GONE

      My little girl is gone. Surely this is a good thing, but I had to sift through the details, as they varied from person to person. Doug and Dean were in the kitchen, and Cutie Gatekeeper was minding the door. There was little to do because lunch was leftover barbeque sandwiches, baked beans and potato salad. We served only 28 people; one took a sack lunch, two "required" a non-pork plate, and one who arrived quite late was given chicken salad. I took four bags of breaded okra, and Doug deep fried it. For those who loved it, there wasn't enough.

       Between putting together a dozen sack lunches and serving lunch, I asked questions. Doug said the little girl had left. Dean said she'd gone to live with her grandmother (and I assumed the man in the wheelchair). But Gatekeeper had the real scoop: the child is in another town now, staying with an uncle and under the watchful eye of DSS. So… my fears ran from horror to sadness to relief. At least, sometimes DSS gets it right. It's out of our hands, isn't it?

       The child's grandfather was not at lunch, but still resides at the shelter. I didn't see him. In fact, none of the "really interesting" people was there. Compared to last Sunday's crowd, the place was nearly deserted today.

       The little boy and the baby still live there, but were not at lunch. I don't like to see children living at a shelter, but I surely miss them when they aren't around. Their very presence brings a "family" atmosphere to the lunchroom.

       By the time I left, Doug had completed dinner prep and was planning to do as little as possible this afternoon. Maybe Dean will take a break too. They both spent the morning running on all cylinders, as if there were a train to catch.

       I picked both their brains about Mr. Huggy, but they knew nothing. The Hugs keeps a very low profile with the kitchen these days, and the cooks like it that way.

       Until next time—be well.

UPRIGHT!

       No, the vertigo is not gone, but it's better, and the queasiness hasn't been around for a few days. I waltzed in this morning without weaving more than a couple of beers worth. One of my favorite pre-release greeted me cheerfully from his smoking area.

       In the foyer I passed Gartantuan Granddad sitting on a short bench with a lot of papers around him. He did not smile. He tucked some papers under himself, as if to hide them from me. Cutie Gatekeeper let me in.

       In the kitchen I found Dean and Doug! What a treat! They've had an interesting week. For starters, Mr. Huggy had been around (full-time volunteer), and he was instructing Doug on food prep one day, "This is how it's done!" Doug is not interested in how Huggy says it's done, and just so you know, Huggy "thawed" some frozen chicken in hot water and cut it up on a surface that we never use for food prep. After he cooked it, he insisted that Doug try it. Doug took a bite, stealthily deposited it in a napkin, and said nothing. Huggy is also reported to be involved with a woman there. For the life of me, I can't remember that story, but the guys find it fascinating that Hugs can have women so easily.

       Leslie again worked on Saturday, and I still miss seeing her. She baked a fabulous pasta and cheese casserole for tonight's dinner, and I had a plate of it—to go with a bunch of other stuff I ate. Somebody is feeling better… And guess what? Leslie is going to apply to volunteer every week because she loves it there so much!

       I made 3 dozen sack lunches while my three No. 10 cans of black-eye peas simmered. For lunch we also served three No. 10 cans of fruit cocktail and 10 pounds of chicken salad. That fed 45 people, with three plates left over.

       The strange fellow with the tiny sunglasses and cane did not come for lunch, but I was ready for him—porkless, fake little twit. If you've seen the movie "Thumbelina," just think of Mr. Mole—that's the twit. They tell me he rides a bicycle! Generally, I think of myself as a more forgiving person, but after last week, I don't have much for the twit. They said that after he left the counter, refusing to speak to me, he went to Gatekeeper and told him that we would not fix him anything he could eat. Doug was ready to give the guy some tuna, but wasn't given an opportunity. Just wears you right on out, some days.

       My little girl was extra bouncy today. She loved the sparkly Beanie bear I gave her, and I heard her telling her granddad all about it, "This is a Christmas bear!" Her grandmother did not come to lunch. I heard Granddad telling Dean that he and his wife are divorcing. He plans to have custody of the child—with his 400 pounds and cane. As to Grandmother, she has taken up with "the guy in the wheelchair." Granddad is obviously very hurt.

       None of us in the kitchen has ever seen "the guy in the wheelchair," so he remains a mystery.

       My little boy got a Beanie stingray and some gum. He had the toy over his shoulder as he left the lunchroom.

       It was 12:30 before I thought to take off my apron! Everyone had eaten and left. Gatekeeper and I said good-bye as I passed into the foyer and out to the parking lot. My little boy was chewing a massive wad of gum and romping under a tree. I tossed him a tennis ball as I headed for the car. Except for Granddad, happy campers all.    

'ROUND and 'ROUND SHE GOES

      Yes, well… I still have vertigo, but only because it cleared up for three days this week and I did not fill the two prescriptions the doctor gave me for it. Today was payback; now the prescriptions have been filled.

       Before reporting what little I gleaned from the shelter, I must share my first memorable vision of the day. Arriving in the heart of town, I saw a homeless man walking up the sidewalk. They are plentiful in that area and not usually outstanding. This man, however, was dressed for a cold winter day with coat, hat and scarf. That isn't so odd either. What struck me, on this Father's Day, was the Teddy bear he was hugging against himself. It, too, was dressed for a cold winter day.

       As for shelter benefits, it's a close call. I contributed 18 sack lunches to Doug's depleted supply, but was little help otherwise. That was okay because he had bunches of leftovers from last night that he wanted to serve out. The pre-release are not accustomed to eating leftovers (ever), and one of them took most unkindly to the plates on the counter. After swearing and walking away, the man returned for a plate. Hunger wins every time.

       Among our homeless residents, the fellow with the cane came again, looking for special treatment. Before lunch, Doug was giving me an update on the man's "requirements." Still, I wasn't prepared for that much attitude when the guy hobbled to the counter, his head preceding him, and peering through strange sunglasses as if he were blind. "Good morning," I said. "What's your bed number?"

       He glared (I guess) at the food, refused to give me any trace of acknowledgment, turned and gimped out in a huff. This young man has some serious mental disorders. I would not want to encounter him outside the safety of numbers.

       Miss Lillian's retirement is apparently carved in stone. Some of the honchos at the shelter are having a problem with letting Lillian pass the torch to Doug. You just have to wonder: when they excused Joey from his position, where did they imagine all those dominos were going to fall?

       Doug has beef stew prepared for tonight, admitting that he used the big box of canned stew I have been avoiding. He's also simmering a pot of green beans and browning a pan of rolls.

       Cutie Gatekeeper spent some time with us in the kitchen, and I always enjoy being around him—good for the eyes, good for the soul. Youth.

       In the end, I was forced to leave early. The world was spinning, and my uprightness was completely in question. As I passed through the dining room doors, the little girl and her enormous grandparents came to lunch. "Your goodies are in there, Sweetheart," I said. "Mr. Doug will give them to you."

       The baby and the 10-year-old boy still live there, I am told, but they have better places to be on Sundays—thankfully.

       Sorry there wasn't more to report. It takes time and stability to record events, and today I had neither, but I'll see you around… and around.

WHAT APPLE CART?

       Today was all about not upsetting the apple cart, so I'll just commence by saying this is my 5th day with vertigo. It's stress-related, and other than taking pills to ease the spinning, I must assume that riding it out is the only solution. No need to stop living, though playing the piano is a stretch at moments.

       That said, yes, I went to the shelter, and I weaved and wobbled down the long hall to the dining room, where I found a shocked Miss Lillian who was filling in for Dean. She took one look at me and asked if I thought I needed to be there in my condition. "Lillian," I said, "just think of me as a good-natured, helpful drunk who won't have a hangover." She wasn't convinced. Neither was I, but I had to give it my best shot.
       Our new cook Doug is back from his foot surgery. Between the three of us, Lillian was the only steady person in the place. Doug was making sack lunches, and Lillian explained that we were having pizza and "your soup" for lunch. She wanted me to make MY soup using canned beef stew as the base. Ew.

      Then she gave me a dozen leftover plates to add to the soup—carrots, peas, rice, meatballs… I added some canned corn (for color), a can of  tomato sauce, and water. It wasn't my soup, but it was okay.

       We didn't get to open the back door today because Lillian said "people might come in." With Dean there, I felt that we'd been more protected from that. Perhaps we'd just been lucky. The church fellow with his stash of bakery bread did come back today, but he was obliged to bring it to Cutie Gatekeeper at the front desk. When I had mentioned last week's delivery to Lillian, she said, "That bread was molded!" Then again, I don't know how long it took her to dig into it last week.

       Lillian's gospel station was pumping out a bit of religion for the first hour, then she asked me for the number of the station I like. She mentioned that several people reported liking it. She surely is a good egg in her own inimitable way.

       For dinner, Lillian is preparing steamed cabbage, chicken and mashed potatoes. The cabbages filled a large box, and I volunteered to cut them up. I got out one of our new super-fabulous knives, sliced a whole cabbage in half with one whack, and proudly showed Lillian. "I don't like those big knives," she said. When I'd cut the whole head into pieces, she asked me to cut it in a "shredded" style, so I had to do it over… then she wanted seven more heads cut up. I hope I got out all the critters that were hiding in those heads…

       Lillian brought out a half dozen plates of leftover rice & meatballs, and tuna salad & fries to put on the counter. She let me put bowls of soup on the counter. The fresh, hot pizza was put out of sight… "When these are all gone," she said of the leftovers," we'll hand out the pizza."

       There were no favors for the pre-release. Since Joey was "let go," Lillian's desire to coddle anyone is gone, and especially the pre-release. Asking for seconds was done only with great trepidation. Lillian was so pleased to see her authority being respected. "They know better than to ask, today," she said proudly. Doug and I agreed. Sundays have become a day to spoil folks, but not this one!

       Don't get me wrong. Lillian was doing her job well. She was simply standing by her rule: Eat the older food first. Too, she gave me great insight into some of "my people" today. Those gargantuan parents of the pretty little girl? They are her grandparents. Imagine having to go live with your 400-pound grandparents, and in a homeless shelter! We just never did it that way at my house, and I've not been as grateful for my life as I should be.

       Because the grandmother pushed the child to choose a toy that she preferred, last week, this week I signaled to the child to come to the kitchen door where I covertly offered her a choice. I let her hold each Beanie and take her time. She chose the soft white angel—something big enough to cuddle. That was my prediction.

       There's a new guy. He came in with a cane, stooped over in what appeared to be great pain, and made his way to the counter. He wanted special favors with his food. He didn't get any. Later, I directed Lillian to observe the man's strong gait as he went to the trash can with his empty plate. Not only was he "all better," but he tied up that full trash bag and pulled it out of the can. Then he hoisted the bag hip-high with his left hand, raised his cane high in the other hand, and walked through the door unaided. Who says our food isn't healing? I feel better myself.

THE LORD ALWAYS PICKS SUNDAY

       It's raining again… tell me about it. But the balm of late spring is in the air, and the rain is light—even pleasant. Two gentlemen were at the ready to open the door for me this morning! Sweet.

       Our 9-year-old and her gargantuan father were in the foyer, and he was reminding her to be careful and not fall, having wet shoes from being outside. I noted how much he loves her.

       Several of us folks went inside when Cutie Gatekeeper unlocked the door. The child skipped gaily behind me, calling out with a big smile and a "Hey!" She knows the Sunday Lady with Toys when she sees me! And I do love to see her smile.

       Dean and his wife had arrived just minutes before and had a dark pall hanging over them about the dinner plans. It seems that Miss Lillian had left instructions for them to cook four big turkeys for dinner. The birds were thawed, but Dean was in no mood to cook them, cool them, and carve them, all in one afternoon. First, he decided to cook them today, and serve them tomorrow. Then he decided to make pre-fab meatloaf and gravy for dinner. After that, he settled down considerably, and the rest of the morning went cheerfully.

       I took two quiche shells that were going to waste in my freezer. Dean deep-fried a dozen slices of very fine bacon for me, and I showed his wife how to make quiche. She loves it, but has never known how to make it. I got a container (at home that would have been a small mixing bowl), added 6 eggs, a large handful of grated cheddar cheese, about 1/2 cup sour cream, and 6 slices of crumbled bacon. I whipped it all together and poured it into a pie shell. Dean's wife was amazed and delighted. I made two of those and put them in the oven.

       Dean put some leftover hotdogs and BBQ sandwiches in the warming oven, and I made two trips to the pantry for soup makings. I filled the soup pot higher than ever. Not a DROP of soup was left when lunch was over. The quiche was all gone, and we went through more than a tub of that prefab killer chicken salad with the super-high cholesterol.

       During a lull, Dean's wife looked out the back window and remarked, as once before, "Seems like the Lord always picks Sunday to make it cold and rainy." I'm guessing she didn't notice that it's not really cold, but our residents noticed. They were outside in abundance and just as jolly as they could be. I told Dean that Joey had said you know they like the food if they're laughing. Lots of laughter today.

       We have a new child, and I was prepared for his gorgeous 10-year-old self. I doubt if Norman Rockwell ever drew more beautiful children than the two we have there now. After giving the little girl her choice of a Beanie bear or a ballet bunny and some candies, I went to the boy's table. He had no clue what I wanted, so he was guarded.  When I handed him a baggie with crayons and gum, then a new ballpoint pen, he remained guiet, but he was focused on the Beanie bear I still had in my hand. I told him he could have it, but that I thought it might be more of a girl thing… and he sat very still, taking it all in.  Then I said, "However, I do have a nice snake that you might like," pulling a long, curled Beanie snake out of my apron pocket and wiggling it enticingly. 

       That snake was still wiggling gleefully as it left the lunchroom. Those wee moments of utter success are profoundly ssssssatisfying…

       Speaking of satisfying, the little man with the crutch is walking on his own this week. Dean and I both saved extra soup for him. We did not save extra for Mr. Big. When Mr. Big approached Dean for extra chicken salad, he made a long speech about having missed breakfast, yada, yada, yada. Dean was miffed. "You wouldn't believe how much that man can eat, and he makes up excuses to ask for more!" Yes, I know.

       So the man took the extra chicken salad, got himself some bread from the counter, and made four sandwiches—all of this after more than one lunch serving. And we have three people that same size! I want so badly to remind the man how much he loves his child, and that she won't have a father in a few short years—at the rate he is killing himself. But I cannot.

       Leslie (our transgen) was not there today, and I missed her awfully, but Dean is going to see her this afternoon, so my hellos will be delivered in person, and maybe next week she will come back. She's been working 60-hour weeks at her real job.

       A man came in the back door around noon with several very large sacks of bakery bread—all kinds of breads—boules, cheese loaves, rolls of all shapes and sizes, dark wheat loaves, and olive loaves. His church had something to do with the donation, and he'll be back next week…

       So, that's about it. I went prepared with heat-rub on my back, an elastic back brace, and half a pain pill in my bra. It's all good.