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 :)