MAJOR UNDIES WAD!

      Doug was in such a snit this morning! He was like a big cat lying in wait for prey when I arrived—ventee that I am.

       It was 5 minutes before I could take off my scarf, gloves and coat without taking away full focus from his diatribe. He was ready to quit that stupid place and go elsewhere for employment, even calling the name of a place he had in mind. To tell you the truth, it gave me more than pause. I've come to cherish Sundays in the kitchen with Doug. I had to remind myself over and over that if change came, it would be okay.

       Eventually, he settled down and we began a more normal routine. We baked 4 large pans of corned beef hash (from #10 cans). When the hash was starting to crisp, I put nests in each batch and added a raw egg to each nest, returning the pans to the ovens. We served peas and fruit on the side.

       Reception of this "nice-restaurant entrée" was hit and miss (more often "miss"). I can't tell you how many times I had to poke a baked egg with my gloved finger to demonstrate that they were not "sunny-side up."

       We had a whole pan of the dish left over. It wasn't entirely the food's fault though, because only 11 pre-release came to lunch and only about 20 homeless residents. We were expecting close to 50.

       The "Intimidator" refused to eat the food and took a sack lunch. He didn't want any beef, but he'd eaten 6 hot dogs the day before. (I think a lot of that manipulation about food is an attempt to have some control of their lives.) Then he ordered himself a pizza. He is a prisoner, and they do have money. Angry Mom had stalked the kitchen before my arrival and was nowhere to be seen at lunch. The Crazy One was not around, but had come in yesterday to ask for turkey sandwiches. You may recall her telling me, "I don't eat turkey," before storming out with no lunch some weeks ago.

       None of the children was at lunch, and I had to bring all the toys home. I'm sorry they missed them, especially since I'd stopped at Wal-Mart on my way, just to buy Play-Doh.

       When all was said and done, Doug had put in a lot of effort toward lunch and tonight's dinner. He does that every day. And every day he is obliged to take a lot of flack from folks who are dependent on the system. I fully understand his outrage, but I encourage him to give as good as he gets: "Ask yourself what would Joy say?" Then SAY it to them!

       At least three people looked me in the eye and turned up their noses at the unfamiliar dish, but I have learned. I smile brightly and say, "Would you like a sack lunch?" Doug, on the other hand, is more prone to cater to their demands, especially the pre-release, as we are required to give them a better meal than the homeless (our tax dollars at work). Still, it's getting old hearing "I don't eat this" and "I don't eat that" day after day.

       Last week, Doug served catfish. Our 10-year-old cannot eat fish, so he made her some chicken fingers (allergies are allergies). When Angry Mom saw that, she was furious! "I don't eat bottom feeders!!!" she snarled. Until then, we thought pork was her only problem…

       During all the good times, I made 54 PBJs and sacked them with drinks, chips & and a cookie. PBJs, I've learned, take a lot out of an old woman's wrists—especially when the tub of PB & J needs refilling.

       There were two new gatekeepers—young fellows. One is nearly new, and the other is totally new. There should be a sign above that office door—"TURNOVER ENTRANCE."

       Our C&W was rocking. I wrote down 3 songs to download… now if I can only find the tiny scrap of paper I put them on. It's surely time to wine down.

ME AND MY OLD MAN

      Poor Doug stopped at McDonald's this morning to get a coffee on his way to work. The drive-thru was backed up, so he went inside. They sold him a "senior coffee." That did not go over well, seeing as how he's several years shy of senior. The cashier then took the extra money he thrust at her (for a "younger person's coffee") and apologized, using his graying beard as her excuse.

       Apparently, that wasn't enough hounding for Doug—he told the story to the pre-release fellow who hangs out in the dining room on Sunday morning, and that guy pushed the issue even farther. "As his wife," I said, "I can certainly understand why people think he's a senior." Bless his heart.

       He's still puny with the upper respiratory bug he was coming down with last Sunday, but today he's putting in his first whole workday all week. One day, the boss even made him go home. So I'm glad to see him rallying.

       For lunch, Doug made his famous potato soup, and I took a gallon of vegetable/beef soup that I made last night. We served crackers, chicken salad and fruit on the side. As she does every morning, Angry Mom strode into the dining room around 10:30 to ask about the lunch menu. Doug has to bite his tongue every day; that woman is hell-bent on getting as much attention as she can, and manipulating things, whether they need it or not. When she learned that the menu contained no pork, she had nothing to complain about, so she asked what was for dinner. That too is porkless.

       We served at least 50 meals today and many second helpings of everything on the menu. It was a good feeling to have an abundance of food. And speaking of that, one of our sources has cut us off because of other commitments, and we're having to buy more of our food than usual.

       The pre-release were in good spirits, and I was anxious to see what sort of greeting the tall, porkless intimidator had for me today. I checked his name off of the lunch chart and greeted him warmly. About 15 minutes later, he came to the counter for more soup. "Which kind would you like?" I asked.

       "Potato—two bowls," he said seriously. I'm guessing he was looking for a fight because I was stingy with the quiche last week, but he got two bowls of soup and a smile. Later, he returned to the counter to talk to Doug, and he asked when were we going to have that "egg stuff" again. I told him it was quiche, he practiced the word, and I said, "If you'll bring me 5 eggs, I'll make you your very own." No, he wants to share it with Doug. One of these days, maybe I'll make him a quiche and slip it in there on the sly. See? Almost nobody is as badass as some folks want us to think they are. He's just a big baby underneath—asking for more egg pie.

       When the residents came, their line went far into the hall. Many of the faces were familiar, and many were new. Angry mom was front and center, of course. Her younger boy wanted one of my sardine plates, but Mom told him he wouldn't like it. She wanted hers and the boys' lunches and some special grape-flavored bottles of water. The drinks that we'd provided at the drink station didn't suit her. Then she wanted honey bread. I told the twit, "You'll have to wait until I've served everyone else. Come back in a little while."

       As soon as the line went down, Doug pulled me aside and said, "I am so proud of you!" Of course, I hadn't done anything heroic, but I had done what he yearns to do himself, and he got the vicarious thrills of watching.

       Our newer family (with 3 girls) is so very delightful! Last week, I reported two girls, but the oldest one is a teenager, and I didn't realize she was a kid. The baby's nose isn't running today and she took quite an interest in the lady who brought two little bowls of soup for her and smashed up peaches for her dessert. Her older sister gasped with delight when I appeared with gum  and a white angel Beanie bear for her.

       As I approached Angry Mom's boys with round, plastic containers each holding 60 pieces of gum, one of them sneered, "Baby toy!"

       "Not," I said.

       Someone in the room snickered.

       "What are you supposed to do with this?" one of them asked. I told him it was gum but not to chew it all in one day or he might get plugged up. (More snickers.) I ended with, "You could share it with everyone else."

       So the boys took their big caches of gum, but a few minutes later, the younger one came to the counter and wanted to exchange his, "Can I get spearmint; I don't like peppermint." He'd already begun to peel off the seal.

       "No," I said. "I don't have any more, but you can say thank-you." I don't have any more smiles for that child either. He is his mother's boy.

       Again, Doug was dancing a jig behind the warming oven, like a devious elf in the forest… "I'm just so proud of you, Miss Joy!"

       When everyone had left and I was up to my elbows in huge dirty pots, the Crazy One came in. She always comes late, but we'd put six plates away for latecomers, at Gatekeeper's request. So she came in chatting effusively about her new volunteer position with an exercise program. After a month there, she will have a paying position, and (surprise) the exercises actually made her feel more energetic. Doug said that last week this woman had taken him to task about the ingredients in her Twinkie—were the listed ingredients actually what was IN the Twinkie—because she got off of drugs 3 years ago, and she's not about to go back! I'm thinking her brain has suffered quite a bit from that sojourn.

       After that, a young man came for his lunch. "Are you one of those who went to church?" I asked. No, he was just late. "Well, next time," I said, "just say you were at church because you're really, really late."
       I put together PBJs this morning—as many as 4-1/2 loaves of bread would make. Doug wouldn't let me sack them after lunch, so I signed out—another 3 hours in my favorite place. It's time to make a Play-Doh run. I wonder if the Greedy One will call it a baby toy.

Sardines, crackers, potato soup, and fruit cocktail.

IT'S A GIRL—TIMES TWO!

       Poor Doug is "coming down with something." He is dragging today, but to watch him work, you'd never know it. The timing was right for me to take frozen pie shells and make quiche. All Doug had to do was drop some bacon in the deep fryer—that's all. I made 11 quiches—3 with no bacon (for those who refuse to eat pork, and one with milk and no sour cream (for Doug who thinks he doesn't like sour cream but admits that once it's cooked in something he can't tell). Kids.

       Angry Mom came to the dining room early, to inquire about the meal. I told her we were having quiche. She gave me a bright smile. Minutes later, she approached Doug alone and asked about the food. Was there PORK in that??? Boy, is Doug sick of dealing with that woman day after day. She didn't give him the bright smile… but we assured her that we had some plain cheese quiche.

       We have a new gatekeeper, a big strapping young fellow, quite personable, probably won't last long as he's already asking for more pay, and we all know it's not a very fancy position. Anyway, he let me into the front pantry where I found some cans of sardines, two cans of Vienna sausages, a can of smoked oysters, and a sardine-like can that was missing a label and was quite long.

       Gatekeeper and a number of our guests had never eaten quiche, and I always get a kick out of introducing it, but today, the loot from the pantry added a great deal of interest to the offerings. Doug and I were especially curious as to the contents of the longer can. The Louisiana-hot sardines disappeared, as did the plain ones and the oysters. I wish I'd had time to observe the eating of the oysters. The mystery can was also taken, but Doug had kept watch on it, and when the diner had finished it, Doug asked him, "What was it?"

       The man wasn't sure. He thought it was smoked salmon and he enjoyed every bite.

       Our pre-release are the most interesting group, and one very tall and handsome young man stands out. He wants to be intimidating. He always eyes the food with a frown and wants details about its content (no pork). I very much do not like his attitude, but Doug likes him, so he must have some redeeming qualities. Today, the man took a plate of plain cheese quiche, but returned to the counter within seconds. I asked him, "What can I get for you?" He wanted more quiche.

       "But I just gave you a plate," I said.

       "Yes, and I want some more," he repeated.

       "Well, when you have cleaned your plate, you may have some more," I scolded in as motherly a tone as I could muster.

       Honey, the whole dining room went up in loud guffaws, and one of the guys even said to Doug, "You LIKED that, didn't you?" That was telling of the relationship they have with him. Doug has brought an enormous amount of good will to that group.

       As always on quiche days, we have tons of skeptics, but everyone who tried it liked it. Many came back for seconds. At the tail end of lunch, a tall thin man approached the counter, eyeing the food. "What is it?" he asked. I told him it was bacon and eggs and cheese in a pie. I assured him he would like it, and I encouraged him to just try it, and to please let me know what he thought of it. Later he came to tell me he liked it. In fact, many people came to say how much they liked it—even the snooty ones who've never grasped the reality that they're living in a shelter.

       One of the women residents indicated that she thought I was Doug's wife. I will work there until I drop, to hear those kinds of comments, and I do wonder why it doesn't bother Doug—but I don't care enough to curb my delight.

       Among the children, "my boy" was not there, but the two brothers were, as well as two sisters, one about 10 and one about 9 months. I was prepared for them. I gave the boys packs of gum, then approached the older girl with a Beanie teddy bear, a box of crayons, and a pack of gum. She just looked at me. You know the look. Until they understand that I'm the goody lady, they don't trust me. Even the baby was unresponsive when I gave her a plush baby doll with a rattle inside. Of course I hope they get to move to a place of their own asap, but otherwise, I hope to have more opportunities to win them over. It's been so long since we had little girls! Charles Boyer would approve.

SINGLE DIGITS ARE COMING

       There were several cars and a van in the front parking lot this morning, and a few people were outside in our balmy 40 degrees, so I avoided the crowd and parked in back. This time, I knocked very loudly and stood far back, so as to not frighten Doug when he opened the door. Success.

       On the stove, Doug had a very large metal pan covering two burners and filled with hamburger. He was making spaghetti sauce for tonight's dinner. The bag of soup provisions that we had set aside last week had remained unmolested (though not without a bit of guarding), and I set about to fill a pot. Our gatekeeper today was Rory, the cute girl with sheared black hair. She kindly let me into the pantry out front, so I could glean more cans of vegetables for my brew.

       The foyer was occupied by a number of folks who had no place else to be, but by tomorrow they will be there fighting for their lives against snow and single-digit temperatures. One of our homeless residents came to lunch with a vivid "sunburn" across his nose and cheeks—a clear sign of exposure.

       Doug told me to fill that soup pot up to the top, so I did. When the soup was finished, I stepped up to help him with a pot of spaghetti. He was whining that it always burns on the bottom of the pot, and he can never get it "right." So I volunteered. We cooked four boxes of spaghetti at the time (twice). It came out perfectly, though the one strand that I slung against the wall (testing, you know) just slid down behind the stove. We never saw that one again…

       On the side, we served crackers, egg salad and fruit. I made the usual two plates with sardines, and they were scarfed up by the pre-release. The last one was taken by a man who looked at me hesitantly, reaching for the plate, and asked, "May I have the sardines?" I need to take more of those.

       Among the homeless residents there were the same little brothers as in weeks past and "my boy." I hadn't seen him in awhile, and of course, I enjoy spoiling him. There is also a baby at the shelter now, but he was not at lunch.

       Of interest among Doug's stories was that of a woman we've had for many weeks whose behavior was always a bit off. This week she came in loopy and began threatening anyone in sight that she was going to cut them. She failed the breathalyzer test, and she no longer lives there.

       And there was a gentleman at lunch whose name was not on the roster. He told me his name and said he had slept on the floor and that he was with another guy who actually has a bed there—like, "I'm with him." No, folks can't do that, but Doug let the man slide.

       The soup pot was nearly empty after the 2nd group ate, and Doug asked me to fill it again, so he'd have soup for later, though I don't understand how "later" and "dinner" work exactly. I just know the people can eat two more times after lunch, before the kitchen closes for the night. Too, he wanted to leave a starter meal for Dean who will be cooking tomorrow.

       All in all, it was a delightful morning! Oh, and a young woman who volunteered on Christmas day has begun coming on Saturdays, just as she said she was going to do. She loved it so much, she said, that she wanted to come again and again—and she did. She is one of many who have said that, but she is the first to follow through. She told Doug, "If you don't see me here on Saturday, worry about me!" Also, she has my same last name and first initial.

       The health department showed up this week—Doug's first on-the-job checkup. He scored a 99! Now if the folks who order the food will just pay as much attention to his list of needs, maybe the shelves and coolers will fill up again—we're talking major dearth of food in the place today!

       Snow and ice are on the way; Doug is turning off his phone for his two days off, and the place will be on its on. I'll let you know how it fared. Shoot… one  broken power line could put ME in need of shelter…