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.