OH…POSSUM!

       Within minutes of my arrival Doug started in on his story of the week. There's a new "Indian" among the pre-release. I think Doug enjoys those folks—perhaps because they bring a bit of cultural color to the group. That was surely the case yesterday when the new fellow's grandmother came to the dining room and proudly presented her best dish to Doug. BOB was working too, and the woman told Doug there was more than enough to share, "Be sure to give your friend half!"

       It looked like two big hamburgers with a fried egg sandwiched between them. Doug got a knife and cut off a small bite. BOB took a bigger bite. The woman waited expectantly as the men tasted her masterpiece. Doug put his best foot forward, chewed, and painfully swallowed. Then he lied outright and told Grandma it was great. BOB, having the advantage of not being in the spotlight, turned his back and deposited his whole mouthful in the trash.

       There were "gritty things" in the meat and there was corn. The corn we assume was to help disguise the gritty elements. The fried egg was no doubt just a standard part of how this dish is served. Both men spent the rest of the day and night consuming various drinks and foods in an effort to get the "permanently greasy" taste out of their systems. As of noon today, Doug was still unable to shake off the taste of his one bite of opossum—I'm thinking it's engrained in his memory, and his brain is still sending signals to his palate.

       There was nothing special for me to do, so I made 52 PBJs, and Doug helped me sack them. We filled the napkin and cutlery dispensers in the dining room, and we deep fried mini-corndogs and home fries. We served fruit on the side. Nothing to brag about.

       The 8-year-old girl was reported to be with her grandmother today, but the teens were there. They've been out of school for a couple of weeks now, but have nothing lined up to do this summer (one is 17—hello...), so I suggested they volunteer with younger kids at a youth center, adding how nice that would look on their resumes. They wanted to know how to do that. I told them to catch the bus, ride to the youth center, walk in, and volunteer. This isn't going to happen, but I've done my best.

       A wispy little blonde came in around noon to work off some of her 100 service hours, and Doug put her to work making sack lunches. Well, I put her to work on those. Doug was twisted in knots over having to show her how, because she's one of those special people who lives just outside of reality. She'd brought with her some homemade chocolate (Doug gagged on it) and a quart jar of bright blue algae water. Doug drank some, because the girl swore it would wash away the opossum taste.

       For next week, Doug said he wanted to do something different because it's a holiday weekend. He was thinking about making hamburgers. Suddenly realizing the effort that would take, he stopped himself, "I ain't makin' them no hamburgers!" So I suggested pimento cheese sandwiches (a summer kind of thing), and he added tuna salad sandwiches (salad accidently ordered last week). He said he'd order some pickles and give them chips on the side. I suggested we also serve cream of tomato soup with cheese. Now I have to find someone willing to donate five or six #10 cans of tomato soup. What was I thinking?

       The new head honcho has made a second appearance and commented on Doug's extra-clean kitchen. Just 4 years from retirement, we don't expect him to get his hands too dirty. The gatekeepers are down to four, but only three full-time: the cute one, the large one (both very nice guys) and that crazy woman who used to hog my work table (the one who makes her own bread with dried zucchini). SHE called Doug in on the carpet last week for not "rotating his foods," which had something to do with an older gallon of milk being unopened when a newer one was open. That issue was quickly settled, as the woman has no business in the kitchen, and Doug has no control over those who plunder the kitchen during his off hours.

       Miss Lillian is coming back tomorrow. One is torn between celebrating her improved health and dreading her presence. Then one is completely blown away to hear that Doug is required to go in (on his day off) and help Lillian get all of her supplies ready for cooking, as she isn't well enough to lift some things. Gimme a W, gimme a T…

ORDINARY DAYS ARE GOOD

      There was virtually no scuttlebutt today, and that left the morning wide open for more uplifting endeavors. But, just so you know, Miss Lillian is seeing her doctor again next week and she'll get back to the boss about whether or not she'll be returning. I see a disability claim in her future… and Mr. Huggy did not go to the pantry this week, so the goody bin is empty. It's so empty that Doug washed it!

       A young woman came to work off some service hours, and Doug put her to the task of making sack lunches, then PBJs. She was sentenced to 40 hours of community service and is to serve all of them this week. Sobriety can be an illusive thing.

       Doug didn't have a plan for lunch, but he did have chicken salad and egg salad and plenty of canned fruit, so I raided the mystery box and made "the soup." Unless that box gets a visit from the canned-goods fairy, I won't be making soup next week… unless someone has a recipe for salmon/evaporated milk/beets & sauerkraut soup.

       The pre-release numbered 8 or 10, and the big man with the cane called to me after he'd begun eating, "Ma'am, the soup's real good!" That was sweet.

       We have a flaming queen in that group, and he came to lunch today wearing what appeared to be camouflage pajama bottoms, a skuzzy t-shirt, and cheap flip-flops. Doug was in a bit of a snit early on because someone in the hierarchy had ordered him to monitor what people are wearing—they'd seen a child come to the dining room wearing bedroom slippers. That is not in his job description, and he's not shy about saying so.

       Our homeless numbered about 25. The Chinese fellow took the sardines I offered him… I do wonder what the game plan is for him. We still have the two teen girls, but the little ones from previous weeks are all gone. In their stead is a very pretty 8-year-old girl. I gave her a Beanie bear and she was quick with her thank-you! Later, she came to the counter and said, "Thank you, again!" Someone is doing something right with her.

       The Christians came with an enormous donation, and we shot some hoops with the bags of hard rolls, but Doug will serve the sweets for snacks and give the other breads to a friend for their chickens.

       The new head honcho took over this week, but there isn't any news about him. I'm sure that in time, he'll make an impression, one way or another.

TATTOOS & TEETH

       I almost entitled this report "When Cook is Happy," because Doug was whistling his lips off all morning. I don't believe I've ever heard him whistle before.

       For my first hour there, I just listened, as Doug shared the week's events. Miss Lillian was at the top of the charts. The story goes that she hurt her back while shopping in a super store. Says she fell. Says she's suing. Doesn't matter; she'll not be taking one of his paid workdays any longer. Dean was appointed to fill in, and we know he's good at food prep. Sadly, he does not follow orders, so Doug's menu was partially ignored, and balanced meals were not served. Still meals were served, and Doug got some time off.

       Someone went to the food pantry and brought in a box of goodies last week, so everyone got gum on their plate. I was afraid we might never see goodies again. We had no small children, but when it comes to a pack of gum, everyone is a kid.

      The new director begins in a few days. Everyone's excited and wary, as there are the usual rumors that things will be shaken up. Personally, I don't see that happening. The place has hobbled along for so long, allowing the Bureau of Prisons (one person) to call the important shots… I just don't see why the new guy would mess with the status quo—especially since it might effect the shelter's income. Money is always the bottom line.

       For lunch, Doug was making cream of broccoli soup served with chicken salad and fruit. The chicken salad is always the same "death in a tub" utterly divine pre-made stuff, and Doug's soup is a masterpiece that he whips up in minutes. The recipe is this: steam the broccoli until it's almost mushy. Use milk and potato pearls (not flakes) for the base. When the mixture's consistency is a creamy soup, add some salt and pepper and serve with grated cheese on top. Then have another helping.

      Shortly before lunchtime, Doug and Gatekeeper had a discussion about a tiny fellow who was sitting out front under a tree. Some folks from a church had brought the man there and asked the shelter to give him a bed. (That's not how it works.) Gatekeeper explained to them that he couldn't simply give the man a bed and, furthermore, none was available. He said he could not let the man come in for a meal because the man had no shoes, but he did offer to give the man a sack lunch. The church folks chose to take the man to a fast-food place instead, but then returned him to the shelter. I've no idea what went down then.

       Of the pre-release only about five guys showed up. Most of them are on pass today because it's Fathers Day. We were lulled into thinking the remainder of the lunch crowd would be light… until we let the homeless in, and they put us in fast-forward.

       Near the end of that group's lunch period, the wee fellow in question came in and cautiously approached the counter. "I'm in bed 28," he said meekly. Doug peered around to see if he was wearing shoes, and he was. He's as pitiable a specimen of humanity as you'll ever see, but quite engaging, and smiling his way through. In his arms were clutched a few necessities: a toothbrush and some other toiletries that he'd been given. He juggled his things and his lunch, making several trips to the counter. I found him a plastic bag for his things, and his face lit up with delight! A plastic bag…

       The man engaged Doug in some conversation about his feet (demonstrating injuries) and his hand (awfully red and swollen). Doug gave him appropriate sympathy. Later, Doug and I mused about the fellow's condition which gives the appearance of being high, but the more closely I studied him, the more I was thinking perhaps some brain damage is involved. He's covered in tattoos (the "prisoner earmark" teardrop in the corner of one eye), and as toothless as he can be.

       "Why would a person not get a set of dentures in lieu of all those tattoos," I asked Doug. Quite simply, he explained, because in prison tats are free.

NOTHIN' BUT CHANGE…

       Surely this shelter sees more change than most places or situations. The plupart of what I have to report today is scuttlebutt… but it's making Doug crazy, and I do get some of the brunt of that. He began with a typical hissy fit, but this time he wasn't stressed about getting the work done. He was flat-out angry because Miss Lillian had just called to tell him she hurt her back and couldn't come in on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday…

       Yesterday, she came in and did a bunch of work and said she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't her day to come in, but as the worm turned, she was only setting Doug up for the fall. "So, is she not feeling well, or did she hurt her back?" he grumped. Either way, we're not buying it, and he was feeling left high and dry. After about an hour, the boy pulled himself together. As he ruminated over the situation, he contrived a plan to enlist Dean to fill in. Dean, you may recall, always loved the kitchen anyway, so things will work out, but I would not work Doug's job for 9 bucks an hour—it's just criminal.

       The big, big director of the institution is leaving, and will be replaced in a week or two. Doug is looking forward to the new fellow who seems to have better ideas for the shelter. The old director has moved out of his house, and reports got back to Doug that the place was too nasty for human occupancy. Just shows to go you: a person can dress up mighty fine and walk tall, while living in filth. Sigh.

       Last night's gatekeeper handed out 22 sack lunches, but only accounted for 7, so we had to make up the difference today. That rankled Doug's nerves. Oh, and the Crazy One who didn't eat ham or turkey (if we were watching) and who questioned the contents of her Twinkie is back. She didn't come to lunch, and I was disappointed.

       Our 1-year-old has left, but the two teens are still there, and now we have a mom with toddlers, ages 2 and 3 year. The little girl is quite beautiful and pleasant. The boy cried for most of lunchtime. I noticed folks trying to comfort him. Babies shouldn't have to live in such places.

       My French trainer donated about 40 pounds of canned goods for the shelter, so Doug asked me to make soup. I could have made soup 2 or 3 times! I filled a huge pot with vegetables, beef, sausage, chicken, tomato sauce, and mystery ingredients, and a smaller pot with just chicken and rice soup for those who won't touch beef or pork. And you won't believe this, but a good-looking young man came to the counter late (among the homeless) and turned down everything we had! NO MEAT! He's a vegetarian. Period. "Don't you want some fruit cocktail?" I asked. No, he didn't. When he realized that he had just shot himself in the foot, he took the fruit and a roll. This is nothing but "control." These people find themselves without control of their lives; but, what they eat, they can control because our "government policies" dictate that we honor every person's "beliefs." This has nothing to do with religion.

       One of today's pre-release took the chicken soup when I was honest, "There might be a tiny bit of beef in the vegetable soup."

       "Oh, that would be very bad!" he said.

       Really? Why? Would he swell up like a toad? Turn into a prince? Go to Hell? Yes, I'm tired, and I'm ranting. It is what it is.

       Mr. Huggy has been given the position of "head social worker." He was only a volunteer; he has no degree; he... well, he did "save" that one pretty woman a few years back, so she could swindle him out of his cash. I mean, he's inept, and this is a homeless shelter! So now Huggy is too wrapped up in his position to go to the town's food bank and pick up supplies from there, meaning we have no goodies. Nothin'.

       At least Doug picked himself up and will sally forth—good man that he is. I did offer to come in and help him this week, but he didn't want to impose.

       We have a volunteer's sign-in sheet listing the date, name, and hours worked. For weeks now, there have been only two of us: the gal who came at Christmas and swore she was dedicating her Saturdays to the place forever (and followed through), and me.

       The Christians won't come to the door if Miss Lillian is there; they just drop the breads on the back porch. I'm telling you: it's a sad state of affairs. God help those who are obliged to take a bed there.

EASY BREEZY JUNE 1

      It's cloudy here today. The back door was open and a chilly breeze was blowing through the kitchen when I arrived. Doug had pizza on baking sheets. Fries and fruit were planned for the sides. There were 45 sack lunches in the fridge and a box full of PBJs already made. Eventually, he decided that I could make up 12 breakfast sacks (bagel, jelly, plastic knife, two granola bars, and a soda). Beyond that, there was little for me to do before serving time. I did find a large storage tub of goodies with melted candies in the bottom. All the gum packages were sticky, so I clean it—and them.

      As for the pizza, it was the good kind, but still there's never enough product on it, so I got some shredded mozzarella, and we piled it on. The pre-release got pizza, fries and fruit, with gum and a candy car. About 5 minutes before we were ready to serve, an enormous fellow came to the counter to take one of the two plates I had set forth. "We're not ready," I told him. He eyed the food and argued a bit. I stood my ground. He told Doug that there was a new boss in the kitchen. "No," I said, "Mom's here."

       Eventually, I had enough plates on the counter and I called Gatekeeper to announce lunch. They were all in good spirits and ate heartily.

       Before calling in the homeless, we hid what was left of the pizza and fries in the warming oven, and we put more than a dozen plates of leftover spaghetti and meatball dinners on the counter. When those had all been taken, we began serving out the remaining pizza and fries. Eyes were rolling all around the dining room. Folks began coming to the counter for "seconds," specifically pizza and fries. Many of their spaghetti dinners were simply abandoned.

       The bitty baby and her mom have moved out. The 1-yr-old was at lunch, as was her 9-yr-old cousin and the two teens. They each got something special. I went into the cooler to get some cheese and turkey for the baby. It took a minute or two. When I opened the door to step out, poor Doug was standing there and gasped, "Oh, Miss Joy, you scared me! I've looked all over for you!" Nice to be missed.

       When the flurry was over, and all the diners had left, a wispy little blonde came to the kitchen and introduced herself as our new community-service "volunteer." Seems she tried her hand (the one and only time…) at shoplifting, but not being able to pull it off, she had waved to the security cameras to come and get her. They did. She's about 21 and quite full of herself—spoke of the many world religions which convinced her that there isn't any "right" one, and how she'd spent all last year traveling the U.S. "Why not Europe?" I asked. Too expensive… all of her relatives live in the U.S. As for working off her service hours, she'd first signed up for the animal shelter, but when she discovered that service meant poop scooping, she asked for reassignment. Kids.

       Doug put the child to work sacking up all those PBJs. She was happily occupied when I left.

       Nothing to do about MY time at the shelter today but smile :)