NOT SO HOT

       Maybe it's just me, but that shelter has little life in it today. Cutie gatekeeper from months back is in the gate saddle again. We enjoyed our hellos. Beyond there was a long empty hall, an empty dining room, and a cold kitchen. At least the lights were on. And truthfully, Dean was on my heels, ready to bring me up to date with lunch plans and instructions. Miss Lillian did not come in. She's on a mission. If you don't ask, I won't tell.
       There were nearly 20 cold plates of leftover pizza and fries to serve out. Lillian did call to give me complete instructions, which I greatly appreciated. Those plates were to be served, as were plates of donated "lasagna," some wilted, darkened salads, and hard round rolls. The "lasagna" was thick with tomato paste (I mean just buried deep in the stuff), there was no visible cheese, no layers... just enormous penne pasta smothered in yucky. No telling who dubbed that stuff lasagna, but it was free.
       Dean had a pre-cooked ham in the oven for tonight's dinner, and we put four #10 cans of green beans on to simmer. He and I fully covered the issue of whether or not to pour off the water from the canned beans. While some folks who work in that kitchen "rinse" canned vegetables and cook them in "fresh" water, Dean and I concur: the water in the can is sterile, and it's full of vitamins and flavor.
       I made up a few dozen PBJs, but there was little else to do with food prep. Dean's abilities are being put into play four ways to sundown; he's ragged from being stretched too far, and I was happy to take up a pail of bleach water, wipe down the dining room tables and chairs, and fill the napkin and dinnerware containers.
       In time, we got that CW music station cranked up, and we left the back door open for most of the morning. Those upbeat things seemed out of place, but we surely needed them!
       Both of our lunch groups were on the quiet side. We apologized to them for the fare, but our hands were tied. In 3 years, I think I've come to know these people (as a people), and it's just not customary for them to be that accepting of such foul grub. They know we're having it rough, and they're taking it on the chin with us.
       None of the five children who lives there now was at lunch—thank God. I did leave toys for all of them with Gatekeeper. He's such a cutie (have I mentioned that?). He took the toys gleefully and said, "What? Nothing for me?"
       There are no plans for next week. There were no plans for this week. God willing, I will be there next week, and I will do what I can with what we have.

AN EXTRA-BITTER COLD

      There was a skiff of snow on the edges of the car windows this morning, so I checked the temperature online: the wind chill was 4°. It didn't really matter that it was a balmy 22  in the sun and out of the wind.

       Our gatekeeper was a man who has served many Sundays in that position. He didn't want to give me eye contact as he pressed the button to let me in. There's a pall over the whole staff at the shelter, and I assumed Gatekeeper just wanted to keep his feelings private. Still, I gave him a cheerful "good morning" and got one in return.

       In the kitchen were Miss Lillian and Dean, a tall handsome fellow I've not met before. They were hard at work. Until now, Dean has only worked part-time there and not in the kitchen, but now he is full-time. Lillian was instructing him in the ways of our kitchen, and Dean was learning fast.

       They had already prepared a pot of soup for lunch and a huge pan of hotdogs in buns. We deep fried chicken patties and put those in buns. There were plates of leftovers for the homeless residents, and I opened a #10 can of apples. We put several dozen pieces of cake on the counter, and no one left hungry.

       When the lunch and dinner menus were fully prepared and/or well underway, Dean and I made up a dozen sack lunches, two dozen pbj sacks for the street folks, and a half dozen breakfast sacks. Sundays have always been Lillian's day off, but things have changed. Topping off her longer hours, she had to get all those meals ready early so she could leave before 1 o'clock; she had family responsibilities. She was happy to see me, and to be honest, I was happy to help her in any way I could.

       We have the same four children we've had for several months, but today I got to meet one of the little twin girls. Until now, they've not come to Sunday lunch when I was there. I wish you could have seen that child's face and heard her gasp of delight when I handed her a beanie bear. You'd have thought it was, well, a lot more than a little beanie bear. Her sister is sick today, but I left a bear for her too.

       The boys got gadgets and candy, but if they delight in them, I don't see it. I think some of these children (especially the boys) have learned to put on their manly faces for all occasions—no crying, no laughing.

       Our threesome team was awesome. We had assembly lines going at every opportunity, and Miss Lillian played backup, cleaning up after us and keeping us on task. She even dug a rubber mat out of the back room for me to stand on! I was thrilled with that!

       By 12:30, Dean and I had served lunch to more than 50 guests. We had filled 45 plates for dinner, wrapped them, and put them in the warming oven. I brought home a little bowl with pork chop, rice, and gravy for myself—Miss Lillian can cook. Anyway, Lillian was able to get away 30 minutes ahead of her deadline. I left Dean well prepared to serve dinner. He'll only need to put the plates on the counter and check off the diner's names.

       Speaking of the diners, they are unaware that anything has changed; they seemed extra sweet today, extra thankful, and quite happy overall. I don't think it had a thing to do with how much they liked the food.

       On leaving, I stopped at Gatekeeper's window to mention how different today was. He agreed. We're rather stuck in a hard place right now, with no help for it but to carry on. I thought about never going back, but then I remembered: it's not about me—duh.

       When I have news I can share, I will. You can put out a prayer if you like—The Source will know exactly what we need.

       Two pitiful street dwellers sat on plastic boxes in the contained foyer, curled over their own laps, surviving the bitter cold. Their indomitable will to live always takes me by surprise.

BABE, I'M GONNA LEAVE YOU

       Stepping out to go home, after the morning fun, I heard sweet melodic picking on a guitar, and a man singing. I turned back to see. He was sitting with the smokers on the pre-release side of the building, and they were all drawn in by his gift.

       He wasn't "one of us." He looked to be a street dweller, and as he played, I studied him from head to toe—knitted cap, bright blue eyes, decaying bottom teeth, a modest blonde and gray beard bound with a rubber band. His thick black sweater hangs long. His guitar is well worn, but it has a rich sound, and the strings hug the neck just right. His fingers moved gracefully from note to note. His nails need a good scrubbing. The dark green pants appear clean but stained, and his sparkling white socks peep out from sturdy brown suede shoes.

       Most of all, he sang and he played with conviction—Led Zeppelin's "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You." I've never admitted to most of you that my brain is a celebrity desert, so while I've heard the name Led Zeppelin, I had no idea what songs he may have done. To me, this homeless man was the author of that song. He was wearing the words; he was living them, and he gifted me with a piece of himself that I will always treasure.

       But arriving… Joey and I were both late to work, though it didn't matter at all! He and Mr. Huggy had put together some soup yesterday, and it was the most unusual-looking brew I've seen in our soup pot. Joey had the pot filled to the top, too! This recipe incorporated broiled chicken, three kinds of green beans, various dried beans, rice, carrots, potatoes, limas, corn, chicken broth, and peas. It had a greenish cast and looked sumptuous!

       I brushed melted butter over 100 slices of French bread, sprinkled shredded cheese on them, and garnished them with a few parsley flakes. We baked those.

       Joey and yesterday's crew had made at least 5 HUGE baking pans filled with banana pudding (the product of a donation that was "use or lose"). We had 2 large boxes of fresh individual salads too! That was lunch.

       Around 55 people came for this meal, and I'm guessing they liked it because we got good reviews and many requests for seconds. Only two little boys showed up. They were too quiet. My crayons and little cars did not pull them from their serious demeanor.

       Among the resident homeless, I saw some new fresh faces, some old and withered faces, some weary faces. Most of them are sleep-deprived—it's not unusual to have them rubbing their eyes as they approach the lunch counter asking, "Am I here at the right time?" It's the way they ask; I know they've been admonished for showing up at the wrong time—and they fear a reoccurrence.

       The C&W music was more awesome than ever. I brought home three song titles to download! Joey's falsetto is still in fine form. I didn't see The Hugs today, but the gatekeeper lady that I like so much was there to partake of a salad, and her perfume was the first thing I enjoyed on walking in this morning.

       I'm feeling better, thanks, but the hang-dog is still with me to some extent, so 2-1/2 hours were quite enough! Passing thru the inner foyer on my way out, I overheard pieces of a conversation between a man and a woman who were there just to get warm. Perhaps you remember that place where folks who don't live at the shelter can come for warmth—and nothing else. The woman was emphatically telling the man that she wears men's t-shirts and sweats "all the time!" He shot back with, "That's an abomination! The Bible says that's an abomination!" My five or six steps to the outer door didn't allow me to hear more, but I think I got the meat of it.

       As for finally leaving and that magical musician, when he finished his song and I asked him, "What is that?" he gave me the Led Zeppelin title. He was in his element, and if I could have suspended that moment in time for him, I would have.

       "I'll play you another one," he said, adjusting his fingers on the strings.

       I thanked him for the song, but something in my back and feet insisted on replying, "Babe, I'm leaving; I've been on my feet all morning, and I gotta go!"

      At least I left him with a laugh. Maybe he'll share that, and it will spread on the streets, under the bridges, down to the crisis center—you never know.

GOT NOTHIN'

       I'm sick. Sore throat. Antibiotics. Really sorry—mostly for myself…
       Joey reports that his GED is coming down the homestretch of the reading and comprehension courses. Math will wrap it up—I'm thinking next summer.
       Joey also reports that ONE has left. We'll miss him. He is over qualified for that position, but he brought great levity to a sad place. I hope he has left for more rewarding pastures.
       Have a good week. Stay well.