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.