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.