Change is not only in the wind,
it's inside the house—Wendy is leaving, Rick is leaving, and some fellow I've
never met is leaving. One is, apparently, the loneliest number, and One will be
keeping the Sunday gate until further notice. You'll hear no complaints from
me!
Joey and I had planned ham
salad for today, and I took some embellishments and tools for its preparation.
To my surprise, the stove was piled high with Styrofoam containers from prior
meals—leftovers. Miss Lillian had insisted
that those people EAT those leftovers before anything new was prepared!
Joey and I were fine with
that! Tossing boxes of lunch at the residents was easy enough! Then,
complications set in. Someone donated a gallon of fresh (delicious) chicken
salad. I minced some celery and dill pickles to add to it. Someone else donated
6 fresh, hot pizzas, and yet other donations included water melons and salad.
Miss Lillian's directives didn't stand a chance… york york…
So there were many comments
about the food. Many came to the counter expecting to find one of my
"Sunday creations," and were downcast when they saw the Styrofoam
boxes. Pizza lifted their spirits, though. Still, they wondered why I had not
created something special, and I told them honestly that I was following orders
from the top. They understood. One fellow stopped to talk about a particular
piece of meat that Lillian and Joey serve. "When Joey cooks it, I like it;
but, when Miss Lillian cooks it, it's like getting a slab of raw beef!" Uh
huh.
In the end, only one box of
BBQ meatballs was taken, the chicken salad and pizza were consumed, and
everyone left satisfied. They didn't leave without mentioning how nice it would
be if I made quiche again… Which reminds me: Joey made up a pot of "my
soup" one day last week, and he followed my "recipe" for which
cans to open… and he said he got rave reviews. Yep, a can of spaghetti sauce
and a can of refried beans can make most anything else pleasing to the palate.
Two tiny boys came to lunch
with their mother. I gave each of them a stuffed toy. My 6-year-old darling was
there with her parents, and I took the dearth of other children as my
opportunity to give my little girl a special bag of goodies that I'd fixed for
her weeks ago. The child is so reticent—her eyes grow big when she sees her
Sunday treasures, and she smiles brightly, but her thank-yous don't come out
until Mom and Dad remind her. Mom brought her to the kitchen later, saying the
child wanted to give me a hug—probably Mom
wanted to give me a hug. Sweet little things, both of them.
Oh, and the tall, handsome,
extra heavy fellow who left last week? Joey says his disability is that he
hears threatening voices… sad.
Another tall, handsome
resident came in today, late. He nearly missed lunch, and he was so upset about
the bad week he'd had. He started right in telling me how bad it was. Seems
there was a nearby company that promised him work, say, on the 20th of June…
then it was pushed up 5 days… and another 5… until his time at the shelter is
running out and he still hasn't a job. I never thought to tell him to have more
than one fish on the line… maybe I'll get a chance next week.
Mr. Huggy showed up around
12:30—with a hug. He's feeling much, much better.
Joey's making fried chicken for dinner. They're gonna love that.
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