DEATH BY SURPRISE

      Lately, I've been using the back door when I arrive at the shelter. It gets me out of view of those who are huddled in the foyer and anyone else for that matter. I knock on the back kitchen door, and Doug lets me in. Generally, one must knock loudly and several times because the usual kitchen noises drown out the sound. But today, I knocked only once, and within seconds, Doug opened the door. He was doing his job, and I was in the right place at the right time, but unfortunately, he didn't know I was there.

       He took one look at me, gasped loudly and grabbed his heart. Then the "Oh, my Gods!" began to roll off his tongue, accompanied by, "You scared me to death!" and a few more "Oh, my Gods!" The boy staggered around for a minute or two, gasping, and I suppose wondering if he was going to live.

       I wanted to apologize and make it all better, but he'd been done in, through no one's fault. All we could do was wait for the shock to wear off, and in time normalcy resumed in the kitchen.

       No soup today. Doug had planned chicken salad, fruit, and um, um… two #10 cans of pintos that I suggested. I diced an onion for those. The refrigerator was filled with sack lunches; the floor was mopped, and I had little to do until serving time, but we had quite a crowd. There were 11 pre-release and at least 30 homeless residents.

       Crusty Old Gal was keeping the gate, and she kindly let me plunder the front pantry for next week's soup, and anything else I found interesting (like a can of sardines). Doug wants so much to dis the old girl, but he likes her a lot, in spite of how he thinks he should feel about her. It's got something to do with hierarchy, I think.

       Angry Mom waltzed into the dining room before lunchtime and wanted to know what was on the menu. She's been known to yell at Doug for having given up her food stamps to eat at the shelter and then finding nothing on the menu to suit her taste. Doug told her that if she wanted the fresher food (not yesterday's leftovers), she needed to be first in line, and when her group came in, she was near the front. She began by asking for extras. I mean, really… this woman is a challenge, but I admit that I enjoy meeting her head-on. "You may have extras after I have served everyone else," I told her. She and her boys took plates to their table, but before long she pushed into the moving line of diners and asked for 2 saucers. She did come back for extras after the crowd was served, and she surely has a great sense of privilege.

       I slipped a pack of gum to the funny fellow who professes to being a child too, but I gave nothing to Angry Mom's boys today. They already have too many "things" and not nearly enough appreciation.

       After all the diners had left, I was cleaning up and puttering about when I heard a knock at the outer dining room door. The volunteer who was working off his service hours mentioned that someone was knocking. I looked up and thought I saw Doug pass by, but no one appeared. So I went to check it out. When I opened the door between the kitchen and the dining room, he got me. Scared the living daylights out of me! My knee-jerk reaction was to grab his arm and dig my nails into it… and fuss at him—a lot.

       Ah, the kid just couldn't help himself­—he believed he "owed" me a good fright, and we can surely say "mission accomplished."

Ho HO Lot 'o Cookin'

       Happy Christmas to all!
       A friend and I arose very early this morning and arrived at the shelter kitchen at 8 a.m. to help Doug get the big feast prepared and set up. He's been planning for weeks and cooking for days. The spiral-cut hams where hot, and we sliced them into serving sizes and filled plates with ham, potato salad, sweet potato casserole, green beans, and rolls. And that was for the mid-afternoon meal. We also had the regular lunch to prepare.
       I made the soup, of course. Not wanting to overfill our diners before the big feed, we gave them only soup, crackers, and fruit for lunch... however, 45 minutes before serving time we realized we had NO BOWLS. Imagine 4 gallons of soup and no bowls on Christmas morning!
       There were six or seven volunteers slicing pies and setting up the dining room, so one of them offered to fetch bowls, but first we had to locate an open store that had such things. We called around and found a pharmacy which claimed to have large Styrofoam cups, so our volunteer set forth to fetch them. She returned with a few dozen cups and 2 or 3 dozen actual bowls! In the end, it was more than we needed, but she did get the last of that store's supply, and we were grateful.
       The pre-release numbered about a dozen today, but I had expected the majority of them to be with family. They were not jolly, but most of them approached us with sincere Christmas greetings. Then the homeless residents came through. They too, offered holiday greetings, but again the mirth was missing. This was my first Christmas day at the shelter, and the atmosphere was probably "normal" for that event, but efforts were made to brighten the day. We even had Christmas music playing in the dining room.
       Call me a snot—I don't care—but "Angry Mom" came in with her boys while the pre-release were eating. As you know, those groups are not allowed to share the dining room simultaneously. She came to the coffee counter and told me she wanted a cup of coffee with half-and-half in it. No, we are not a full-service restaurant, and yes she was asking for special privileges and ignoring the rules. I looked over my shoulder at the clock. Her group would be coming in for lunch in 12 minutes, so I said, "Sure. Come back in 12 minutes." My friend gave each of the boys a little toy car, but the kids already had some new space-ship toys. We didn't see any of them again.
       Our "big meal" volunteers pumped me hard for the skinny on volunteering there. How could they get a regular schedule for that? Who could give them permission? What is a pre-release? Were they really prisoners? It was all just so wonderful that they wanted to come back again and again! Yeah, sure—see you next week!      …not.
       Well… 4 hours on my feet were enough! My friend and I left at noon, after everyone had been served their "light lunch." A second group of volunteers was expected to arrive in time to feed "the 5000" in mid-afternoon—much like the 250 who came for the Thanksgiving meal. I'll pass.
       Got my feet up now, but God willing, I'll be there again come Sunday. That silly Doug asked me if, since I worked today, I would be coming back on Sunday. Maybe just this once…

DEFINE CRUSTY

       Doug's undies were in a major wad when I sloshed through the rain and up the steps to the kitchen's back door. He and the gatekeeper, Crusty Old Gal, were going over the Christmas menu—ham, potato salad, sweet potato casserole, green beans, rolls, dessert. Soon the old gal wandered back to her gatekeeper's post, leaving Doug free to unload, and unload he did!

       The dearth of gatekeepers is so bad that we have only 3 or 4 now, and they are working 12-hour shifts. Crusty hasn't had to work a Sunday in a very long time. I like the old gal, but Doug, he just doesn't understand her—or maybe he's a bit intimidated: she IS the senior honcho. Anyway, he let out a stream of discontent that would have frightened the pre-release! He was angry with attitudes around there; he was NOT giving up his two days off because the higher-ups couldn't get their business together… he would walk away from that job in a New York minute, and furthermore, he already has another offer with better pay.

       Of course, the other offer is not in a pleasant place, and he's totally in love with the shelter, but he was hell-bent on letting off some steam. I told him, "Don't make me take you out behind the barn for an attitude adjustment!"

       About an hour passed before he admitted that his frustrations were around the fear of having his Christmas meal compared with Miss Lillian's feasts—what a silly boy! Then I heard him explaining the morning's events to another person, and how he's "over it" now. He'd simply forgotten that Lillian's bacon-greased foods were nothing to live up to—not to mention the sour turkeys that she pre-cooked 2 weeks in advance.

       I did remember to ask after the man with lung cancer. He doesn't live there anymore. Make a note: When Crusty and I went to the food pantry for some canned goods, we noticed two people hunkered just outside the partially open front door. One of them had an umbrella. They were smoking. No one cared. The dying man, however, had been "caught" just outside the door, smoking, and was thrown out. It begs the question: do the people who run that place ever pray for those who live there, and if they do, as Joey once asked, "How do they fix their mouths to talk like that?"

       Doug spent the entire morning slicing large pre-cooked hams. He's preparing a pineapple glaze to drizzle over them. I made lunch for the 5,000 (which were only about 32). Crusty's letting me into the pantry made for the best possible soup—she ate a huge bowl of it herself, as always.

       We served tuna salad, fruit cocktail and crackers on the side. I made up four plates with sardines (instead of tuna salad), and those plates were sought-after. Two of them had the spicy sardines from the mystery box! I slipped a pack of gum to the man who wanted some last week, then had to remind him to put it in his pocket!

     Angry Mom—Honey, I was so ready for her! I made up plates for her and her boys, omitting the tuna salad which they do not eat. When she tried to pressure me about the food, I just pushed those three plates toward her and said, "Here's your lunch." Her boys each got a pack of gum. Later, she came to the counter asking Doug if "ham!" was the only meat he was serving for Christmas. I wonder if she celebrates Christmas and wants special attention about the pork thing. We get a lot of that.

       My boy came to lunch today! His smile and wave were just over the top. Remember those months when the child wouldn't even look at me? Today, I filled a large lunch sack with goodies for him. "Don't open this in front of the others," I warned him. "Yours is a lot today because you weren't here last week, and the week before that, and the week before that…" He grinned sheepishly, and I asked, "Can I have a hug?"

       Well… when all the feeding was said and done, Doug and I packed about 40 sack lunches, then about 20 PBJ lunches, and he was cleared to settle back and let tonight's dinner finish cooking. He's got it under control now, and best of all, his shorts are untangled.

THE BETTER HALF

      Threatening skies and bitter winds brought a 20° wind chill this morning. There was no doubt that the shelter would be a sought-after sanctuary for folks we don't usually see. We certainly house a wide variety of personalities and backgrounds, from the brilliant to the demented—from the beautiful to the beaten-up, but the saddest souls are always those who can only come in as far as the foyer, and they are there simply because they would not survive outside.

       Gatekeeper buzzed me through the main door, and Doug let me into the dining room. "We're on lock-down," he said. There would be no more coffee klatches between meals (an oft-used rule that never sticks).

       For lunch, Doug made a pot of potato soup and I made a pot of vegetable-chicken soup. His pot was prepped and heating within 5 minutes. My pot took nearly 30 minutes just to fill. On the side, we served peaches and tuna salad. While our pots simmered, he and I put together  56 sandwiches for sack lunches. After most of the residents had been served, an attractive young woman came to the counter asking if she could have a sack lunch because she was going to her job. I got one from the refrigerator and handed it to her. Every sack lunch has two sandwiches—one turkey with cheese, one ham with cheese. So the woman wanted to know what meat was in the sack. "One turkey sandwich and one ham," I said.

       "I don't eat that," she said. Assuming she didn't eat ham, I asked if she wanted two turkey sandwiches. No, she doesn't eat turkey either! She gave me a look of disgust and sashayed out. Whatever!

       The pre-release were in good spirits. There were only 6 at lunch, but they were lively enough to have been 10 or 12. They have a wonderful rapport with Doug. I'm assuming "the powers" have observed the banter on camera, but Doug's job remains secure.

       Lanyard Guy and another gatekeeper are history. Added to Curls and One and the cute blond, that leaves a huge dearth of gatekeepers. I'm telling you, it's a thankless job and it runs around the clock.

        Among the children today were the two little boys who belong to the latest "angry mom." That group approached the serving counter with many demands—"We don't eat this, we don't like that…" I made each of them a special-order plate, but only from the foods we were already serving, and I put a pack of gum of each child's plate. The older boy came back to the counter within minutes, wanting a toy, and then asking for gum—as if he had not received any. Those kids are learning all the tricks very early. I steadfastly refused to give him more gum and claimed that I had no toys this week. Last week I gave them toys only to see them minutes later playing with much better toys… so they don't need my paltry offerings.

       "My boy" still lives there, but again he was not at lunch. However, a middle-aged fellow came to the counter and wanted to know why he didn't get gum. I like this fellow, you understand. He's got a great sense of humor and a good attitude, but I had to tell him that the gum was just for children. "I'm a child," he argued. Eventually, I caved in. "Come back in a little while and I will slip you a pack of gum." Doug says he thinks the fellow has a date later today. Imagine the depth of hardship that would give a pack of gum major significance for a date.

       Sardines. I made two plates with sardines, crackers, soup and peaches. I failed to put them on the serving counter until the homeless residents came in. Within a minute, the first plate disappeared. Soon, I heard a man cry out in delight, "Sardines!"

       "It's the last one," I said. 

       He reached for the plate and immediately spotted the ballpoint pen under the sardine can. "Oh," he said, "somebody lost their pen."

       "No," I explained, "the sardines come with a surprise." He was so  pleased, and yes, I already have two cans in my bag for next week.

       I did not see the man who is dying of lung cancer, and I failed to asked after him. I did see Mr. Huggy just briefly, after the church hour. I fixed him a plate, and he took it to the dining room where he sat with two of our homeless who stand out—a handsome, graying fellow and a well-groomed woman. I noticed they have found each other. They both ate well and spoke highly of the food. In fact, I don't recall ever serving up so many seconds! But the man… he came to the counter near the end of lunchtime to thank me for the meal, nodded toward Doug, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Are you his better half?"

       I know—just FAR OUT. It had to sink in before I could respond. "Maybe his mother," I said, "but no, I'm just the Sunday lady." Of course I wasted no time telling Doug that I'd received the compliment of the year, and he'd just been declared a senior citizen.

       That was Christmas enough, and the big event is still 9 days away.

THE SAD, THE SUPERB, AND THE SWEET

       It's curious, but I find the homeless more visible in winter. Perhaps it's their heavy clothing and long beards. I see them as I arrive in the center of town, and they're always walking as if they have someplace to go. There are one or two places where folks can come in off the street. Even where I work, folks can sit in the foyer to stay warm. A man was sleeping there when I arrived. He was lying on one of the plastic boxes we call "seats." He has a brace on his left leg and one crutch. I'm pretty sure he is a polio victim. He didn't have a face or even skin that I could see—just a small human slumped over and sleeping, out of the cold. He was gone when I left, and a man and woman had taken his place. Where will they go tonight? Where will they eat? The foyer hasn't anything to offer but warmth.
       In the dining room our pale whale was front and center all morning, demanding attention. He just wants to talk… and talk. He needs his cane to step from his table to the counter 3 feet away. He's an older man with thin gray hair, and his girth does nothing to smooth over the lines of time. But mostly, he's desperate—he has just 3 more days at the shelter before he has finished serving his time. He talks of shooting himself. He shared with us that one of the downsides of prison is (stopping to tear up and compose himself) that he just learned that one of his best friends died 5 years ago. He talks of finding an apartment close to Doug's house. Maybe he'll get a car "someday" and come back to visit us from his hometown. He talks about cooking and often about eating. Three days until the system pulls the plug. What will become of him?
       Doug created a 5-gallon pot of "from scratch" potato soup. He shoved a little bowl of it at me as soon as I got my apron on. It was superb! Still, I asked, "Where are the onions?" I mean, it's not really potato soup without a bit of onion… but Gatekeeper had told Doug, "I don't eat onions!" Furthermore, he had said he wasn't going to eat that soup at all.
       I suggested we mince some onion and "hide" it in the soup. So we did, and it was the perfect finishing touch. We served many, many extra bowls of that soup. Surprisingly, many diners began by glaring at it and asking, "What's that?" But rave reviews poured in, and Doug was warning folks not to give him "the big head."
       On the side, we served chicken salad, peaches and crackers. I made up two plates with cans of sardines, and those disappeared with the pre-release group. All told, we served about 38, but none of the children was there.
       At the usual hour, those nice church folks came to the back door with four 50-pound potato sacks filled with bakery breads. Most of the loaves were rock hard. Doug and I took them to the back porch and shot baskets into the dumpster. He was surprised at my abilities, and graciously collected my two misses from behind the bin. Doug likes to slam the loaves into the wall for hardness checks…
       The staff: Doug is officially chief cook, but Dean is apparently not going to have the secondary position, as the shelter is advertising that spot. Dean will be filling in, in the interim, and Doug has prepared menus for him to follow. The cute blond (capable) gatekeeper has left for a better job, and the strange one I called "Curls" is gone as well. They might as well put a revolving door at that desk. Firing One was a big mistake, but nobody asked me.
      Doug has explained the whole Christmas morning ritual to me, so I can mentally prepare for the onslaught. I plan to arrive early and help him get sweet potato casseroles in the oven, pre-fab potato salad touched up to look pretty, a dozen hams sliced, rolls heated, and desserts at the ready. We'll be using the actual serving bins that keep dishes hot or cold, and he has his assembly line already planned: 8 volunteers standing at the counter that I usually manage by myself. He expects about 250 diners.
       But I won't be there for those meals. WHILE I'm helping get those ready, however, I will serve up lunch to the pre-release and the homeless resident groups as usual—he's planning something simple like tuna salad and crackers. They will eat early and only 2 hours before the big meal. After that, I'll leave, and the swarm of chatty ladies will take over for the throngs. Works for me!
       Again, being at my shelter was "all about me." I had a great morning. Oh! And Big John called Doug this week to say hello. That's a first. He said he wasn't abandoning the place, and maybe he'll be the first to mean it. That would be sweet.
     

ONLY 24 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS!

      This was supposed to be a day that I missed at the shelter because I had surgery on Tuesday. When I came home from the hospital on Wednesday, I was told to take it easy, and I did that for as long as I could stand it! Doug knew I was house-bound. Still by 11:00 I had to text him and ask if I could check off the names (least strenuous job in the place). He wrote back, "Please." In fact, he told me later, he was just reaching into his pocket to text me and ask how I was feeling when my text to him rang in. "It's funny," he said, "but I was just about to text you."

       "It's real," I replied. "We do communicate with others even when we aren't aware of it." He agreed. Spooky but true.

       Anyway, I took a precautionary pain pill and arrived in time to welcome our pre-release to lunch. They got soup, tuna salad, crackers, and a cup of strawberries. Our pale whale fellow sat front and center for more than an hour—taste-testing the soup many times and enjoying the repartee. At some point he mentioned being a prisoner and I feigned ignorance and shock. It was hilarious to hear him explain to me that he was indeed a federal prisoner but that I had nothing to fear. Bless his heart. We had ourselves a little laugh, and life went on.

       I had planned to stay only half an hour, but by the time I had finished actually putting together the plates for our homeless group and parceling out snacks for the afternoon, it was after 1 o'clock. The longer I stayed, the stronger I felt. Giving is surely better than receiving and FAR better than watching TV!

       My boy wasn't there, but the other two were. They were bouncing off the walls with energy, doing push-ups on the serving bar, and banging on the piano—Lord 'a mercy!

       The church folks brought the customary bread donations, and two enormous cookies from that haul fell into my carry-home bag…

       The "overflow" that was a focal point last week turned out to be a non-event as far as Doug could ascertain. He fed that 5-gallon pot of soup to the shelter folks and was told to not plan to feed overflow in future. I'm confused. Doug's confused. Even Joey sometimes had a pot for overflow.

       There is a middle-aged man and woman living at the shelter—just by happenstance, and they are both more than a little quirky. Doug uses the word "crazy." I noticed with amusement that they've "found" each other. Our porkless fellow was again unhappy to find a bit of bacon in his soup. I told him, "Well you wouldn't have died if you'd eaten it." He repeated that he doesn't eat pork. I played the halfwit and pretended to not fully comprehend. He responded with the fact that pork would make him "sick" and that he's not eaten any since the 90s. I looked thoughtful, "You're probably allergic to that." The guy drives Doug just nuts with his special needs, and oh! today the mother of the two little boys also announced that she doesn't eat pork. She said she only eats the food there when Miss Lillian is there and when I am there. So I really enjoyed telling her that Lillian was no longer there, and furthermore, Lillian poured lots of bacon grease in all of her dishes. The woman went through several of our offerings before throwing them all out and opting for sack lunches for herself and the boys (each sack contains one ham sandwich and one turkey).

       Miss Lillian is officially retired, and as I guessed, Dean has been invited back to take up the slack in the kitchen. However, to my delight, Doug will stay on the Sunday schedule. That's the plan. He was moaning today about having no one to help him prepare the Christmas feast, though he'll have a dozen people to help serve it. So I told him I'd be there at 8 a.m. on Christmas morning and we'd get 'er done. I can't remember when I've looked so forward to Christmas morning.