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.