FOILED AGAIN

       Doug's undies were wadded irretrievably UP when I arrived this morning. He'd taken Saturday off for a family event, and Miss Lillian and Dean had taken his place. Many things had been done wrong… not the least of which was 30 pounds of ground beef thawing in the big cooler, dripping bloody water in puddles in the floor.

       After listening to his rant for about an hour, including how he was QUITTING(!), I took him aside and pointed out that the people who are messing with his head are not as smart as he is and that they are doing things to get his goat. His best bet would be to keep a journal of activities, have his mole (gatekeeper) initial events in the journal, and pretend he isn't bothered.

       I felt like a teacher running interference between bullies and the smart kid on the play ground… and I had this very real fear that perhaps I would choose to not go there anymore…

       Time passed, lunch prep got underway, people came and went, and one phone call (from one of the antagonists) gave Doug a chance to blow off some steam. After that, he said, "I'm great! I gave them a piece of my mind, and I'm fine now."

       You know… I don't think of myself as a scorekeeper or a hall monitor or a mediator. I'd rather leave.

       Interestingly, the pre-release who mops for Doug (just because he's a nice guy) was SO excited to see that I'd brought sardines again (as I'd promised). The 2nd can was put out for the homeless group. The plate sat on the shelf, ignored, until that tall young Oriental fellow came in. He made haste in taking it. I asked him, "How  is   your   English   this   week?"

       Many attempted sentences later, we gave up. He is of good cheer, but I don't get the feeling that he's in an ESL class.

       Of our four kids (1, 9, 14, & 17), only the 14-yr-old was at lunch. I gave her the goodies for herself and her sister.

       My back/legs/feet were hurting a pretty good lick all morning, so when everyone had been served, I checked out. Who knows what any "next moment" will bring, but it seems especially worrisome when I wonder about "next Sunday."

LOOKING BACK

      Four years ago this Easter was the last time I set foot in an organized church—and truthfully, that one was pretty disorganized. I told myself that if leaving to work in a shelter on Sundays was the right thing to do, then I would know instinctively by my feelings. Because my feelings have not changed in 4 years, I'm calling it a win.

       All of the residents were upbeat today—just because it's Easter (even using the term without a deeper meaning). They are so hungry for change, for diversion, that simply being able to say, "Happy Easter!" elevates their mood.

       I took 6 dozen boiled and dyed eggs, some little foil-wrapped chocolate eggs, and 4-inch kabobs of cheeses & olives. We added those to Doug's delicious juicy hamburgers and baked beans. We provided heaps of sliced tomatoes and slices of cheese. We now have six or eight pre-release who won't eat beef or pork, so Doug made chicken & fish patties for their buns. Everybody was camping happy.

       The young woman from last week was there, and she is very much a can-do gal. Again, I was happy to let her help fill plates—we fed about 42.

       Doug said Miss Lillian had dropped by unexpectedly on Friday when he had the back door open. "What's this door doing open?" Lillian demanded.

       "I'm throwing boxes out," Doug replied.

       "Well, I need half a ham," she said. "And you need to feed out those hamburgers tomorrow; they're getting freezer burn."

       He cut her a half ham, and she left with her personal Easter meal. By that time, Doug was ready to walk out—forever. The nuances and the not-so-subtle interactions at that institution are enough to drive a normal person around the bend.

       Doug seems quite satisfied to have had one of his 5 days given to Lillian. Lillian, however (though "retired" and now back "part-time") wields a big stick and a lot of ownership there.

       As for the latest brouhaha with the pre-release, someone was caught smoking downstairs last week. Well… it was discovered that someone had been smoking there. No one, of course, would narc out the offender, so the gatekeeper in charge was pondering putting the whole gang on lock-down, but he didn't want the hassle. That issue has been rolled over to tomorrow when the Bureau of Prisons head shrew can take on the decision making.

       Only one child was at lunch, but I left her sister's goodie bag with their mom, and I left goodies for the 9-yr-old and the baby. They are there—just not at lunch.

       Next week we will have the chicken salad that we'd planned for this week… unless Lillian has another top-dog attack. Doug will be away next Saturday, and today's sweet volunteer allowed as how she could not help Lillian out on Saturday—nor will BOB—nor will I. Stepping into that woman's Gospel-screaming kitchen is more like an opportunity to be undone than saved. We do what we can with what we have; the rest we give up to God.

OFF THE CHAIN

       There was nothing on the stove when I arrived in the kitchen. Doug is always bustling about with his dinner preparations, but not today. Today he was chatting with the inmates and taking his time. He did have 3 or 4 turkeys in the oven for Miss Lillian to debone tomorrow, but no dinner prep.

       As for lunch, he said he was going to deep-fry corn dogs, chicken nuggets, and French fries. He had applesauce to serve on the side. He said he and I would make a bunch of PBJs… Then I asked him to take a picture of me in the apron my friend sent from Georgia.

      Pretty soon, a young woman came in (community service hours, I believe). She's just delightful, and Doug put her right to work on the PBJs. In the meantime, I whined about having no soup to make, until Doug took a big pot and set it on the stove with a "good luck" look in his eye.

       Again this week, a benevolent soul visited the mystery box. When the soup pot was filled, it contained 2 cans of beef stew, several cups of corn, cans of peas, spinach and green beans, 2 jars of Ragu, most of a head of cabbage, broccoli, a fistful of rice, and a cup of curly noodles.

       When it was near completion, BOB arrived. BOB is back. He set right to work filling the ice bin and seeing to other needs. Our young woman finished her PBJs and began filling plates to serve the pre-release. She caught on so fast that I found myself with little to do but watch. And that felt pretty good because it clearly demonstrated why I get so worn out from filling 40 plates! I could enjoy "supervising" more often. In fact, she says she'll be back next Sunday!

       The baby girl and her cousin were there, but didn't come to lunch. The baby's mom came for some milk, so I sent their toys back with her. However, we have two new girls(!) who are 14 and 17, and I had prepared age-appropriate goody bags for them. Too, I had saved back enough mini-packs of gum to put one on every plate.

       Interestingly, as the homeless crowd came to the counter, the first young woman to take a meal didn't understand about giving BOB her room number. The guy with the young woman said, "She slept in room #8 last night." Well, that's in the MEN's section, and the poor girl is not registered to stay there. We fed her and ignored the issue. She hung her head and looked awfully frightened and lost. Sad.

       Tall dark handsomes were both at lunch and both upbeat. I slipped a couple of chocolates to the sweet one when he came to mop the dining room. There's a new pre-release that Doug says has been in prison for 26 years. He said the man was trembling one night last week when they had meatloaf, saying he could not remember having had such good food.

       So Doug and BOB got themselves each a bowl of soup, and I did too. Pretty soon, BOB said, "Miss Joy, that soup is off the chain!"

       I don't get out enough… it was a compliment. Even the young volunteer understood. Doug filled a small container with the leftover soup for BOB to take home.

       The Christians arrived, just as the homeless were finishing their meal and vacating the dining room. Doug eagerly told the volunteer what we do with the loaves, and I raced to ask him, jumping up and down, "Can we shoot hoops? Can we, huh?"

       He pulled a burnt loaf out of a sack and threw me a long pass as I dashed out the back door, vaulted it over the porch railing, and watched it drop clean into the gaping maw of the dumpster… looking straight into the windshield of the Christians who had not yet backed out of the driveway…

       We may not see them again… depending on who saw what and how they define "off the chain."

MAKING MAGIC

      Someone donated a box of mostly expired foods last week, but nothing we couldn't use. The scalloped-potatoes mix provided dried potatoes for my soup, and powdered cheese sauce for the mashed potatoes that Doug was making for dinner. You'd be surprised how things can be used, outside of their intended purposes.

       So today I want to share the soup recipe with you. Don't even think about replicating it—you'd fail. But thanks to that little mid-week donation, I was able to begin with the contents of the mystery box. I started with the remaining can of Progresso Recipe Starters Cooking Sauce (3-cheese flavor). Then I added a can of beets. This is where Doug peered into the pot with raised eyebrows and a grimace. Yes, it was ugly.

       The fuchsia beet juice continued to dominate the pot, even after I added a jar of beef gravy, small cans of carrots, corn, green beans, great northerns, mixed vegetables, chicken, beef stew, a #10 can of black eye peas, a jar of Ragu, fresh celery, and a lot of water. After about an hour, the beet juice gave up. I added a fistful of rice and three or four handfuls of curly egg noodles. We made some taste tests and declared it to be good.

       Our diners also declared it good—they cleaned out the pot! We served chicken nuggets, fries and fruit on the side. There were even enough bitty packs of gum to put one on every plate, and I found some chocolate-covered-caramel candies to fill in, should the gum run out. When the tall dark sweet one came to get his drink, I told him that I had looked for the peanut butter cups he'd wanted last week, but I'd found only "these."

       "Oh, I like those too!" he said. Then his buddy said, "Can I have some too?"

       Sweet One grinned and said, "Tell him no."

       They were charming and appreciative, as was most everyone who came to lunch. One new pre-release claims to be a vegetarian, but he ate a full meal and didn't complain. Two others were doubtful about the soup, but when I promised them it contained no pork, they took it.

       Angry Mom and her boys do not live there anymore!

       The little girl and the baby are still there, and I enjoyed pampering them. Doug says the only meal they come for is Sunday lunch, so the kids will have goodies. We agree that those little ones are very happy children, which says all we need to know about their mothers.

       Our Oriental fellow is still there, and his English improves. He was among more than 40 who came to lunch.

       Two high school senior fellows came to do some community service as part of their senior project. Doug let them clean out the walk-in refrigerator and freezer. Then he put them to work making 30 sack lunches. One was tall and very thin, while the other was short and quite plump—Mutt & Jeff. And all three of the guys bonded over the topic of pick-up trucks. I had no idea that Toyota actually made a better chassis during one period than another, or that Ford had so many upsides.

       If the mystery box remains untouched, there will be no soup next week. Even I cannot make soup from beets, evaporated milk, and saurkraut.