My first-born son came to town
yesterday and accompanied me to the shelter this morning. I had introduced him
to Doug some weeks ago, and he wanted to join us for the Sunday adventure. We
went prepared to bake 12 quiches, and we worked hard to get them in the ovens
in time. Doug took advantage of our cooking and mopped the dining room.
All of the quiches had cheese,
some with broccoli, some with mushrooms, some with sausage, and some with most
of the above. Doug had the sausage cooked and ready when we arrived. It's not
easy whipping up 12 quiches…
I was tickled to have an extra
pair of eyes watching the ovens. We had applesauce and cheese grits on the
side. My son made the grits. Near the end of the first group's meal, we realized
we didn't have enough grits and started another pot. Naturally, much of that
was left over, but it will be devoured as baked squares tomorrow.
The boys got on well. I was
especially pleased, because that is Doug's kitchen, and my son is general
manager of a restaurant. At the shelter, they were a team and Doug's place in
the hierarchy was safe.
No one complained about the
food. Not a soul! We had a very few who carefully avoided pork, but otherwise,
the food was not questioned. Angry Mom came to the dining room mid-morning to
ask about the menu, as she always does. At lunch she demanded extras, such as,
"go back to the walk-in fridge and get more grated cheese for me."
Doug says her time there will run out in less than 2 weeks.
But before the homeless were invited to the dining room, we needed time
to get the new pot of grits cooked. Because the pre-release had come in a bit
early, they finished early. The groups are not allowed to occupy the dining
room at the same time, so as the last pre-release headed toward the door, I
called to him, "Hey! Can you please stay in here 5 more minutes so we can
get the next group's food ready?"
I know this young man, and he
has a sense of humor. "What'll you give me?" he grinned.
"A pack of bubble
gum!" I promised.
"Make it three packs, and
you've got a deal," he said.
Yes, I had enough.
Doug had some very interesting
details to impart about this past week: Miss Lillian came in Monday through
Wednesday—her new part-time schedule. On Wednesday, JOEY joined her! He was
said to have been asking for his job back. It's too deep to go into here, and
I'll never understand what makes that machine tick, but for Joey to have a job
there, somebody would need to leave.
I'm just wondering: Were Wednesday's events a sign of things to come?
The other event of mention
this past week involved one of our pre-release who was due to get OUT in just 3
more weeks. I liked that young man!
He always seemed so agreeable and easy-going. Obviously, Sunday mornings aren't
long enough to give me great insight. Mr. Agreeable left "to go to
work" one day but spent the day with his girl friend instead. The chain of
events involved his cell phone. The pre-release are not allowed to have cell
phones. He was caught. Federal lawmen approached the shelter from the front and
back doors. They told Doug to stay out of the way, in case the young man tried
to flee through the kitchen. (Doug says he was willing to dive under the work
table, no matter how little space might be under there.)
The young prisoner was apprehended
without incident. He was sentenced to FIVE YEARS for leaving the premises for a
place other than his job. He was given ANOTHER YEAR for having possession of a
cell phone.
When you think about it, that
young man truly did not want to be free. He doesn't feel comfortable in the
free world. Prison can be so comfortable, with it's scheduling and guaranteed
provisions. Well.
The Christians arrived right
on time with three 50-pound potato sacks of week-old bread. I sent my son to
greet them and thank them. I wanted him to have the experience. Doug says a
woman came to the kitchen a few days ago with 300 fresh doughnuts. She's from
the stale-bread church, but she swore Doug to secrecy, because her fellow
church-goers prefer to pick over the goods before giving them to the shelter,
and she just wanted to give them to us while they were fresh—sneaking, sinning,
subterfuge.
In the end, we had two sacks
to shoot hoops with. Good times.
Angry Mom's boys got their
goodies, after they made a point of ASKING, "Do we get goodies?" I
hate it that she has taught them to expect to be catered to like that—as she
expects for herself…
As my son and I were leaving,
the baby and the little girl were walking up the sidewalk with their moms. It's
the baby's 1st birthday, and I was happy to have an opportunity to give them
the goodies that I'd taken for them.
We're tired. I don't have a
not-tired place on my body.
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