SETBACKS

       This is going to be short and disappointing. I've had a minor medical setback, but next week is on the calendar.
       My daughter and her friend worked at the shelter kitchen in my stead today. They came home glowing. Her friend had never had the pleasure of a Sunday morning in a shelter kitchen. "That was fun!" he said.
       They got to meet "my pre-release," and the guys were worried about "Miss Joy." Big Jack made his expected impression on them, so I got to enjoy that vicariously. Of my children, only Boy #2 was there, but I sent their toys, and Doug is guarding one for Boy #1.
       So… "the kids" made PBJs and sack lunches and served a bunch of plates. Doug said the homeless group was the largest he'd ever seen at one meal—nearly 30. I feel like we've done that many before, but I wasn't there to count them or to see how they're doing.
       There was pizza for the pre-release and chicken sandwiches for the homeless residents. My soup was asked for, but we'd gone missing. I hate setbacks.

WHO AND WHAT IT IS

      Two bright pre-release shouted, "Hey, Joy!" as I got out of my car. One teased me for being bundled up against the cold in my scarf and gloves. Inside, Gatekeeper Curls and two more pre-release said, "Hey, Joy!" If it weren't just the nature of this particular group, I'd think something was afoot.

       Doug had his dinner plans underway. His lunch plans were standing in front of him, looking a lot like me. Big Jack was right there, making sure his wishes were known—he wanted the soup.

       Before you groan about that soup recipe again, understand that today's soup was far more different than any yet. The mystery box had received donations this week, but they weren't my favorite soup ingredients. I started with 3 single-serving, microwavable containers of soup (minestrone in one and some vegetable/meat/rice mix in the others). Then I added several cans of plain tomato sauce and one of stewed tomatoes. There was a can of peas, a can of turnip greens, and one of carrots. The walk-in refrigerator coughed up some diced onions, fresh celery and 5 potatoes. As the brew bubbled, I worried. I added water several times, as it seemed "strong," just to look at. Eventually Doug and I tasted it. He said it was "bitter," and I said it was just "not good." I'd read where one should add butter if a tomato sauce is bitter, so we put a large piece of butter in it. Then I added a tablespoon of sugar. Then I crushed a dozen strips of lasagna in a plastic bag, and added those (we've been out of macaroni for weeks). I hoped the pasta would pull my soup together, but the next tasting found it too salty. Fifteen minutes shy of serving time, and really desperate, I took two packages of Ramen noodle soup mix out of the mystery box and added only the noodles. They soaked up the extra salt just perfectly. Whew.

       Big Jack was in and out, as the soup prep went on, and I had told him in the beginning, "I cannot make a silk purse from a sow's ear." He'd argued with me, and then he asked me if I'd had a good week. "Not so much," I answered. Just being honest.

       As for the soup, in the end, the big guy gave it high marks and bellowed, "Told you you could make a purse outta a pig's ear!" One fellow made a special trip to the counter to say, "The soup was good, Miss Joy!" Several sent those sentiments from their seats, and some had seconds. Again, we served chicken salad and fruit on the side. There is now a running joke that it's "Miss Joy's homemade chicken salad." The "use by" date on today's tub was last Monday—I hope it doesn't ruin my reputation…

      Several cans of sardines had been donated, and I had brought one, so as previously planned, we made up one plate with a can of sardines, crackers, soup and fruit. I hid a lovely new ball-point pen under the sardine can. Doug and I watched the plate, as a young man took it to his seat. We pretended to be busy, still watching, as he carefully picked up a pack of crackers, then the sardine can. He found the pen! He thought some poor soul had lost their pen on his plate, and brought it to the counter. "Nope," Doug told him, "that's the prize for taking the sardines!"

       Shortly after that, I saw Doug handing a can of sardines to another fellow, and even later, a few of us talked about them, learning to eat them, and protein content. They're neat guys.

       In about 2 weeks, we are expecting a large group of new pre-release. I'd be nervous, but the guys we have now will shape up anybody who needs it. Seems the prison system is trying to get as many folks as possible placed in half-way houses before the holidays. Maybe it's good for morale…

       Curls… you gotta see this guy. He came to the kitchen a few times and looked around. Eventually, he asked, "Is there meat in this soup?"

       "Yes, there is," I said, "and you could use some meat on your bones." Boy, is he a scrawny little guy—and the striped socks, skin-tight clothes and other embellishments give me the feeling that "the powers" will send this young man packing before too long. It doesn't pay to take that job and be "different." Eventually, he prepared something meatless in the microwave as Doug watched with an eye roll that sent my laughter scurrying.

       So last Wednesday was the day that Boy #2 was to return from out of town. Many people were searching for the gift that everyone knew had been left for him, and it finally turned up. The child came to the kitchen to ask if his gift had been left for him. Doug said the child's face went off the charts with delight when the gift was handed over. He'd never seen so much joy on one little face in his life, and he wanted me to know exactly how the face appeared. Don't you imagine that this child is not accustomed to having wishes come true?

       The homeless residents were in good form today. The nerdy guy from last week is gone. The pregnant woman had her baby and she and her girls are gone. Doug and I agree that it's a relief and that watching horrible parenting is difficult.

       Both boys were excited to get today's goodies, and Boy #1 got some piano music and a very quick review of last week's lesson. He did practice, and he couldn't wait to show me his scale—c-d-e-f-g-a-b-c. C-b-a-g-f-e-d-c. I showed him how it works just the same for his left hand, and suggested that he share his knowledge and music with Boy #2 if he liked.

       I have a friend who could quite possibly donate a used, but not totally ruined, piano to the shelter. But when I try to speak to anyone in charge (to get permission), they don't respond. The closest I've come to a place where I could begin to ask for permission was with Crusty Old Gal gatekeeper who was being extra crusty that day. "That piano is NOT to be played!" She went on to explain that it wouldn't be so broken down if people hadn't abused it. Then again, when I explained about the boy, she soften noticeably and put my call through to someone higher up. Still no answer. Can opener/piano—I will win; they just need to suck that up.

       My peeps were enjoying the warm fall air under a brilliant blue sky when I left. Too soon, we'll all be "bundled up against the cold."

DON'T MESS WITH OUR WOMAN

       There was another new gatekeeper today—cute young fellow with long curls. Rory (who was new a few weeks ago—black hair and eyes) is training Curls.

       Doug had just arrived shortly before I did, and he had a huge pot of beef stew on to simmer for dinner. There were no lunch plans, but he had about 16 plates of leftovers in the warming oven. There were no donations! As much of a hassle as they've been, we did miss them.

       I put two #10 cans of blackeyes and one #10 can of turnip greens on the stove. I filled a bowl with canned peaches; Doug put some soft rolls in the warming oven, and we declared it lunch. I diced a large onion and put it in a bowl with a spoon for self service.

       I scoured the walk-in fridge and all the shelves, seeking to perfect lunch, but pickin's were slim. The mystery box's goods had not changed since last week; however, there has been a can of sardines in that box for a long time, and I had many times felt that someone would treasure it. So I asked Doug if I could make up a plate with it, and he grimaced, but he was willing to observe the outcome. I put the little can in the large section of a plate and surrounded it with crackers. Then I filled the plate's two other sections with turnip greens and peaches. I put it on the serving counter, and we both waited.

      Big Jack was present from time to time, having coffee or helping with floor cleaning. He's awfully personable and talkative. He's the one who often calls my name and is apparently responsible for the others doing that. More on him later.

       Doug gave me a message from Boy #2 who had come to the counter yesterday to explain that he was going to be out of town until Wednesday. The child stutters a bit, but it doesn't slow him down. If only you could see that cherubic face and those bright eyes… Anyway, the child said, "If the lady comes on Sunday, can you save my toy for me?"

       Time dragged a bit, waiting to serve the pre-release. There was little to do to prepare for them! They were in wonderful good spirits today, boasting tattoo stories and often following some leading comment that Big Jack had thrown out. His peers like him a lot.

       Someone asked for Sweet 'n Low, and Doug remembered that it had gone missing a few days back. In a flash of recall, he thought perhaps the whole dish of packets had fallen under the serving counter, so he got on his belly and stuck his head under there. Sure enough, there was a pile of Sweet 'n Low in a back corner, along with stir sticks, gummy stuff and dust. Doug tried to fish it out, but he was too big to access it well. So I volunteered for belly duty, and with the help of a short broom I fished it all out. The pre-release seemed to respect what I was doing, and they enjoyed the endeavor as if it were their own—like a challenge.

       At some point, Doug nudged me excitedly, "The sardines have been taken!" Sure enough, one lucky fellow was enjoying the only gourmet meal in the place. We have other odd things in the mystery box. Doug and I decided to make an "odd plate" every week, and I suggested giving a prize to the one who takes it. We can appear desperate for amusement…

       At the end of that half hour, I saw Jack fixing himself a large cup of coffee, and I had the nerve to mention to him that I hoped he could drink it all before he left the dining room... (rules, you know). Big Jack bellowed, laughing, "Hey! Don't you think I know how to mop these floors?"

       Then I softly reminded him that he would be setting an example for a bunch of folks who have no clue about cleaning up after themselves. And you know what? That big boy agreed with me! He stayed right there in that dining room until he'd finished his coffee. Here comes another broken rule: Pre-release must finish lunch and leave the dining room before residents come in. Not Big Jack. He was still sipping when the hungry poor forged toward the serving counter.

       Among the new faces in that group was a scrawny fellow with mussed hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an ego that precedes him. "When did we get a pretty woman in the kitchen?" he asked. He made further remarks, as did others, but I was too busy to observe the banter. Then Big Jack left, Scrawny sat down to eat, and I heard no more from him. I did hear from Doug.

       "Boy," he said, "I thought Big Jack was gonna take that guy out!"

       "What? Why?" I asked.

       "Because he wouldn't stop commenting about you. The pre-lease don't like that kind of talk, and they LOVE you! Every day they're askin', 'Is Joy coming?'"

       Coulda knocked me over with a feather. I always wanted a large family with a bunch of boys. Thinking I have that now.

       The little bowl of diced onions was such a hit. A tall, bearded resident came to the counter for another bowl of peas. "Are you happy now?" I asked as he sprinkled some onions on his peas. He made no apologies for his reply, "I'm just as happy as if I had good sex, and that's pretty happy!"

       The residents were slow to come in, and I was making plates during their full half hour. My boy had been given his toy when he first came to the counter, but later he returned with a special message. "You know that other boy?" he began. Oh… again just precious, innocent, sincere face (please, God, don't let the world damage him). "Well, he's not going to be here until Wednesday, and um…"

       "Yes, I know," I assured him. "I'm leaving his toy with the pretty lady at the front desk." The child beamed and gave me a thumbs up. Then he skipped with leaps back to his table. There isn't any upbeat thing a person can say that will improve on leaping skips.

       At precisely 11:30, I heard our country/western DJ announce the title of the tune he'd just played and that he was sending that out to "Joy and Doug." He knows we're listening. How sweet is that?

       When my work ran completely out, I looked up and saw the boy sitting at the broken-down piano, very quietly plunking a few keys. I went out and asked him if he knew how to play. He knew nothing. So I told him, "I can teach you some things about the piano in just a few minutes." Then I told him that the notes were few: a, b, c, d, e, f, g. His 10-year-old self grabbed eagerly at the simplicity of that. We had a short demonstration of where to find the most import key, "middle C." That piano's middle C is almost brown, so he'll always be able to find it…

       Then I showed him how to play "Here We Go Up A Row" (John Thompson's 1st Grade for Piano, c. Dark Ages," and he just took off with it. Within 5 minutes, he knew how to play a scale up and down, moving his thumb under, then his 3rd finger over, and he was hooked. I promised to bring him a book next week. Meanwhile, his homework is to practice what I showed him.

       Filling the hungry caverns of a mind is so much more rewarding than filling stomachs, but one cannot operate without the other.

       The scuttlebutt has it that Doug will assume a secondary position when Miss Lillian leaves in 6 weeks. Doug has not held such a lowly position in more than two decades… but I totally understand that while he feels dumped on, he doesn't want to leave this place. He'll tell you himself, "I love to cook, and I can cook most anywhere for a lot more money, but here… I just love the people." …those always changing people, and the revolving door with its unlimited surprises. Boy, do I get that.

EXPECTATIONS

       My expectations never fail to become skewed by reality. I had few expectations when I got up this morning, but after realizing that my right eye had blurred vision, I did expect that to interfere with lunch prep. And there was the back issue: yesterday my back was killing me, so I was certain it would only be worse today.

     You've already guessed the upshot—eye was fine, back was wonderful. Jolly Plump Lady let me in, and I found three pre-release sweeping and cleaning the dining area before reaching the kitchen where Doug was busy with dinner prep. He had a full menu planned and some of it underway. For lunch, "Big Jack," an especially personable pre-release, had requested the soup, and Doug had promised that I would make it. That was the end of Doug's plan.

       The problem was that just minutes before I arrived, the kitchen had received an enormous amount of donations. There were boxes the size of banana crates all over the place. We had to step around them! They were filled with beautiful birthday cakes, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, pastries, cookies of every variety, special breads, and several kinds of pound cake. And there was a large box of very ripe tomatoes.

       Doug was thrown off course. What to do? The kitchen could not function with all those foods in the work area, and the freezer and cooler were full.

       I remembered something Joey and I made once. Doug liked the idea, so we took several loaves of sour-dough peppercorn pre-sliced bread, spread the slices on two huge baking sheets, covered them with sliced tomato, drizzled olive oil over them, sprinkled on some dried basil and a dash of salt, then spread grated mozzarella cheese on top. We baked them until they were hot and yummy.

       Jolly Plump Lady let me into the pantry, so I was able to choose all the canned goods I wanted for my soup. It was another winning pot, and every last drop was eaten.

       There was also a large donation of apples, so I cored and sliced a bowlful, to serve on the side. It would be wonderful if we had the manpower to peel all of those apples and make applesauce… but we don't.

       New today: I heard my name called. Big Jack apparently enlisted a lot of "Thank you, Joys!" from the pre-release crowd. They know my name… sweet.

       Anyway, I expected the lunch crowd to be very small because Doug said only a few people would come. The homeless residents got their monthly checks this week, so they've been eating out. Fortunately, cooking for the usual crowd was a good call because they all came to lunch!

       The boys. I gave the boys small rubber balls (sometimes called "stress relievers"). Later into mealtime, Boy #1 was seen leaping through the dining room, shooting imaginary hoops, and delighting in himself. I cannot tell you how much it fills me up to see a child THAT happy when he's been living in a shelter with only one parent for many months. What a neat kid.

       Boy #2 came to the counter to explain to me that there is a special area in his school classroom where kids can go to just chill, and they have stress relievers there. One boy, he tells me, tosses the stress ball against the wall, waits for it to bounce off and hit the floor, then catches it—over and over.

       "Does that disturbed the class?" I asked.

       "No. It's good," he explained. He was very happy to tell me these details, so again I was filled up. Who needs cake?

       The girls. The girls' mother walked toward the counter with purpose today and spoke directly to me, "I only want…" pointing to the tomato-cheese open-faced sandwiches… then she said, "I don't want any soup, and I don't eat tomatoes!" I asked if she'd like to pick the tomatoes off, but that fell on deaf ears. Then she nodded toward the children and started to say they could get whatever they wanted, but changed her mind when the younger child said, "I don't eat tomatoes either!"

       With that, Mom turned and snatched both of those girls out of the dining room. We didn't see them again.

       Doug had observed it all. "WHY does she act like that? he whined. He added that Mom needs to get it together because her new baby is due next week. That's when my  pseudo psychiatry kicked in.

       "Doug, her hormones are on full throttle, and if you ask me, food is the only part of her life where she feels she can have some control."

       I left the girls' goodies with the gatekeeper—no need to punish them for Mom's problems.

       It was well beyond my usual quitting time before I finished helping Doug sort the enormous piles of donations and throw out those that had expired. And yes, the "bread people" also came by with two 50-pound potato sacks filled with loaves, rolls, biscuits, doughnuts… We've come to expect them. They've no idea how little of it we can use.

       Driving home, I realized that the vision in my right eye is quite blurred. Maybe I should go back to the shelter, where my eyes have no expectations.