TREADIN' ON THIN WATER

      You hear a lot of isms at the shelter. Catch of the day was, "I'm treadin' on thin water." When I made a mental image of that, it actually works, in its own way, and it certainly suits a lot of the doin's around there.

       Cutie Gatekeeper let me in. Just last night I reminded him, "Don't forget the mousse," and he said he'd try. Well… the child has given himself a buzz cut. No curls, no mousse—just an adorable face and a guilty shrug.

       The dining room was dark and empty, but the CW music was alive in the kitchen where I found Doug scurrying around with dinner prep. Having missed last week, I felt like I was coming home! "I missed you so much!" I said.

       "I missed you too," he beamed, "especially last Sunday!" (I know: that begs the question, "When else would he have missed me?") He went on to say that Mr. Charming was the news of the week. Last Sunday, Charming had spent a long time in the dining room, just looking out the window. Then he'd gone to his room and made his bed to appear as if he were in it. When all the pre-release went out for their evening smoke, he went too. When the break was over, the others filed back into the building, but Charming slipped off in the opposite direction.

       At bed-check, Charming was noted to be in his bed, but later it was reported that he was spending the night in the county jail—picked up drunk and disorderly. He's back in the big house by now. Why is it that the really handsome, intelligent ones are so bullheaded?

       Doug's report was long… and sad… and a bit scary. Thing One: Cutie is leaving. Today was his last Sunday. He's moving on to bigger and better things, and I'm happy to see that. He's far too young for this gatekeeper job. Thing Two: Doug has just learned that he will not assume Miss Lillian's supervisory position when she retires! It was his understanding, when hired, that he would. It was also the only reason he took the job. That person in charge of prisoners is wielding their whip again—as if whacking One and Joey off and denying David the secondary position weren't enough. Doug has a surprise for them, if they think he's going to take that kind of abuse. But how sad it all is!

       Come Tuesday, he will know the last word on the matter. I am just blown away that such an event would even be possible! What are they trying to achieve??? And WHY are my tax dollars being spent to support such an evil person?

       There was so much to do today! I made 25 PBJ sack lunches on top of preparing lunch. At one point Doug and Cutie were about 10 minutes into lively exchanges with prisoners who'd come to the dining room for coffee. The talk was all about trucks, V-8 engines, Fords vs. Chevys and striped bass. I took all I could take of their lollygagging and went to stand beside them. A sweet young prisoner was just launching into his striped bass account when I interruped him, "Do you want lunch?"

       "Yes," he said.

       "Then get out!" I grinned at him.

       He grinned back, and obediently, all the goofing off ceased.

       As for food, Doug said he had dinner well underway, but lunch was… "mine?" I asked. He grinned and nodded toward the clean soup pot on the stove. I had sensed that it was waiting for me.

       The mystery box coughed up some most unusual items today, and we have never had so many compliments on the soup! Doug ate 3 bowls, and Cutie had at least 2. It was the strange mix of ingredients that separated this pot au feu from all the rest: cans of corn, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, carrots, green & wax beans, collards(!), mixed veggies, vegetable-beef soup, succotash, chicken & beef broth, split pea & ham soup, canned chicken, and broiled chicken. The diners ate and ate and ate. We served chicken salad and applesauce on the side.

       I was feeling guilty about running that young man out of the dining room, especially after Doug said he didn't talk to many people and was very quiet. So when he came to the counter and took his plate, I pressed two pieces of bubble gum in his hand. After he'd eaten, he thanked me for lunch, complimented the food, and chewed that gum with true appreciation. Little things do mean a lot.

       Among the homeless residents there has been little change in weeks; they are still a motley crew for the most part—missing teeth, stringy hair, unkempt, but joyful overall—today especially. Maybe it was one of Joey's "how you can tell if they like the food" days. My little boy came to lunch, and I gave him toys. Later, as Doug and I wrapped up some kitchen duties, I kept hearing what sounded like either a child crying or a woman in distress. I mentioned it to Doug. "I heard it too," he said. "It's the little boy. He's playing!"

       Asides of interest: (a) Heard on the loudspeaker today: "Do not put clipboards in the doors to prop them open. I repeat: Do not put clipboards in the doors." (b) Our she man retains a bed at the shelter but is "staying" at another shelter nearby, "with her husband."

       My boy was still squealing with the delights of his heart as I walked out to my car. Yes, I had a very good time today—and again, that's really all that matters :)

SOMETIMES THINGS ARE JUST STRANGE

      I knew something was afoot when I crossed the parking lot this morning and saw one lone person sitting outside. She was on the homeless-resident side and she was reading, not smoking. There wasn't another soul in sight. On such a pleasant morning, that was very odd.

       The pre-release fellow that I find so charming was chatting with Cutie Gatekeeper, and there was one fellow in the dining room helping Doug rearrange the tables. When that was finished, Mr. Charming came in there, sat down, and began to read.

       Doug had everything we needed for lunch and for dinner. For lunch there was donated spaghetti and garlic bread, and donated $9 deli sandwiches! We served peaches and potato chips with those. For dinner, Doug had filled a giant pot with canned beef stew, and he was cooking more beef to add to it. Of course he had the Sunday-night green beans simmering and some fat biscuits ready for the oven.

       There was a box of sandwiches already made, so I sacked them with drinks and chips and cookies—about 35. Some doofus had raided a lunch sack in the fridge and removed just one sandwich from the zip-lock baggie that held two... it was a WORKER doofus of course. Boy, was Doug mad... again.

       Cutie Gatekeeper spent a very long time in the kitchen today, chatting it up with Doug. Apparently, they had a lot of shelter-scoop to catch up on. And that brings me to the thing that was afoot. One of our pre-release was filmed hurling a deadly weapon at Mr. Charming, and the hurler was sent back to the big house. Sounds like a good thing, right? No. Now Mr. Charming has established himself as a "rat." The others aren't speaking to him. It was creepy, watching him eat his lunch alone, and sad. It was sad. As Cutie said, "Every one of those guys has come from prison where everybody is a rat. Who do they think they are?"

       Still, none of us has experienced prison life, so I guess we really can't speak to these behaviors. I want to believe that by next Sunday, the brouhaha will have settled down, and folks will have gotten on with their lives.

       Our homeless were movingly tattered today—unkempt—unhealthy—appearing stuck in the misery of their lives, with no way out. I'm especially fond of one very pretty young woman who's been there for several months, and who speaks of waiting for her disability to come through. She's intelligent, she's so pretty, she's humble and kind… it's just impossible to SEE a disability from my side of the serving counter.

       Our extra-large she man was at lunch and in good spirits. Looks like there's been some weight loss. Still, where does he/she fit in, in the real world? Hard to imagine where—with just a few (and rotten) teeth, so much girth, and the ever-present gender issue. How far can such a person get with only "good spirits?"

       So yesterday I was told that we had two new little girls at the shelter (and we do). I was so excited! I packed my toy bag with special things for them and for my boy. Not one child came to lunch. Heck, we didn't even have anybody who was childlike at lunch!

       I wrapped up all the duties I could lay my hands on by 12:30. Again Doug thanked me for my help. Again, I assured him I had fun… it was different, but of all the places I could choose to be on Sunday morning, this one is best.

       I expect to be away next Sunday, and I'll surely miss my people. Have a good week.

LESS IS MORE

       There's a new pre-release, and he's awfully good-looking. I met him last week (shaved head, great smile, and very personable). We don't get too many who are endearingly outgoing. So there he was, walking some laps in the parking lot, when I arrived with my music just "out there." I got a big grin.
       Cutie Gatekeeper (no, I am NOT infatuated with every male in the place) let me in, and Doug was hard at work putting dinner together. Tonight they're having turkey baked with gravy, green beans (a Sunday-night ritual), and some bodacious candied yams. For lunch Doug said we could have anything I wanted to fix. Have you noticed that in the beginning I was there only to serve up what he had planned... and that now he's quite liberal with the soup ladle?
       There was more than enough in the mystery box to put together the best-yet soup. Honest. We served egg salad and applesauce on the side, and diners are always free to make a sandwich with their egg/chicken/ham salad.
       I finished making sandwiches for the PBJ sacks that Doug had started. Then I served up most of the lunch plates—we had about 35 guests. Several of the pre-release seem to be treating me more like a mom than a stranger lately. I like that. There are resident homeless to whom I've become attached also—no secret.
       One lone child lives there now—my little boy. The little girl's mother took her, and because the "dad" wasn't blood kin, he had no say. Also sad, no longer having a "dependent child," the man was put out. The report is that he was already beyond his limited time to stay there.
       So the three 400-pound people were nearly all gone, because the single one was critically ill and hospitalized last week. This week, she has returned to the shelter (or HE—truth be told). Having been clued in about the gender issue, I was eager to see this person again, just to understand how FAR OFF my gender-meter IS. It is FAR off. "She" came to the serving counter with "her" long bleached ponytail, her big earrings, makeup and pink shoes—and of course, "her" girth.
       Doug ASSURES me that "she" is a complete "he" underneath. And that's okay... it's just outside the box, and it takes one by surprise. SURPRISE!
       I had to leave a few minutes early today, to meet a friend, and I didn't see my little boy until I was passing through the foyer. I told him I had left him some candy and gum. (I don't like to leave a Beanie in a child's absence). Then I pulled the cutest orangutan Beanie from my bag. "I have the cutest-ever monkey, if you want him," I said. The child reached out his hand, barely touching the monkey. He wanted it, but he was awfully shy about letting that be known. I teased him unmercifully. "Oh," I said, after his first little tug, "only if you really want it." He tugged again, but oh, so gently... and I teased him until he gave it a sincere yank. "Good boy!" I said.
       I think we were both grinning from ear to ear as I left my Sunday "job." Really... I'm sure I cannot afford to pay for this exalted position—and yes, I still feel like I have some ownership in it. Don't say anything!