SHALOM

     "and even when you say good-bye, you say good-bye with shalom"…

       My vacation is happening again. It was HARD to leave today. Bad-Ass-Tats was in full form and totally lovable. He wanted chicken and dumplings (after I figured out he was calling dumplings "pasta"). He gave me the verbal recipe and demonstrated the rolling out and cutting of the "pasta." I promised him that if he is still there when I get back, I'll make that for him. Everyone was happy. There were donated pans of rice and chicken (some sort of oriental dish). I took a picture of it with my new phone, but I'm too stupid to work the damn thing. I live for the day I get back from vacation and stuff this fancy piece of frou-frou in a dark drawer!

      So we served the oriental foods and leftover plates from yesterday. I put some applesauce and blueberry pie filling on the side. Doug asked me to make a small pot of soup, just in case. As it turned out, the food was nearly all consumed; nobody left hungry, and many stopped by the counter to say thank you.

       The wee children were there again, and again they enjoyed their gum, toys, and durt-de-durs. The games were on! When I told them I'll be going on vacation this week, and I hope they have a lovely home of their own by the time I return, they were sad. They're young enough to think they're already AT home. Sweet.

       Doug squeezed me to death, loves me dearly, will miss me greatly. He'll email. Ho boy, this is hard. In so many ways, I don't want to go, but I must go.

       So please wait for me. You can sign up for email alerts when there is a new blog, and when my journey is over later in the fall, God willing, I'll be back in my kitchen with my people. The email signup box is BELOW the "followers" box--and it's MUCH easier than being a Follower—takes 10 seconds and doesn't ask that you remember your password (WHO remembers THOSE?).

     Too, on the off chance that I find a service opportunity while I am on vacation, I will consider posting it here—hungry people are hungry people are hungry people. — Shalom

NEW MOON FIRE CEREMONY (A Native American Ritual)

      Doug was in his place this morning. He and my favorite gatekeeper were in the kitchen, and Doug was running a bunch of hams through the slicer that Dean pronounced "broken" last week. Not broken. Dean even said that Doug had never used it and wouldn't know how to fix it… yada yada yada… but none of that was true. Last week was just sour.

      THIS week was sweet! Doug began by ragging on me, "Miss Joy, I'm not helping you one bit. You're on your own; I have these hams to slice."

       Some of that was true, but it was nothing like last week. Doug had chicken salad in the fridge and plenty of fruit cocktail. The only thing I needed to invent was a third dish. Pickin's were slim. I decided on a huge pot of curly egg noodles and set one on to boil with a large chunk of butter in it. I put a lid on the pot to encourage boiling. Then I began to forage for the herbs. I wanted parsley and basil.

       Doug told me that we were going to have a fire drill, so again it was nice to be prepared for that. Then that little wispy blonde who's working off service hours came to make the PBJ sacks—poor little airhead. So there we were, all of us well occupied. The hams were sliced and Doug was putting out drinks and tidying the dining room. I still had my head in the spice cabinet, searching for the basil when Doug shouted, "Miss Joy! FIRE!"

       You know, those huge pots of buttery water will boil over if you put a lid on them… and the buttery water will cause the gas stove's flame to rise quite high. It was as high as a small bonfire.

       Doug turned off the burner and the flames subsided, but by then the fire alarm was blaring. We weren't sure if my fire had set off the alarm or if Gatekeeper had set it off, as it was time for that. Sadly, it was my fire. Happily, Gatekeeper had already alerted the fire department to ignore our alarm—or was that almost tragic?

       Airhead hadn't experienced one of our drills, so she got her purse and stood on the back porch. All I got was my sunglasses. Then we told Airhead to follow us across the street. Slowly, so slowly, the pre-release and resident homeless men emerged from the downstairs, and after quite a long while, a few women and children appeared in the parking lot out front. The groups didn't amount to much, and I'm betting a lot of folks just didn't come out. They are a motley crew—some in flannel pajama bottoms, one combing her hair, some rubbing their eyes from being awakened at 11:00. And I searched especially for Bad-Ass-Tats. I never saw him in the group on the sidewalk.

       When it was over, everyone returned to the shelter, and at 11:30 we began serving the pre-release. Bad-Ass was one of the first, and today he thinks he's hotter 'n a firecracker. He was flirty and talkative and had nothing bad to say about the food. Then I saw our other "Indian" come in, and I watched—oh, so intensely. The other fellow is much younger than Bad-Ass and a whole lot better looking. They greeted each other with laughter and some body nudges, like bumping shoulders. I was mesmerized. Then Bad-Ass began bragging (not to me, but to anyone and everyone) that he was the "Big Chief" and the other one was the "Little Chief." Their age difference alone verified that stance, no power play intended.

       I couldn't wait to get Doug alone and ask him about the Indian relationship. "Oh!" he said, "They're best friends!" Now isn't that just precious?

       Very late, a mother with two little ones, a boy and girl about 4 and 5, came to lunch. The chicken salad was all gone, but I fixed them up with BBQ sandwiches, pasta and fruit. Everyone got little candies today because the goodie bins are full again! And the little ones got a stuffed toy and bubbles and gum. They were so thrilled. The 4-year-old boy took the gum (not yet knowing that bubbles were in the offing) and said, "Thank you!" That was a first. I've had a very few children say thank you, but this child couldn't get it out fast enough or sincerely enough. Four years old. I told him Doug could refill the bubbles when they run out, but I surely hope they don't run out on a Miss Lillian day…

       I just love it when I can smile all the way home.

COOK IS WELL LOVED!

       Before I got out the door this morning, Doug texted to say he couldn't come to work; his kid was sick. He said Dean would be there, and I assured him everything would be fine! I even believed that myself. After all, long before Doug became a fixture, Dean and I were serving Sunday lunch and enjoying it!
       But things have changed. Doug IS a fixture now. It became more and more apparent as the morning progressed. Dean greeted my first request, "What do you want me to do?" with, "You can do anything you want to do, Miss Joy. I'm not making lunch. They can even have sack lunches."
       Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear.
       So I asked if I really could do as I pleased, and he assured me I could. The mystery box offered a half dozen new cans of soup ingredients. DEAN has a key to the pantry, and soon I had a whole SACK of soup ingredients! I told him I felt like a kid in a candy shop. The soup would be vegetable, except for a small pot into which I did not add bits of fried chicken left over from yesterday (we have a few vegetarians among the pre-release).
       There were a dozen plates of leftover fried chicken, corn, cornbread, and peas… so that gave us just a small edge over starting with nothing. Still, I made a HUGE pot of soup, and I found two fresh tubs of chicken salad in the big fridge and a large bowl of cold fruit cocktail. We served crackers on the side, and everyone got a small candy (because the goodies box had again been attended to—miracles do happen).
       Our pre-release group was downright grumpy today! Except for two cute guys who seem to like my pampering, the rest wore attitudes ranging from distant to sullen. Bad-Ass-Tats was the worst! And I'd been looking forward to "our time together." NO! He was NOT happy with his meal. "Is this all we get? You call this lunch?" Even telling him that he could have all he wanted did not change his 'tude. He wasn't in the dining room long, and I'm thinking he might be the person who left their plate on the table and walked out! That was a first for me.
       Even before they were called to lunch, a couple of the guys had tried to schmooze their way in. Dean and I stand together about that. "GET OUT!"
       Then during that lunch period, the homeless began the same schtick—first just one, then two, then another… "No! It's still not your turn and you must wait for the announcement." As I said to Dean, "WAIT FOR THE BEEP!"
       It's not that I don't want to serve these people, but when the plates aren't ready, there is no point in having them line up. Worst of all was that Dean truly did leave ALL of lunch to me. I had to design it, make it, and serve it—all 40 plates—all 15 extra bowls of soup, 10 extra plates of chicken salad, special-request "power sodas," more crackers, yet more crackers, gum for my girls, a Clorox-free rag to wipe soup off someones pants, more sodas, just an empty bowl please, and answers to questions such as "What's that white stuff?" That was the chicken salad. I explained that this particular chicken salad is known as "death in a tub" because it tastes so good and is so bad for you. The woman came back for more. Prisoners have this feeling of entitlement that I just don't get.
       Well… I hurt all over. I need to be sure to tell Doug that he was missed (the pre-release were obviously angry that their cook was not there), and that I've never fully appreciated how much back-up he gives me when I am "doing my thing."
       The Muddy Waters fellow was there mopping and helping out as needed, but not with food prep or serving. Still, I enjoyed seeing him. He's not cheerful today; rather, slow and downcast. He was limping up the sidewalk as I drove away, and I stuck my arm out the window and waved, knowing few people acknowledge him at all. What a sad place. We need Cook!

SOUP & THINGS

      Doug had all the stove burners in use when I arrived. He begged my forgiveness and said he was hurrying to get his dinner dishes prepped, so he could give me "my" stove. That called for an uh-oh.

       When I was able to get to the stove, Doug handed me a large pot filled with macaroni, macaroni with ground beef/tomato something, and a bit of corn. Miss Lillian had left it last Wednesday with instructions to feed it out "as soup" on Sunday. Sigh!

       I don't kow-tow to Lillian's directions anymore, but the food smelled healthy, and it was a good base—for something…

       After scooping off about 3 pints of the macaroni, I put the rest on the stove and added two cans of spaghetti sauce and a #10 can of Veg-all. The mix was thick and stiff. I asked for bullion (of any sort), and Doug directed me to a box of wee packets of "tomato-chicken" bouillon. I cut open a half dozen of those and added them to the mix, along with a cup of water for each packet. I mean… it was SOUP! Who knew?

       Doug ate two bowls of the stuff—but I never tasted it…

       In another pot, Doug made his famous broccoli soup (made with the potato buds base) topped with grated cheese.

       On the side we served crackers, applesauce, and one chocolate candy per plate. It was not the hearty, filling lunch that we usually have, but it was quite good, and we had enough to offer seconds and thirds. Plus, we had 15 plates of fried chicken from yesterday. There was food aplenty.

       Last week, I telephoned the new head honcho (still sight unseen) and introduced myself. I had two requests for him: 1) Now that Mr. Huggy's new duties come between him and fetching snacks from the food bank, would he (the new master) please call the food bank and tell them that I am approved to get those provisions? And 2) if I could find a playing piano for our dining room, would he allow one to be brought in?

       This new director of more than a month now had no idea about the piano. "What piano?"

       "The one in the dining room," I told him. "The peddle is missing and many of the notes just don't play. I asked about replacing it last year, but I was told, 'That piano is not to be touched! It's for church!' And, frankly, I can't see how it could be for anything since it doesn't play."

       Still, Mr. Big had never laid eyes on the instrument, and he declared that he'd have to look into it—maybe somebody's dearly departed grandmother donated it and it's sacred… he suggested. He said he'd get back to me. I never expect him to.

       So today, Doug says the goodies box got filled on Thursday! (It did). Also, he said that Mr. and Mrs. Director came to the dining room and took turns trying to play the piano. They declared that it doesn't play. Maybe now he really will get back to me… Doesn't this just take you back to the days when we needed a can opener?

       Both the pre-release and the homeless groups were unusually upbeat and ate very well. Only one child came—the 14-year-old—but she brightened my day with her cheer. Bad-Ass had a 4-hour pass, and to tell you the truth, I was disappointed that I didn't get to see him. When all was said and done, that Muddy Waters fellow came thru the kitchen with a sack of trash, and I was compelled to ask him, "You put any words down?"

       "Yeah! I done laid 'em down," he answered proudly.

       "Good man!"

       "Yes, ma'am!"