TMI!

      Cutie Gatekeeper let me in. He's got his short strawberry hair all spiked up in the middle, and Honey, that is one cute kid! I told him so too.

       Doug was alone in the kitchen. I got a very solemn, "Hello," in response to my cheerful greeting. You know, I don't like to manipulate people in a premeditated fashion, but this situation called for some levity; after all, we were fixin' to spend the better part of 3 hours together. So I made haste in asking him questions about himself… and within a minute, he was perky and engaged. He reported on his family, today's food prep and the pre-release.

       "I've been learning lots of stuff about those guys during the week," he announced. "That guy who was just in here for a cup of coffee?"

       "Uh huh."

       "Guess what he's in for? He's a hit man! Well, actually, he tried to hire a hit man."

       Another robbed a bank, and another was a good enough embezzler to still have an expensive car. All of the above are Caucasian. Our African American pre-release are much less hazardous with their simple drug violations.

       The stash of clean aprons was depleted, so I took the dirties, along with our cleaning towels, to the laundry room and ran a load. Things aren't as well-ordered as they were this time last year. I even did some sweeping. Mr. Huggy had come in this week saying he was told Doug needed help, but it only throws Doug behind when he must stop and deal with the Hugs. Major consternation! On top of that, the night crew is still raiding the kitchen for "snack time," leaving a lot of mess on the floor, serving foods that have been prepared for the next day, and generally destroying Doug's hard work. He seems reticent to pitch a fit about it, but I keep encouraging him to.

       Also, Lanyard Guy has been letting street folks come to the dining room to be fed. Doug had to remind him to NOT do that. "You don't know those people! They could come in here with weapons and hurt all of us!" Lanyard Guy is just too totally focused on his little sign-out sheet of pre-release. In fact, he cannot accurately tell me on Saturday evenings how many children live there because he only watches the pre-release. He's there; he's letting people come in and go out; but, apparently his focus is awfully limited.

       Just FYI: Leslie doesn't come there anymore. We don't know why, but we miss her. Even the diners miss her.

       For lunch we served four #10 cans of black-eye peas, death-in-a-tub chicken salad, garlic bread, two #10 cans of fruit cocktail, and orange slices. We had a big crowd; I was too busy to count them.

       The PBJ container was out of sack lunches for the street folks, so I made up 25 of those, but not before first dropping the half-gallon tub of PB&J on the pantry floor. I dropped it once before, when I was working with Dean, but there was no harm done. Today, the tub hit the tile, popped open, splatted its mix on the floor, and cracked! It made an impressive noise which, when mingled with my loud "Damn!" brought Doug running and grasping his heart. He thought I had fallen! The poor boy whined for quite awhile about the fright. Nothing I could do but clean it up and start over. But it does make me wonder how I could have dropped that same tub twice, when this time I carefully used both hands.

       The little boy came to lunch. He was very happy with a lizard that he chose, some gum & candies, and a bottle of bubbles. A man sitting next to the child said he also wanted a toy, and I had to back peddle my way out of a corner with, "What would I tell the next child if I don't have a toy for him because a man with a beard got it?"

       My little girl's grandfather came to lunch, and I asked after the child. He said she was in another town with a relative and under DSS supervision. As I was leaving, I met the man in the foyer and heard him telling someone that the child was coming back this afternoon. So I stopped to engage him about her. The relatives "had a fight," and Granddad thinks they're bringing the child back today—he isn't sure. Grandmother is a thousand miles away, camping in the woods with her boyfriend. That's gotta be rough when you weigh 400 pounds. Anyway, I left an adorable monkey in a blue-striped t-shirt with Granddad, to give the child when he sees her. He's still talking about asking for custody (when his disability comes through), so I threw out some thoughts for him about open adoptions, his health issues, and her impending teen years.

       He lit a cigarette and pressed on his lower abdomen, "Oh! Those beans!" I'm thinking it wasn't the bitty bowl of black-eyes, but more likely the two PBJs he made for himself to top off his lunch. I feel full just thinking about it.

       Doug was in good spirits when I left. We had ourselves a fine time, got a lot of work done, and look forward to next week. In the meantime, I'll be attending to the big jelly stain on my shirt. Aprons are good—not magic.