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.