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.