GOD BLESS THE CHILD

       It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood… I can't remember when a Sunday morning has been more uplifting—though the exact secret to that is a bit illusive.

       Doug was busy with dinner plans when I arrived. Lunch had been donated yesterday—Styrofoam meal containers with spaghetti and salad. All we had to do was take them out of the cooler and put them on the counter.

       …but for dinner, there was chicken pot pie in the making. Doug was thawing large bags of frozen pot pie ingredients. For the dough, he mixed up flour, milk and butter, which he poured over the top. He put two large pans of the dish in the ovens, and he put a huge pot of green beans on to boil. Applesauce will be served on the side.

       I found only a dozen sack lunches in the fridge, so I made 2 dozen more before the pre-release came to lunch. There were about a dozen people for that meal, and serving them was a no-brainer. Doug and I had a lot of time to catch up with news.

       Miss Lillian is back from vacation, and things are again looking skewed. Dean is not welcome in the kitchen (orders of the hierarchy), and it becomes more and more evident that he will not take over Joey's old position when Lillian retires in the fall. Maybe it's time for me to write the nasty letter that's been taking shape in my head.

       Among the dirt that Doug shared was the story of a homeless resident who came to the kitchen to get a sack lunch to take to his job. Very soon, he came back to the counter, THREW the sack at Doug, and it bounced off the counter. The man shouted that his chips were missing and his sandwiches were smashed. Doug looked in the bag. The sandwiches were  fine. Then he took a fresh lunch and gave it to the man saying, "If your sandwiches were smashed, it was only because you threw your lunch at me." Doug was working very hard to contain his true feelings.

       As soon as he could, he shared the story with Lillian. "What's his name?" she asked. The next time the man came to a meal, Lillian grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked his face close to hers. "If you ever do that again—you'll be out of here." Doug is a tall, strong man, but Lillian is a powerful force to be reckoned with.

       The night crew is still ransacking the kitchen, but Lillian is supposed to get a handle on that this week. I look forward to hearing the report—the guy she'll be dealing with is formidable too—formidably lazy, and sadly second in command.

       I asked Doug if Lillian had missed the PBJ tub, and he said he'd told her the truth, "It slipped right through Joy's hands, she shouted, 'Damn, it broke!' I thought she'd fallen…" and Lillian just hooted with laughter. Works for me.

       Cutie Gatekeeper came often to the kitchen. He does hate sitting at the front desk, monitoring the coming and the going—it's a very confining and boring job. On the other hand, it's frustrating when a resident opens the doors to a stranger. So that issue has been batted around this week.

       About mid-way through lunch, I asked Doug for his biscuit topper recipe. I had seen a 10-pound sack of "plain" flour on the stove, so I figured he had a recipe… When he listed flour, milk, and butter as the ingredients, I said, "No leavening?"

       "No," he said. "It'll puff up."

       I really didn't want to contradict him, but somehow he got the idea that it might not puff up. We were in the pantry looking at the flour supply. When he realized his mistake, his precious face turned almost purple! He was angry!

       I assured him we could scrape off the gooey topper (which was fairly done by then) and replace it. So we did. I also suggested we add some chicken to the pies, as the pre-fab mix doesn't have enough meat. As it turned out, adding the meat improved the nutrition of the dish, and the fresh biscuit topper was fluffy and fine. We'll laugh about that for a long time.

       I was thrilled to see both my little girl and my little boy at lunch! The girl was the first to arrive at the counter. "Good morning!" I smiled. She just stared at me. The rims of her eyes are a bit red, and there's a little red mark on her face. One side of her father's face was crimped, as if he'd just been sleeping on it. I understand that "Mom" returned to town, but is not allowed to return to the shelter. The child was "away" during the day this week, so I guess she had something to do besides while away her time at the shelter.

       When I caught his eye, I motioned the boy to the kitchen door. I gave him some gum, a sucker, and a red lobster Beanie (my very last "boy type" critter). He was pleased.

       Then I asked the girl's father to send her to me. She had her choice of the world's cutest Beanie puppy or a blue Beanie bear. She chose the bear. I'm sure now that she has a thing for the bears. It was good to see that her face was not so sad anymore, but her eyes were still red, and there was that little mark on her face, and geeze, Louise!

       As I crossed the parking lot to my car, a few people bade me have a great day. The children were playing with two yard-long sticks. I tossed them my last tennis ball and told them to share. "We will!" they shouted.

       Isn't it great how children can assume the happy-life position no matter where we put them?