I'M NO ANGEL

 …but I've spread my wings a bit. —Mae West

      A thoughtful smoker opened the outer door for me and my sack of toys, my cutting board, knife, 10 frozen pie shells, and two bags of oranges… but today's gatekeeper, Mr. Fred, was not at his window, and I was obliged to phone him. While I waited in the inside foyer, I took a toy from my sack and gave it to the toddler who was there with her parents and infant sister… sitting on the plastic benches… staying out of the cold… no place to go… just like last Sunday.
       Mr. Fred let me in, but then I had to wait interminably for Joey to unlock the dining room door. All of this, you understand, because I was weighed down with heavy sacks.
       Joey had put a large chunk of frozen sausage in the oven to thaw. He was planning to fry it for our quiches. So I began my preparations by cutting up the oranges. If I cut them into thirds, there would be enough for everyone to have some. As the sausage thawed and warmed, Joey mentioned the aroma. I, too, had sensed something amiss. That sausage was sour. I asked him how old it was, and he said it had been in the freezer for a little minute. Then he changed his mind and said it had probably been in there for a minute. (In Joey's world, the term "little minute" means a short but noteworthy period of time, and a "minute" means a fairly long time.) We threw out the sausage.
      From the fridge, I took 60 eggs, a carton of sour cream, and yellow & white cheeses. Joey finally remembered he had some bacon, and he put it in the deep fryer. In time, I had mixed, whipped, sprinkled, stirred and poured out 10 quiches: 2 for vegetarians, and the rest with bacon on the bottom. The chemist in me added parsley flakes and pepper, with ground nutmeg on top.
       Joey couldn't get any fruit or broccoli, but I had taken the oranges, and he had some bags of cole slaw. I dressed the slaw, and when it ran out, we opened bags of salad.
       The pre-release numbered about 21 today! Joey said they were grumbling about not getting enough to eat before their meals were even half finished. So I took a quiche and a knife to the serving counter, "I'm here to cut extra quiche for anybody who wants it," I announced. There was an immediate scraping of chairs and a line of takers at the counter.
       When the homeless arrived, they filled the dining room, and they promptly rejected the quiche. Remember: this is not the same group of homeless that we had on previous quiche days. This group snatched up all of Joey's plates of leftovers—pizza, BBQ, meatballs… and a whole pan of donated lasagna. It soon looked like the quiches might go wanting, but as the lunch hour passed, requests for quiche began to come in, and in time, all but half a quiche were gone. Many people stopped to say thanks for the meal, and especially the quiche, proving once again that you cannot read a menu until the belching is over.
       Our homeless family (from the other shelter where one cannot stay in daytime) was again invited to have lunch in our dining room. Today, it seemed like they felt more entitled than blessed… and I was, admittedly, annoyed when the big, fat mom asked for quiche (after finishing her lasagna plate), but wouldn't take a slice with bacon in it because she doesn't eat pork…
       The bad angel on my left shoulder said, "Honey, snatch that woman bald and remind her that she is homeless and spitting out babies right and left!"
       The good angel put her hand over my mouth and came up with a slice of cheese quiche.
       Our children numbered 4, and all seemed to enjoy the goodies I gave them. One of the kids, a girl about 12, was anxious for me to not forget the little toddler, but I assured her the toddler got a toy earlier. It's sweet how kids look out for each other—it's their innocence.
       Joey's planning to get back to school next month and "knock it out," as he says. It would be a shame to see him not finish, after working on it for 2-1/2 years. I promised to help him with the math, and we started today with those multiplication tables which he has always rejected. He cut up a sheet cake, and I asked him how many pieces he had. Pointing to each piece, he counted, 1, 2, 3, 4… and I said, "Wait." Then I counted the pieces on the long end of the pan and the pieces on the short end—6 and 4. "What's 6 times 4?"
       He had no clue. I reminded him of the multiplication tables, "1 times 2, 2 times 2…" that I had TOLD him to learn long ago! It's time. It is surely time—because the math part of his GED is upon him. Maybe I can tutor some of our baby bearers as well… 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = homeless and without pork. Maybe I'm being too hard on them. I think one of my angels has left the building…

LOOKING AT "The Real Thing"

       My friend Steve joined me at the shelter today. We arrived around 9:30—earlier than usual. Joey wasn't there yet, but he told me yesterday that people are coming in from the cold, the shelter is full, and we expected about 50 for lunch today. In the outer foyer, Steve and I passed a family with a double stroller and two babies. You need to know they were in the outer foyer because it's warm there. There are only plastic benches to sit on, and it's not warmly lit, but this family has no other place to go today. They are sleeping at the other shelter where people can stay only at night. When morning comes, everyone must leave. So there they sat… waiting for night to come again, and it was only 9:30.
     Steve and I started work on two large pots of Brunswick stew. I took the potatoes, two bags of baby limas, and some cans of tomatoes. Steve brought cans of corn from the pantry. He delighted in using our super-cool can opener. 
       When Joey arrived, he brought more canned tomatoes. Then he thawed about 8 pounds of pre-cooked chicken for the stew, and he put 50 biscuits in the oven. Steve opened three #10 cans of fruit. The menu was complete.
       It took a full two hours to get those pots of stew cooked, and they were worth it! In the meantime, Steve and I sacked 2 dozen lunches. He was of wonderful cheer, and the work rolled off painlessly. I always enjoy teaching others the shelter-kitchen routine.
       Generally, we have between 4 and 10 pre-release to feed. Today there were 18! The group was upbeat and enjoyed their meal, but our gatekeeper said she heard a few complaints that they didn't get enough! We offered them extras. Somebody wasn't listening.
       When our homeless came in, they filled the dining room. We still have the mom with two little boys, and there's a teenage girl with her mom. On a really joyful note, Gatekeeper let the family in the foyer come to lunch! Both infants were sleeping, but I put a beanie baby on the toddler's stroller.
       My little artist fellow brought one of his drawings to show me—Superman. He took the graphite-pencil set I gave him to school where he keeps it in his art class… I SO hope these hard times don't drag him down.
       The lunch hour became quite long, and my back began to scream about the extra time I was putting in. People came in from church, and we continued to serve up the stew. Mr. Huggy took his plate into the dining room to eat it there. Generally, he just takes it home.
       Many of our patrons made special efforts to thank us today! I never need thanks, but Steve made a note of all the thanks we got, and how good that felt. Maybe it's the seasonal spirit, but as long as they are feeling something good, it doesn't matter.
       Joey and I made hasty plans to serve quiche, broccoli and applesauce next week, and Steve and I headed for the door. I said good-bye to Gatekeeper and passed into the foyer… where a thin old man sat on a plastic bench with his head in his hands. I turned around, and Gatekeeper let me back in. "I didn't feed that man," I told her.
       "It's okay," she said. "He's just there to get warm."
       Steve was waiting for me outside. "I don't think I've ever seen the real thing before," he said.
       I'm sure he has, but he just hasn't stood that close to it. The real thing hurts…

SIGH... Another Day Off

Joey called on Saturday night to let me know that he and Miss Lillian and two people working off their service hours would be crowded into the kitchen on Sunday—holiday prep. Just as well; I've had a very trying week and was exhausted.

There was an interesting event on Friday... when I left town for a funeral. I let my Garmin lead me. FAR down a two-lane country highway, I realized that nature was calling. The pick'ins were so slim that they was one—an old, old country "store and cafe." I was desperate.

Inside, I found a place from 1950 that is so obviously unchanged. It is frighteningly unchanged. The "cafe" and "store" are so interconnected that neither leaves off or begins; they blend. There is a long griddle against the back wall, and two families were scarfing down its offerings. Two plump young women were running the place. No howdies, no smiles. I KNEW I did not fit in and never would.

I felt blessed to have been able to accomplish my mission and continue down the road—the next thing on my agenda being to REROUTE the drive home!

Hope to see you next Sunday!!

BRUNSWICK ITALIAN

      ONE was not at his post when I arrived today, but a resident was just inside the locked door, and he let me in. I had my purse over my shoulder, a large sack of toys over my shoulder, and two plastic grocery bags in my hands. Apparently, I fit in.
       "Are you new?" he asked.
       "I'm the Sunday Lady," I said, "but I'm probably new to you. You look new to me." And I passed on down the hall where One let me into the dining room, a can of cola in his hand.
       "Can't a man drink a beer without having to get up and open the door?" he grinned.
       Joey was busy with floor cleaning. He forgot to order lima beans for our Brunswick stew, so I bought some on the way in. Joey also failed to notice that there were NO canned tomatoes in the pantry. As for potatoes, I had taken mine because there were no potatoes either… It was clearly going to be another "stone soup" day, but I was determined to sell it as Brunswick stew.
       Joey thawed a few pounds of cooked chicken breast which I shredded and put in the huge pot with my diced potatoes, two boxes of broth, 5 or 6 cans of corn, and the two bags of frozen baby limas. There was a large bag of tomato sauce in the pantry, and I  poured a lot of it into the brew. It smelled awfully Italian!
       Around that time a beautiful young woman came to help. She is doing some public service toward her college degree, and before long Joey had her knee deep in making sack lunches. I really enjoyed meeting her, and as do most of our true volunteers, she claimed that she'd like to come back even after she's earned her service hours. Of course, she'd be the first to do that.
       In time, I syphoned off a lot of the Italian sauce from my stew, replacing it with water. I added vinegar and barbecue sauce. The bubbling mix began to smell a bit like Brunswick stew. I took out more of the spicy sauce, replacing it with more water and finally a half can of plain tomato sauce. The color was right, the smell was right, and after three "test spoonfuls," the taste was as close to perfect as I could imagine.
       For sides, I mixed a large pan of cole slaw and heated a dozen cans of great northern beans. We served crackers as our bread. It was interesting to watch both groups come to the serving counter and carefully study every plate within their view. It's not unusual for us to have plates of leftovers along with the current meal, but today there was just the one meal. Nothing else was available. Like Pavlov's dogs, their eyes went from plate to plate, certain they would find something special.
       We had 3 little boys today. I'd taken some special art supplies for one of them, but the other two were only in for the usual goodies. I opened my goody bag for our pretty volunteer and told her she could choose some things for the boys and hand them out. She was thrilled! Only a short while before, she had looked across the work table and said, stoically, "It doesn't feel like Christmas." Heck, we do Christmas every Sunday at the shelter.
       The stew was eaten, down to scraping the pot. Folks who wanted seconds were turned away because we simply hadn't enough—and that always makes me feel inadequate… Our volunteer was pumping me for details about how we know what quantities to prepare. And you know, it's often a crap shoot. If I make too much of something, Miss Lillian will be bitching about my leftovers the next day. Then again, it feels so bad when I don't make enough for extras.
       Interestingly, the pantry had NO chips or sweets for the sacked lunches. Today's sacks got the usual two sandwiches and a poptart. I don't understand why the cupboard is so bare, when it was bulging just two weeks ago. The ice machine hasn't worked in about 2 months. They just keep large bags of ice in there. Joey says there's no sign of a repairman on the horizon. This is worrisome.