FREEDOM HOLIDAY?

       A resident opened the door for me this morning. Gate Keeper's office was empty because ONE was in the kitchen with Joey! Always good to see One.

       Joey was thawing the foods we'd frozen last week for our big soup pot, and he was boiling the 4 dozen eggs I'd asked for. The soup was one of our best ever, and I made 3 dozen deviled-egg sandwiches. We served little bags of chips on the side. There were no complaints, unless you count the fluffy young woman who asked for "only" chips because, "I can't eat any of that stuff; I'm a vegan-terian."

       "What do you eat?" I asked, taking in her girth.

       "Only vegetables!" she snooted. No eggs, no cheese... gotta wonder: where are the calories coming from?

       There's a new pre-release who reminds me of my old friend Phil, so I'll call him Phil. He's tall and good looking and just as sweet as the day is long. I cannot imagine why he's there. And I believe he's gay, so being institutionalized probably takes a bitter toll on him. But he is of good cheer and helpful. Joey put him to work filling a drink bin and doing a few other chores. When Phil left, and to my surprise, Joey concurred that Phil is quite a nice fellow, "and I think he's like your friend Steve…"

        NOT to my surprise, Phil asked Joey what time he's leaving this evening, because he wanted to come back to the kitchen and hang out. Joey has that effect on the lonely ones. Sometimes he gets outright distracted by their emotional needs. That's okay—as long as I can pull lunch together on time.

       It occurred to me this morning, as our pre-release prisoners came and went for lunch, that it's a "freedom holiday." Seems like a bit of an oxymoron. We only had 5 for lunch, but the homeless made up for the count. Just when I thought we'd served the last, I'd look up and see the line growing. Still, 35 folks is not so much except that there are only two of us to feed them.

       Little people: Needy Child and his father just disappeared this week, according to Joey. Joey thinks the child was so adored by one of the head social workers that they got a home through her efforts. Who knows?

       My adorable adolescents are still there, and surely it's wearing them down. I'll miss them awfully, but they need a home now! As always, they got goodies, and I really enjoy the way they treat me—like an aunt or a grandma.

       The babies' mother and the "ends" were there, but the father and the twins were elsewhere. It was so nice not having to tip-toe around the father! I enjoyed my few minutes with the little ones and their mom. I gave the "too-quiet" 3-year-old a little panda bear. He put it over his shoulder like a baby, but he really shied away from me. On the other hand, when he was first seated and I waved to him from the serving counter, that little fellow raised his arm, smiled broadly and gave me a loud "hey!" He's got some happy in there somewhere, but apparently he's never sure when it's okay to let it out :( Joey can't even look at that child without wanting to cry because the kid looks so much like his nephew. It puts Joey in mind of how his nephew would look under those harsh circumstances.

       There's a brain living among our homeless. He wears a backpack, he's tall and handsome. He can mathspeak with the best, as One was eager to tell me. Brain is obviously down on his luck and for all we know he's never been up on it. He and One seem to share the dilemma of being over qualified.

       I didn't want to leave today. Nothing hurt. I had no pain meds. Joey had left me high and dry to prepare the soup and the deviled-egg sandwiches (and four dozen sack-lunch sandwiches), but my body didn't seem to mind. I was holding my purse, edging toward the door when Mr. Huggy came in! Still tall and striking, he came toward me slowly, measuring the pain of his steps. He hugged me. "I had a heart attack last month," he said.

       "I know. I ask about you."

       "Well, then they found something wrong with my throat," he said, holding his throat and speaking softer than usual. "I can't sing in the choir now."

       He was overheated, and I encouraged him to stay hydrated. What's a mother to do?

       Then Joey and I made plans for next Sunday—I'm so excited! We're making corned beef hash with baked eggs, and no, I don't want your opinion. It's a really tasty and pretty dish. On the side we'll have buttered spinach and mixed fruit.

       I stopped outside to ask my adolescent boy how he's been. His face said it all—can't play here, got nothing to do, sick of this place. "So how's school?" I prodded. He sank a bit lower. "Bring home any A's last week?" Nope. "Any C's?"

       "He didn't bring home anything we can talk about," his mother offered.

       "Heck," I said, "I never brought home good grades. My mother would get so mad at me, but I had a creek to play in. Who wants to do math when there are salamanders to catch?"

       A man sitting beside Mom added, "and they're a lot easier to catch!"

       Sweet people all. What would I do without them?