "starter point" and then SAW off a slice. It's all in the wrist… ow, ow, ow.)
       Elizabeth made sack lunches between filling and serving plates. She was all over the place, and I've no idea how that lunch would have come off without her! We were working feverishly to bring it together when three pre-release guys sauntered into the dining room, 12 minutes before time!
       I called to them, "It's not time! You can't come in yet!" But they pretended they were more powerful than I was. One of them was particularly overbearing, and I guess he knows he can be because he's the size of Paul Bunyan. Honestly, they can be such children sometimes! Anyway, between Joey and me (and perhaps Gate Keeper), we got them to clear out… Mr. Bunyan leaving last and trying to stare me down.
       I don't think so.
       When the clock struck "time," I unlocked the door, and there they were, but Bunyan was sitting on the floor. He must've been starving. I gave him my brightest smile, "Happy Easter!" And I cheerfully offered him one of everything we had, "Would you like a boiled [dyed] egg? Would you like some kisses?" Yes, he would like at least one of everything. After he'd eaten, he took out the trash for us. Big babies all.
       We had 15 at lunch from that group, and one lunch to wrap up for a church-goer. Joey said a lot of folks did not go to church today because they figured it would last too long on this sacred Sunday. And I thought they might be going to get away for awhile. Guess not.
       At noon, we opened the doors for our homeless residents. By this time, the chicken salad was running low and we were alternating with pimento cheese. The kids were among the first to come to the counter. "See anything you like?" I asked. The little girl had told me last week that she loves corn. She grinned. I wasn't offering all comers a dyed egg at that point, knowing they wouldn't stretch far enough, but I put kisses on their plates. The little girl didn't want a bowl of raw vegetables, but I implored her to at least try them, "It's bunny day!"—and reminded her that she could dip them in salad dressing. No, we didn't have any ranch dressing, although Joey assured me yesterday that we did. Auuug.
       As the line passed through, McCaulay was among the group. He's not shaking this week. He looks like he wants to smile, but he just won't let it go. He did eat a good lunch.
       I looked hard for Angel. I looked and looked. Then I worried. But you know what? He doesn't live there anymore! He has his own place, and he's safe. And no, he never did a mean thing in his life—not that anyone knows of. He just drove his car under the influence 10 or 20 times too many, and that, boys and girls, is how he wound up in state prison. I will miss him awfully, and I wish him well.
       Toward the end of mealtime, I took two little Easter sacks to the kids. "The Easter Bunny left these for you," I told them. I was focusing on the boy, that solemn boy, as he took his bag. "I know you wanted a hamburger," I said, "and it's in the bottom of the bag, on a gift card to McDonald's—for just whenever you can get there." Their mother thanked me, and as I stepped back toward the kitchen, I saw a reticent grin spread across the boy's face. Finally.
       Later, Joey and Elizabeth pointed the children out to me. "Look! They love their gifts! It's just like Christmas," Joey said. I looked. The kids were gingerly pulling things from their bags, treasuring each one. "Miss Joy, we just don't know how good we have it," he went on. "We can go home to our families and sit around our tables, but they can't. We just don't stop to think how good we have it," he continued. And he went on from there—I don't know why. EYE get that "be grateful!" feeling every Sunday. Maybe Joey is a bit jaded from the dailyness of it, but he surely enjoyed feeling grateful today.
       Happily, the bowl of dyed eggs had plenty left in it as folks finished their lunch. I took it into the dining room, walking from table to table, offering an egg. And, honestly, I think if those eggs had been white, there wouldn't have been many takers, but grown men were eager to get a pink egg—or purple—as if they came in flavors. I am prompted to recall the essence of dyed eggs from childhood Easters. Apparently, so are they.

IS 43 GOOD?

       Gate Keeper was unusually quiet when he let me in—no big smile—barely a hello. That should have been my tipoff.
       Joey had arrived only minutes before I did, but we had our lunch plan, and all the food was there. I took another dish of little cheese/olives/tomatoes kabobs and some black olives for the salad. Joey had provided all the cans of soups needed for a tomato-based, chicken-stock soup. He also thawed 2 pounds of breast meat which I chopped and added to the pot. I peeled and added a half dozen potatoes, and just before it was time to serve, I dropped in a few cups of cooked macaroni and a can of creamed corn. That soup was DIVINE.
       We made a huge pan of salad (well, we dumped several bags of salad in a huge pan), and I added the black olives. Joey put some rolls and other breads in the oven to warm (old, not-so-soft breads). And that was lunch. It was very well received.
       Rewinding: As our morning began and I set to work concocting the soup, mixing the salad, packing a dozen sack lunches… Joey spent the first hour in the dining room. Several of the pre-release guys were hanging out in there as if that were okay. I was introduced to a new guy with whom Joey had a long conversation. In the interim, another pre-release came to the counter for a sack lunch to take to his job. He opened the sack and told Joey, "I don't eat white bread, and I don't eat pork!!!"
       I was shocked to watch Joey give in and make that guy two wheat-bread sandwiches and a whole new sack lunch. I asked Joey what was the guy's problem, and Joey said, "He just needs a woman."
       "Well," I said, "no woman needs him!"
       After about an hour, I encouraged Joey to disengage from the social scene, indicating that I could use some help. His floors were not mopped, and frankly I've never had duty on dirty floors in that kitchen before. Joey said the new guy has some "rejection" issues and needed befriending. Miss Joy needed a hand!
       Anyway, it all came together and the doors were opened for the pre-release. There were a dozen or so today. They came, they ate, they left. There was even a 5-minute lull between the two groups. When the doors opened for the homeless, there was a line, and I worried that the soup wouldn't last. Angel was at the far end of the line, so I made him an extra-full bowl and guarded it until he reached the counter. What a precious soul. He had a good week and asked about mine. He's still spit-spot clean. I had time to observe his hands as he gathered his plate—they are the hands of a very old man, surely much older than the rest of him. Life can be so hard. I happened to be in the dining room when he was leaving, and I asked him for a hug—he has a hard time with those, so I might be caught asking him for another.
       The adolescents came to lunch. They show so little emotion (especially the boy), and I'd give anything to see him laugh. But they ate well, and eventually I convinced the child that he really did want another meal. "You're growing, and I know you're hungry," I insisted. It was several minutes later when he broke down and came for another. I gave several people a second plate, and one man said he'd heard they were only allowed one. Yeah, well, I've heard that too—big deal.
       So Gate Keeper showed up in the kitchen. He was walking slow, and his color wasn't right. "My blood sugar's 43," he announced, steadying himself on the prep table.
       I'm not familiar with blood-sugar numbers, but that sounded really low, and it was! I wanted so much for him to sit down, but he wanted to browse through the lunch he'd brought. "You need orange juice!" I said. "You need sugar!"
       "I need protein," he argued.
       "Yes, you do," I countered, "but at the moment you need sugar; THEN you can pork up on protein!"
       "Do we have any orange juice?" he asked. I could see that my angst was infectious.
       We did not have juice; we've never had juice, but we did have chocolate candies and he ate some. Pretty soon, he began to feel better. I made him a bowl of soup (heavy on the chicken), and he took his meal back to his post. He was fine when I left, but GEE, don't you just hate the scary stuff?
       Teacher's Pet showed up very late in the lunch process, offering to help. Joey put him to work in the storage areas. Then I overhead the two of them talking about a woman who lives there; Pet had some gossip. "She's not going to a job every day," he said. "She's going to Gun-Shot Hill." (That's our really scary area—every town has one.)
       "But is she 'working?'" I winked.
       He said she was not making any money, and we concluded that whatever she was doing there must be free. Surely it won't be long before the administrators figure out that the woman is not reporting to a real job, and her shelter days will be concluded.
       One last note: there's a young man among the homeless who looks like McCaulay Culkin. He came to the counter after his meal and asked if we had anything sweet. His whole demeanor said that he, too, was in real need of a sugar fix, and he had not been privy to Gate Keeper's troubles. This time, I was on it. "Like cookies, or like candy?" I asked.
       "Doesn't matter," he said. So I got cookies and chocolate candies and placed them in his trembling hands. Our children are killing themselves with drugs. What did they need from us that we failed to provide?