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."