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.