WHERE DOES IT HURT?

     Cutie gatekeeper let me in with a big smile. He phoned the kitchen, so Joey would open the door there. I unloaded my bags, put on an apron, washed my hands and set to work. But first, I asked Joey to play a CD I'd brought. I have a new song—and we danced and sang until my feet gave out. Nothing like good music to start the day.
       Today I made quiche. It's been months, and maybe Miss Lillian has forgiven me… so I dared to try it again. This time I made only 7 (God forbid there should be one left over and she should have to "find a use for it"). Joey deep fried the most delicious bacon, and he pan fried several pounds of sausage. I got white and yellow grated cheeses from the fridge, and I had taken the pie shells and sour cream. Our work table isn't big enough for this effort, but I made do.
       Joey had a big can of green beans boiling, but it was not enough, so I added another. The canned fruit that he'd promised to order just didn't happen. He did have a large can of applesauce, and I found a tiny can of pineapple slices, and some cinnamon. When lunch was completely over, we had 4 or 5 plates left (which were probably eaten by late-comers), and there was not one green bean or one dab of applesauce left. It was a case of "perfect will just have to do." [Phil]
       The first batch of pies was ready right on time for the pre-release. There were only 5 or 6 of them and, predictably, they had minor complaints. One of the guys in particular made a point of telling me, kindly, that he's never liked eggs. I understand that. I told him that if he couldn't eat the quiche, I'd make him something else. Quite a few sentences passed between us, and after lunch he made a point of telling me that lunch was very good and he appreciated my making it. I cannot give him a love of eggs, but his love of human kindness surely bubbled to the surface.
       Our homeless, on the other hand, had no qualms about eating quiche. Their biggest challenge was choosing between cheese, sausage, bacon, and sausage/bacon. When I took the toys into the dining room for the children, a young woman looked up from her plate and asked softly, "Can we have more?"
       "Yes! But only when I'm here…" Five of them had an extra plate. And you know… there are no obese people in our group at present—just hungry people.
       We have a new mom with two boys (about 8 and 10), so it was nice to have kids old enough to use some of my art kits.
       When the first wave of diners had passed, a handsome young man came to the counter asking, "Quiche?"
       "Oui."
       "Quiche???"
       "Oui!"
       Then he got it. Big smile. Then he sidled closer, "How are you?" he asked.
       "I'm really tired; my back and legs hurt, but I'm here and I'm standing upright, so I've got nothing to complain about."
       "Me either," he said, "except I wish my mom wasn't so mad at me."
       I became a bartender in that moment, wiping the bar while he sipped his drink and poured out his troubles. Before I left, I took him aside, "I have a son. When a mother's child hurts, she can feel no greater pain. Your mother sees you hurting and she cannot fix it, so she's angry and feeling helpless about that."
       "Yes, but I just want her to speak nice to me," he whined. "I can't fix this. Only God can fix this, and only on His time."
       There was little else I could say—but I encouraged him to write to his mother with kind words, and let the other stuff go.
       The lady with 4 boys wasn't there today. I'll be honest, just seeing her spitting out all those babies (with another on the way) annoys me awfully, so I did not miss her. The 2-year-old girl and her mother are gone now. The child was smiling much more openly in the last few weeks. The couple with the newborn and 5-year-old remain. The infant is becoming chubby and smiling profusely. Everyone at the shelter is abuzz about how much the baby has smiled this week. The 5-year-old is absolutely my favorite (Joey's too)—and I had fun giving him a Beanie bat in honor of Halloween's approach. The 6-year-old girl (go ahead and shoot me, but this child IS "Honey Boo Boo"). She has no manners. She is overweight and rude. The upside is that she gives me an opportunity to practice being kind but firm.
       Mr. Huggy arrived at his usual time, and I had a plate for him. I was so ready to ward off a painful hug, but he just stood very close to me. Body language is universal, isn't it? But he's feeling less weak now and is taking the time to rest when his energy runs low. I gave him a very brief talk about "delegating."
       Joey and I have no plans for next week. He'd like for me to conjure up some, but I had to tell him, "If I asked for something, it wouldn't be here—you know it wouldn't." He agreed. So unless we plan a menu for which I personally shop, and one that uses staples always available at the shelter, planning can be fruitless—or just cinnamon-laced applesauce.