SPICEY AND DICEY

       Miss Lillian does not return until tomorrow, not the "tomorrow" in last week's report. Still, massive preparations (emotional and physical) are underway in anticipation of her return. The scuttlebutt has it that she's really just sliding back in to become full-time again (which would put Doug out of the decent job). I think the boy is paranoid about his job, and I don't blame him. I also don't believe Lillian is in the mood to work there full-time—she's no spring chicken, and she has other fish to fry, if you'll forgive my foodiness.

       Anyway, Doug is sick again, coughing something awful. He's going to the Urgent Care on his way home. It's either pneumonia or bronchitis, but the job stress has done nothing for his health.

       About those quiches we were planning: I took 10 frozen pie shells, but the head gatekeeper had already told Doug to feed out the food that was in the freezer. Last week, after the big snow, Mr. Huggy came cruising through the kitchen one day, snooped through the freezer, and announced that there wasn't enough food. (Remember, he's a volunteer.) Then he and another fellow went out and bought a truckload of frozen foods—foods that were already plentiful in the freezer. If they had bought crackers, milk, and bread, last Sunday would have gone much better for us.

       So this week, Doug was instructed to feed out what was in the freezer. That will take a couple of weeks. He took my pie shells and stuffed them on top of some boxes high in the freezer. Someday, we'll make quiche, but no time soon.

       Today we had chicken salad, fruit cocktail, and no plan for the other section in the Styrofoam plates. Doug wanted ideas. I thought a carbohydrate would be good, but something that was not commonly served and was not in great demand. I suggested we cook some pasta and flavor it with parsley and butter. When it was finished, Doug added a sprinkling of hot red-pepper flakes. He made at least 2 gallons of the dish (four boxes of spaghetti), and we scraped the pot clean.

       A volunteer, BOB, who is new to me joined us for the morning. He's a tall fellow who is working off some community service hours in exchange for partial payment on his housing. He has not committed a crime. He's middle-aged and very engaging. He was front and center every time I even looked like I was struggling with anything—like mixing up a tub of peanut butter and jelly. I made the first tub, and he made the second. His was perfectly and completely blended. We made 50 sandwiches and sacked them into those 25 sacks for the street folks.

       Rory (cute gal with sheared black hair) was keeping the gate. When I called her desk and said, "You can send the RCC in now," she said, "You mean the pre-release?" So I'm going back to using pre-release. What the heck is an RCC anyway?

       We served about 55 people. The pre-release were clustered at only three long tables, not spread out all over the room as they usually do. They were happy. We don't have any strutters in that group—even the Intimidator was absent today.

       The homeless did not barge in before being invited, but their line was long, stretching far into the hall. Our volunteer and I had a brief exchange about Angry Mom, before she came in. He's been working there all week, so he knows the group. He asked what she looked like, and I gave him the best description I could. Then he gave me his description of her. His was spot on; mine was vague. As I told him later, all I can sometimes remember about these folks is their personality and some idea of their size. Again, the woman came to lunch saying she wasn't going to let the boys come to the dining room until she'd eaten in peace. Doug says if they catch her doing that, they'll kick her out…

       There's a woman about 65 among our homeless who is just not wrapped tight. Doug says she recently asked him if he was married. When he said yes, she flatly told him, "That's too bad. What I couldn't do with you." Poor Doug still shivers when he recounts that moment.

       A teenage, heavily pierced boy and a fellow about 40 came to the counter together today. The boy was a bit sullen, but when I said, "Good morning!" to the man, the man smiled and said, "Well, I guess this is as good as it's going to get." They're new there, and they are together. One gatekeeper thinks they are a couple, but to my eye, they are father and son.

       My baby was there, and I made her a special bowl, having carefully picked out all of the red pepper flakes from her pasta and the bell peppers from her chicken salad. She got a toy that was intended for a teething baby, but my stash is running low, and the colorful, busy toy seemed to interest her. The little girl was watching me expectantly as I cooed at the baby. Then I asked the child, "Would you be interested in a big, soft, brown teddy bear?" It's a beautiful toy, but hard to place… until today. Ted was embraced with glee.

       Angry Mom's boys got gum and a little packet of candy. I've run out of specialty items, and they would ridicule each other with, "Baby toy! Baby toy!" if I gave them things from my usual stash. So they will wait.

       I, however, did not wait when I'd been there 2-1/2 hours and my body was screaming for a reprieve. Shoveling 7-1/2 inches of snow off the front walk, out from around the car, and off of the car on Thursday did me in. I was still high from that accomplishment on Friday, but yesterday arrived with a dose of reality. Spending the day in bed with movies and popcorn is all that saved me.
       Tomorrow—oh, to be a fly on the wall. There is fear and trepidation among all the "inmates" of that place, be they employees, prisoners, or homeless. Will Lillian "take over" again? Will Doug still have a decent job "after Lillian?" BOB says he won't work his community service hours when Lillian is there… I remember a certain Sunday Lady who once refused to work on those rare Sundays when Lillian was there. She is harmless, but she makes the place a one-chef, full-gospel kitchen, and it appears that she can do that from afar and on a part-time schedule.