HOW SWEET IT IS

      So Rick is now the new Sunday gate keeper. Wendy just works weekdays. Seems like finding qualified folks to work that desk on weekends is a stretch.  But I like Rick—very nice young man. For the first two weeks he was there, I got the impression that he was almost too serious—no fun. Yesterday, though, I called to ask the number and ages of the children I should bring goodies for. Rick dutifully rattled off their genders and ages. Then he added one, "And we've got another little girl, only two years old, and she's just the cutest thing you ever saw!"

       So Rick's staid façade is out of the closet.

       Speaking of the closet, Phil is upbeat today, and I realized that he's among our pre-release folks. Just never paid enough attention to notice that before. What in HELL did that gentle soul do?

       Joey had rounded up two huge paper bags of soup makings. I got to pick and choose, to create just the right homemade flavor. I filled that pot to within 3 inches of the brim—the largest batch yet. For reasons unknown, I felt strongly that our crowd would be large today. Whatever is giving me these feelings never seems to miss—we had more than 40, and that enormous pot of soup was consumed.

       Joey boiled 3 dozen eggs, and I made deviled-egg sandwiches (31). At Joey's suggestion, I made 2 dozen chicken salad sandwiches from the pre-mixed salad we had used last week. When all was said and done, I had to hurriedly make an additional dozen sandwiches. That "soup-kitchen/sandwich" meal may sound unappealing to you, but it was embraced greedily by our customers. We got many thank-yous as they left. Sweet thank-yous—the kind that you know are heart-felt. THAT is the "spirit" I find at this "church" of mine.

       We have a tall, thin fellow among our homeless who has something of a handlebar mustache. He came to the counter to ask for another sandwich. I made him a whole one. "Oh," he said, "I can't eat it that way. Can you cut it up?" motioning to his mustache. I quartered it. No problem. Nice fellow.

       The family with the 6-year-old girl was at lunch, sitting with the 2-year-old and her mother. I got to have some alone time with "my" little girl. She was the first to come to the counter after Joey announced that the "residents" could come in. She was holding out a little fist to me—one dandelion, one morning glory, and one unidentified blue flower. I have them in a shot glass in my kitchen window now.

       Of course I had goodies for her. She was thrilled with the bright blue Beanie Baby bear and matching bottle of bubbles. She chose a pack of Juicy Fruit over Big Red, and I added some apple chewies.

       For the baby, I had a long-eared brown puppy (Beanie Baby). I thought she would swoon over it (I know I did), but she barely acknowledged it. The apple chewies went unacknowledged. She shied away completely, and I do understand. Her mother, though, was thrilled. Later, as I watched, that baby ate a hearty lunch (no mention of her not "liking" what was served), and her mother seems to be a well-adjusted person. Too, by the time the baby got well into her meal, I saw that the puppy was squeezed under her left arm, safe and warm… oh, the rewards are always too many…

       Very early in the day and well before we served the first meal, Mr. Huggy came by the kitchen. His color is good today, and he's walking a bit more sure-footed. He was smiling. Thankfully, I had my hands in the sink, peeling boiled eggs, so the only hug he could give me was the "shoulder hug." I remarked at how much better he looks this week and asked why. He said he had rested. I hope he stays on that train.

       Joey and I had many words about the vegan-terian while I cooked and he mopped. He must deal with her 5 days a week—really hard to imagine! Too, Joey says she's living at the shelter because she left her boyfriend and had no place to go (parents not an option—what a surprise). So I was ready for that veggie heffer by the time we opened the doors! We didn't have one thing on her "can eat" list. She didn't show.

       As I said, the other two children came in from church after everyone else had left. In fact, I was leaving the dining room when they came in. "Oh! I have some goodies for you!" I told them. They gathered around the table where I opened my bag. They are greedy and picky, and their sibling rivalry is alive and well.

       Outside, I found my 6-year-old blowing bubbles for the baby. Their parents were enjoying some time to relax with the kids. So I stopped to chat. The subject of next week's lunch came up, as Joey and I hadn't been able to think of a menu. "What would you like?" I asked them.

       Young people that they are, they had ideas about ribs and potato skins, but the daddy was smart enough to inquire about the source of our food—all contributions, or ordered from a supplier? Mostly ordered, I told him, but we can't get ribs, it's hard to do baked potatoes, and what we serve for Sunday lunch must be put together in about 90 minutes. All three parents were thinking hard! "How about chili," the baby's mother asked. "You make good chili!"

       "I do make good chili, but I haven't made it here," I told her. Somebody had made good chili there recently. Let's blame Miss Lillian. Anyway, the daddy said the quiches were so good that he'd like to have those again. The other parents agreed. I guess we'll have those again next Sunday. It seems redundant to me, but those folks eat 21 meals there every week, and to have the same food twice in 63 meals is not redundant—I had to do the math to understand their request.

       Okay, there's wine to drink, and feet to prop up. That's a wrap.

FATHER'S DAY

      Naturally, a shelter would see change, as folks come and go, but lately it seems as if this shelter is in overdrive with change. Rick, the new social worker I met last week was keeping the gate this week. When I arrived, Joey was mopping and keeping company with one of the pre-release. Joey had set out everything I needed to prepare the meal we'd planned. It was so well orchestrated that I had time to pack 20 sack lunches (ew).

       I made some little kabobs yesterday, with cheese cubes, olives and cherry tomatoes. The chicken salad was heaped on a fresh lettuce leaf and flanked with kabobs. We had fruit cocktail with bananas and little marshmallows in one of the other plate sections, and in the third we had diced potatoes, buttered and parslied.

       This attractive and healthy meal went over well, but didn't make the big splash that last week's quiche did. Still, it was worth the effort, and we had enough to offer seconds. "Vegan-tarian" lady grumped that she "couldn't eat" the chicken salad, and to my surprise, she asked for several extra kabobs (with cheeses), after telling me in no uncertain terms last week that she eats ONLY vegetables. Something has added an extra 75 pounds to her grumpiness—maybe it's that vegetarian cheese.

       Children: Joey and I were looking out the back window at a parking lot where we saw two families walking toward our building. One person was pulling a suitcase on rollers. Joey was quick to tell me how disgusted he is with those people, "dragging their children around like that—might as well be sleeping under a bridge!"

       One of the families was that of last week's little girl. The other was also a young couple, and they have two children, about 4 and 6. They all came to lunch, but I was forced to scrape up goodies for the kids because I was expecting only the little girl, and I hadn't gone prepared for more.

       The family with the four babies has left. I am relieved to not have them there as watching the dysfunction was wearing on me. Word has it they have their own place now, so that's good.

       Phil was in a good mood, laughing it up with Joey, and planning to hang out with him this afternoon. Why is he there? Where did he come from? Where will he go?

       Mr. Huggy came dragging in as I was preparing to leave. He's not doing very well. His hugs are even weak. I gave him a plate to take home. Then Joey and I made plans for next week. Joey says people have been asking for "the soup." I've heard it myself. So I went through the mystery box and came up with many cans of wonderful things for our next Sunday meal. Joey wanted us to make stone soup. "We always make stone soup," I reminded him. I'll make deviled egg sandwiches to go with it… gosh, I guess our extra-large vegan-tarian will go hungry!

       So today was quiet. Preparation was simple, serving went smoothly, and when I left, positively everyone was outside sitting in the grass. Now to go find the grass for me.

GOURMET CONNOISSEURS

       Last things first: Wendy is back at her post as gate keeper, and we have a new social worker, a tall young man. When I arrived, he was in the kitchen getting coffee, Joey was not there yet, and the young man turned on the lights for me—no, I still can't find the #$^@%$^ switches.

       This was a very busy morning in the kitchen, and I had no time to ask about Mr. Huggy. I did get to speak to Phil, and I think he's depressed.

     As I prepared to leave the shelter today, I asked Joey if he had a menu in mind for next week. "Soup," he said.

       "Soup? Soup??"

       "Well, M'am, I think we need to get these people weaned off gourmet foods."

       Yes, the quiche went over so very well, that it scared Joey. Come to think of it, Miss Lillian will probably get her panties in a wad when she hears about today's meal. She's been known to accuse me of "spoiling them."

       Oh, but I did spoil them today. It was wonderful. Joey dashed about while I barked orders, and within 90 minutes I had put together 10 quiches, a pasta dish, and broccoli. We had several kinds of quiche: cheese, cheese & broccoli, cheese and bacon, cheese and sausage, and the last two were made of the leftovers: sausage, cheese, black olives...

       (Just an aside: Joey cooked the bacon in the deep fryer. Who knew? Furthermore, it was SO crispy that I didn't have to do much more than touch it to crumble it.)

       The pasta dish was made with small egg noodles slathered with pesto sauce and butter, with a generous portion of minced black olives, and a dash of salt.

       I always think of the pre-lease folks as our test group, but their tastes are truly different from those of our homeless. They began with whiny faces, frowning brows, and questions. I felt like Joey and I were having to sell the food, but pretty soon, we were handing out seconds—and thirds.

       A woman among that group requires gluten-free foods, so we prepared a plate for her with two boiled eggs, 4 sausage patties, broccoli, and grits. She eyed the quiche enviously. Finally she returned to the counter and said sadly, "I really wish I could have some." When I questioned her level of wheat intolerance, we decided that she could have the quiche if she carefully avoided the crust. So she had a big slice!

       Then the homeless came in. The group appeared to be small at first, and we still had a number of pies left! One tiny old man looked at the plates, gave me an apologetic look, and said, "I don't eat that."

       "It's quiche!" I said.

       He wasn't sold.

       "Do you like omelets?" I asked.

       Yes, he did!

       "Well," I explained, "it's just an omelet in a pie shell. It's eggs with cheese and bacon, or sausage, or broccoli…

       He brightened up and chose a flavor. Later he came for seconds. He was one of the last to leave, and made sure I understood that I had sabotaged the "diet" he was on.

       Then another wave of homeless came in, and soon those quiches were flying off the serving shelf.

      One of my favorites among the pre-release is a very large man who always get seconds, and today he was anxious to try all the flavors of quiche, but he had not touched the pasta. I asked him about it. His nose wrinkled up. "Well," he said, "I'll try it, just for you." And he took a big bite. "It's not bad." Later he had another bowlful.

       I've never seen such a rush on food in that shelter! It was exhilarating! People were asking Joey my name so they could thank me personally—Miss Joy—Mrs. Joy—Joy… thanks!

       …and Joey wants to wean them from gourmet. I don't think so!

       So the babies were not there today, and I was quite relieved to not have to deal with them, BUT, we have a new child—a little girl—age 6! I mean, of all children, that gender and age are no doubt my favorite. I gave her a Beanie Baby—then some candies and gum and an art kit. Her parents are young, well spoken, and very intelligent! Again, I don't know what brought them there, but they have no signs of drug abuse, so I'll assume they are just victims of hard times. At any rate, I surely felt like Santa himself, and there will BE no weaning!

SLINGING HASH

      Met yet another gate keeper this morning. Wendy still works there, but has taken a couple of Sundays off. Today's young woman has worked there a long time and is obviously comfortable behind that desk. I enjoyed meeting her. While she visited in the kitchen, I learned a lot about back-row and front-row Baptists. She seems well-versed on the subject and carries her share of humor.

       Joey had our eggs set out and two big pans of corned beef hash heating in the oven. When the hash was dry enough, I made little nests in it with the bottom of a catsup bottle and dropped an egg in each nest. Then the pans were returned to the oven—long enough for the eggs to be overcooked... but they were lovely to behold.

       We had a big pot of buttered spinach and a pan of canned fruit chunks. Altogether, that was lunch. The pre-release were about a dozen strong. They weren't very impressed with their gourmet lunch, taking one look and frowning. And you may remember the nasty fellow who once bellowed, "I don't eat ham and I don't eat white bread!" Remember? Joey had to make him a special sack lunch that day. Well, today, he took one look at the meat dish and announced that he didn't eat those foods!

       I could choose to let that get under my skin, but I don't. Joey told the fellow that "Miss Joy" could cook him an egg. So Miss Joy said to the man, "How do you want your egg? Over easy?"

       "No! I don't want nothin' raw!" he snapped.

       And no matter what I offered, he wasn't in the mood to be accepting. So I told him I was going to make him an omelet, and with his permission to add cheese, I went to the prep table.

       It took about 10 minutes, but, Honey, that was the prettiest omelet I've ever rustled up. It was so pretty that Joey wouldn't let me hand it to the man. He wanted to give it to him! The man refused to say thank you or to smile or show any emotion at all. He took his plate and sat down. I looked from time to time, to see how his meal was going, and when he finished he plainly told me, "That was good. Thank you!" And he smiled.

       Really, his behavior is so much like that of our 3-year-old homeless fellow. They both need cajoling; they're both unwieldy; and neither has had any good breaks lately.

       Memorable was a handsome homeless fellow whose smile lit up the room when he saw the hash. "I haven't had that in 18 months!" Later he agreed with me that, yes, the eggs were over baked, but he just didn't care. There wasn't a scrap left on his plate, and he wanted to tell me about the 12-inch cast-iron skillet he has. WHERE do you keep your cast-iron skillet while you live in a shelter? I so wanted to ask…

       My precious adolescents are gone. Their mother told Joey to thank me for the goodies I'd given the children. Neither Joey nor today's gate keeper has details of the family's moving out, but we hope they got an apartment where the kids can throw a ball and have a place to call home. I missed them awfully—and selfishly.

       Midway through the noon lunch, someone delivered a huge batch of kale to the kitchen. Joey came through the doors hugging those enormous greens like a bushel basket. Someone chided him. "Well," he shot back, "some people get roses; I get kale!" Later, he said, "Miss Joy, nobody is going to cook that kale; I'm taking it home! I love greens!"

       Phil was around. He was visiting with Joey in the dining room when I arrived, but made a hasty exit. Later, I saw him at lunch, and he ate well—no complaints.

       The four babies and their mother were there—no dad in sight—and you just hope with all your might that she's had her tubes tied, but you know she hasn't… You know what she said when I took little bowls of hash and spinach to their table? She said, "They don't like that." I asked her if they'd ever had that, and she said no. So I suggested they try it. I gave a bowl to each of the three boys. They pushed them back to me and asked for a toy. I said they could have a toy, after they ate their lunch—their one teaspoon of lunch. Later, those bowls were said to have been consumed (who knows?), and I made some turkey and cheese and milk for the kids. But really… "they don't like that?" I even TOLD her to not SAY that! …woman's got some basic stupid going on there!

       Next week, if Joey can get the supply house to send us a case of frozen pie shells, we're serving quiche! Quiche 'n sausage, quiche with ham and cheese, quiche with cheese 'n broccoli… You know, I can't remember when we last used that nasty deep fryer! Ain't it great?