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.
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