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?