THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN…

       Last night was long. I had a nightmare around 3 a.m. when I got up to take ibuprofen for back pain. When I finally hauled my sorry self out of bed, it was after 9 a.m. and I was running late.
      Fall is here, the air is crisp, and many residents were sitting outside when I arrived at the shelter. It looked like we'd have a good group for lunch. "Crusty Old Gal" was keeping the gate and I put on my best smile for her, "What would you like for lunch?"
       I thought she'd suck up and say something nice. That is not her style. "Joey's making corned beef hash," she said vacantly.

       Because I had planned today's menu, her comment kinda put the fear of God in me… low expectations, high disappointments? Heck.

       When I entered the dining room, a man was eating at one of the tables. Joey was in the kitchen. I realize that sometimes people need to be fed "off schedule," so I didn't question the man's being there.

       Within minutes, a young woman came in the back door. Joey introduced her. Then he sent her to the dining room and provided her with a full meal. While she ate, he explained that she was his "only best friend" in the world. They grew up together. He wanted me to understand that she had a horrific childhood—brushing aside his own. This is the height of benevolence.

       Joey had already put two big aluminum pans of corned beef hash in the oven. He had some fruit cocktail in a pan, and more cans of fruit ready to add—peaches, pears… mystery-box goodies. When we talked about having a third item on the plates, we decided on biscuits. Joey put 3 dozen in the other oven. Lunch. How easy was that?

       Still, I had this feeling that my corned-beef-hash/poached egg recipe from last time needed some tweaking. So I took the hash out of the oven and put it in huge frying pans, until it had a bit of crisp here and there. Then I returned it to the aluminum pans, and used the catsup bottle to put hollows in the hash, dropping a raw egg into each hollow. Then I put the pans back in the oven… where I would watch those eggs carefully! No more rock-hard baked eggs for us!

       Crusty Lady "ordered" scrambled eggs to go with her hash, so she didn't get a baked egg… but after all was said and done, I think she might have regretted that. She did eat a hearty lunch and gave it high marks.

       Our pre-release group (as I predicted) was FIVE! A sixth fellow wandered in late, but my count was on-the-money for plates needed on the shelf at feeding time.

       There were no complaints. Our gluten-free gal is wonderfully gifted at turning up her nose (at the counter), but she most often changes her attitude after a meal. She can be helpful, cheerful, and thankful. On the whole, I like the girl a lot.

       Vegan heifer came in long enough to put the fear of God in Joey (he mentioned having to find food for her), but I never saw her. That doesn't mean she wasn't there.

       Our homeless residents numbered about 25. I know that only because I nervously count out the servings when I am putting their plates together. The fear of not having enough is always with me.

       Lady with four boys was there with ALL of her boys—the high-chair baby with a very snotty nose, and the 2-year-old announcing his arrival crying loudly. I put tradition aside and took him a Beanie Baby beaver right away. His mother didn't say anything, but I distinctly felt that she thought he should "straighten up!" without the comfort of a toy.

       You know, I'm still getting over a cold, and if that woman's baby has passed his cold to the 2-year-old, that little fellow has a sore throat today! God forbid, we should give our babies credit for their pain…

       Anyway, the poached-eggs/hash dish was a big hit. I saw empty plates going into the trash can. That's always a good sign.

       Today, I was ready for the smileless 2-year-old. I had two Beanie bunnies with floppy ears—a mommy-size one and an identical baby-size one. I pulled up a chair beside the princess. "I'm ready for you today, Girl Friend," I said, putting the mommy bunny on the table. "Mommy," I announced. She reached for it. I pulled it back. "Wait," I said.

       The child actually withdrew. Sometimes my brain films things, and I painfully watched in slow-mo as she withdrew. Then I put the bigger buggy on the table again, "Mommy."

       Before the child could respond, I put the little one in the arms of the bigger one, "Baby."

      I got a smile. It wouldn't make the Guinness book, but, Honey, it was a real smile.

       Mr. Huggy took a plate home (he's looking well).

       I hear that Brenda is doing well with the night shift.

       The little boy who was new last week is still there. Again, he caught me giving out goodies before I saw him, but thankfully I was just culling out the crier at the time. Besides, this "Very Polite Child" was late coming to lunch! He had on a pink dress shirt (his Sunday clothes), and he's such a beautiful child—especially (as was mine) in pink.

       Well… nothing to complain about. Numerous folks thanked us for the good lunch. All was quiet when I left—full tummies—long naps. Even the baby had slumped over in his high hair… Why can't I have him just long enough to comfort his cold and rock him to sleep?