TURKEY DAY TAKES A LONG TIME

      Doug and BOB were deboning a freshly cooked turkey when I arrived. They said it was freshly cooked, but to me it had that "old bird" smell. There was a 2-gallon pot of turkey gravy on the stove, and by dinnertime I know a big pot of green beans had been put on—it's a Sunday ritual.

       For lunch, Doug had made "the soup" all by himself, from a concoction of leftovers. It looked good! He was also heating a large pot of canned beef stew. On the side, we were serving little prepackaged containers of applesauce and deep-fried chicken patties on buns. BOB and I had little to do, but we managed to look busy most of the time.

       On my way to the shelter, I noticed a warning light on my car's dashboard, so I took the owner's manual with me to the kitchen, to research the issue. It was about the tires, air pressure… I'm a woman, forgive me. Doug pointed beyond the kitchen window and said, "You can take it to Firestone, just over there, and they'll check the tires for you." So I did. As I turned the corner from our street to the main street, I watched a man make his way up the sidewalk and seat himself on a low concrete wall. He had a walking stick and a carpet bag. A carpet bag! It was as if he'd walked out of another century—a timeless person with timeless troubles—and it hurt my heart.

       After the nice fellow at Firestone corrected my tire pressure and gifted me with a gauge, I drove back to the kitchen, and I saw the homeless man still sitting on the little wall.

       "Doug? Can I give a sack lunch to a guy down the street?" I asked.

       Doug's eyebrows came down in a frown. "Is he wearing a hat?"

       "They all wear hats," I argued.

       "That man's crazy," Doug said. Then he gently gave me permission to take a sack lunch from the refrigerator.

       Life's surprises are endless, and the good ones are always best, but I wasn't expecting a good one as I drove back down the street and stopped my car in front of the man sitting on the little wall. I took the sack lunch over to him and asked, "Would you like to have a sack lunch?"

       The man's eyes were clear, his voice was strong but soft, and his speech was articulate. He didn't need a sack lunch because (because) he'd just had a good breakfast at the other shelter nearby.

       Thinking he was not looking ahead far enough, I asked him if he might have a friend who would need a sack lunch, and he said yes. He said he was going up the street to the park (where they hand out food on Sundays), and he was pretty sure somebody would make good use of the sack lunch. Other than needing a shave and some teeth, I found that man to be perfectly normal (if not better), and it's probably good for the others there that he's in the homeless community…

       Such thoughts never occurred to me before, and that was my first time to approach a homeless stranger on a sidewalk; so, I was surprised and pleased to see so much strength in the man. Broken heart all better.

       Back at the shelter, we made up plates for about 16 pre-release and 25 or so homeless. Again, there were more children "at lunch" than the number who officially live there. The pretty little chub and her younger sibling came to the counter about an hour before lunch and asked for FOUR sack lunches. No, we don't hand those out on a whim. Those are for folks to take to their jobs. So Doug denied the child. I stepped in and reminded her that lunchtime was not far off. I gave each of the children a pack of gum to tide them over. Then I reminded the little girl that if she ate too much food she would not be healthy. I told her that to be beautiful and healthy would be perfect, and that she already has beautiful. She didn't understand. Her eyes glazed over with a lost look that belied any appearance of understanding. The children had been sent by their grandmother, but having been denied, they left with solemn faces. They don't live there, you understand. We don't know how they have a "family room" with privileges when they don't officially live there. Don't get me wrong: I would never deny anyone shelter or food, but when we see folks abusing the system, it rankles us.

       Doug had a Thanksgiving Day story about a tiny young man who first appeared at the shelter on that day. The fellow ate a meal and soon came back for another, and another… and another. Around mid-afternoon, Doug was asked to bring a mop to the central hall where the young man's many meals had gotten the better of him. So I watched the man carefully today, as he took a lunch plate and asked for just one extra sandwich. Humans cannot store up for winter, but they can surely try.

       I was well prepared for all of the "surprise" children, including the infant who got the "first words" book. Five kids in all—only two "staying" there. And that reminds me: One of the mothers took up a long conversation with BOB about where he's "staying." In their culture, one does not "live" at a place—one "stays." It seems that they both have long family histories of staying on the same street. In their 40s and 50s, they declared with surprise that it's a small world …after all.

FROM TOO MUCH… TO NOT ENOUGH

      It was sad to leave a half gallon of soup uneaten last week, but today Doug said that Miss Lillian had served out that soup on Monday and Tuesday! And the good times rolled on from there: BOB was slicing hams, I was to make the soup, and several young teenage girls had shown up at the shelter one day last week with bags of canned goods. They brought about six bags, and it was obvious that the girls had chosen things they like: peanut butter, spaghetti O's with meatballs, canned corn and carrots, and Vienna sausages. Oh... that reminds me.

       When I went to the pantry to get some more canned goods, there was a little man on the floor in our foyer, his back against the wall. You may recall that people may use that foyer for warmth, if they've no other shelter. He was curled tightly into a tattered, dirty blanket, seeking warmth, shelter from the rain, respite from pain, a place to sleep—all of the above? His head was covered with a knitted cap, and his face was hidden. It hurts to look at "them," and I took my pain back to the kitchen with me.

       I put a can of Vienna sausages, a little box of raisins, and some other small things in a plastic bag. Doug and BOB were busy, and for a few minutes they even left the building! I thought it to be the perfect opportunity to gift the huddled man with some nourishment. I'd already mentioned him to Doug, and I was TOLD that we DO NOT FEED THOSE PEOPLE.

       It must have been written all over me, as I pressed the issue, because Doug knew exactly what I was wanting to do, and he emphasized that giving food to those people was like feeding a stray cat—you never get rid of it. I stopped arguing with him; after all, I've been told that "the greater good" doesn't always cover everybody.

       Then Doug surprised me. "If you can give it to him with nobody seeing you, that'll be okay." There had been another fellow in the foyer earlier. So I took my little sack down the long hall, holding my breath for the outcome. That tragic lump of humankind was lying down, completely covered by his blanket, and the sole occupant of the foyer. I nestled the little bag between his hands and his face, and prayed that he'd understand the sack was for him—if he wakes.

       Doug said to fill up the soup pot, so I did… again. Then Doug had the idea of making boiled eggs and cheese toast! So I did. And I found one bag of candies—enough for everybody to have a taste. BOB was a big  help, and it was serving time before I was ready, as usual. When the pre-release came in, their faces were nearly all new. One man is tall, old, feeble-looking, and somewhat toothless. His overall demeanor caught me far off-guard, so I asked him, "Are you a pre-release?" (Sometimes the homeless get confused and come to lunch at the wrong time.) Yes, he's a pre-release. Doug overheard me and said the fellow had caught him by surprise too.

      So last night, Doug texted that the same two young 'uns were living at the shelter, but this morning, a bright-eyed, very chubby 10-year-old girl came to the kitchen with her mother. I had packed my goodie bag expressly to provide for the two pre-schoolers, though there's always more in it. Still… I had removed a lot of things—including a "Baby's First Words" book. But the bag played "loaves & fishes" today. There was a lanyard with a hand sanitizer bottle attached to it (the 10-yr-old thought it was way cool). There was a teething ring for the infant. There was plenty of gum, and there were exactly enough tiny stuffed toys to cover the five pre-schoolers! I hope I never go so unprepared again! (P.S. Only two of those children are actually "staying" at the shelter. The other families were at lunch by hook or crook.)

       Lunch was a huge hit, and we served many second helpings. At one point, the pretty little chub came to the counter to ask for more. She was still chewing something, and it was not going down. I was beginning to have fear that she would choke when she finally swallowed and said, "Can I have another boiled egg?" Those things are dry, you know… I'm just thankful we didn't have any more eggs.

       Doug reported that Sweet One came by last week for a short visit, but looks horribly beaten up from his recent surgery. Still, it's good to know that he's mending. Also, the Christians came with their bread donation. Otherwise there's nothing else to tell. It's cold and wet outside; the shelter machine is in full swing again, and I enjoy being a part of that, but taking my pleasure from the pain of others is surely sinful.

       When I left, the food was all gone, and several latecomers were complaining bitterly that they were getting only sack lunches. It's true what they say about the early bird and the worm.

MISSED BY A MILE

       Doug says we have 26 pre-release and 5 new ones expected tomorrow! For today, that meant a very large pot of soup to go with the fruit and chicken salad. I raided the mystery box and accepted everything it offered other than evaporated milk, sauerkraut, and chili peppers. I found some fresh potatoes and celery in the big fridge, and Doug and BOB brought me many cans of vegetables from the front pantry. We had a huge pot of soup.
       Thirty minutes out from the first group, I went to the cooler for the chicken salad. We didn't have any. I offered to make boiled eggs or cheese toast, but Doug wouldn't hear of those. He caved in and deep fried the chicken patties he was saving for another meal.
       We were ready. It took all three of us to put lunch together, mostly because Doug spent the morning with his dinner prep, but in spite of flies in the ointment, lunch came together. The large group of pre-release and the certain hoard of homeless forced in from freezing temperatures would have a hearty lunch. I often wish I could invite others to our lunches, as I cruise through town on my way to the shelter. They're plying the streets with their backpacks and layers of clothing, but they've no place to go.

       However… in spite of the cold and our extensive preparations, few came to lunch… there was about a half gallon of soup left over. Still, those who ate it enjoyed it, and we served many second helpings. Doug said we could freeze it, but the freezer is full of Thanksgiving foods.
       Our Sweet One has been out sick for many days, and isn't expected back for another two weeks at least. Miss Lillian has been around… I didn't get any scoop on that. Of course, we can always count on BOB, and a woman I didn't recognize has worked every day this week in Sweet One's stead. I got the feeling she is or was a pre-release. She made sack lunches and PBJs. They're expecting 45 volunteers for Thanksgiving. Doug says he doesn't know where he'll put them all! I suggested that anything that needed scrubbing would be good use for extra hands—there's never enough time or manpower to wipe down all the surfaces to perfection.
       The little ones were at lunch, and I gave them toys and gum. They surely are good about saying "Thank you!" even when their mom is on the other side of the room. I'm coming to believe they'll be with us quite a while longer…
       Stay warm.
       

WELL, WELL, WELL…

      Doug and BOB left within 15 minutes of my arrival, but the Sweet One remained to prepare and serve dinner. Lunch was mine, and the makings were provided—a friend sent me with a dozen large cans of chicken/vegetable/curly noodles soup, and we had egg salad and fruit to serve on the side.

      For dinner, Sweet One was baking butterflied chicken breasts, spiced on one side and to be offered with mushroom gravy for those who want it. The standard Sunday green beans and a roll finished off that menu. By the time I left, shortly before 1:00, Sweet One had dished up most of his dinner plates in Styrofoam carryout boxes to put in the warming oven until serving time at 4:30 and 5:00.

       Both groups of diners were cheerful and hungry. There were several servings of soup and fruit left over, but no one was shy about taking seconds, thirds, and (you won't believe this) one man kept eating until he simply couldn’t hold another bite. He's just an average-size fellow, but they call him the Bottomless Pit.

       I especially enjoyed making a plate for a latecomer. He'd obviously overslept. "You want lunch," I stated with a smile. Yes, he did. So I poured up a bowl of soup for him and put the sides on the plate before setting it on the counter. He reached for it. "Wait," I said. And this always surprises me… he pulled his hand away and waited obediently as I placed a candy beside the soup bowl.

       This quiet morning with Sweet One gave me an opportunity to get to know him better. Our conversation segued into "the situation" at the shelter, and he jumped on the chance to express himself: the situation is no doubt much worse than anything I indicate in these little reports… and according to Sweet One there is only one person responsible for "the mess"—Miss Lillian.

       She has not been medically released to return to work, but she comes in three days a week and punches in for 4 hours. She spends those hours puttering about the kitchen, but not doing any heavy cooking. She does a lot of heavy complaining and whip cracking. While Doug whines about it to the head gatekeeper and others, Sweet One has very quickly reached the end of his rope. THIS, he says, is the week—tomorrow, in fact—that he's going to cuss that woman to hell and back if she so much as opens her mouth about how to or how not to cook or serve. He, too, has heard her bashing those "lazy, good-for-nothing" homeless people, and he says she even sat in the kitchen last week laughing at them because they wanted more food, and she wasn't going to give it to them.

       You may recall many a Sunday when I slipped food to them behind her back, just to stay out of the fray, but I'd do it even if it meant fray—what can she do to ME?

       I told Sweet One to hold his tongue! I advised him to ignore all of her instructions, cook and serve as he pleases, and wait the woman out. Given time, she'll implode. I believe that. Sometimes, you just have to let folks hang themselves.

       So there you have it: cheer, full tummies, and happy kids in the dining room, and a hornets' nest in the kitchen. Something's definitely shaking out, and it's taking awhile… but shake it will.

BRINGING IN THE SHIVERS

       We had a lovely snowfall Friday night—if inappropriately obliterating the PEAKING of our autumn leaves. Most of the snow is gone today, but it's cold, and the masses have gathered at the shelter—for shelter.
       Doug had some things to unload on me this morning. Miss Lillian had gone in last week and declared to the upper echelon that she'd never seen such a dirty kitchen in her life. In fact, after I'd been there 2-1/2 hours, it became clear that Lillian has been throwing Doug under the bus for many months, whether during her brief "retirement," during her brief "part-time" position, or now, as she makes plans to return after a brief illness. We don't understand her need to do that, unless she wants her full-time position reinstated…
      Meanwhile, a new part-time fellow has been hired, and I've spent time with him these past few Sundays. He's just the sweetest, most unassuming fellow—and caring. I don't know his story, but he surely has one, being past middle age and working such a menial job. His radio "at the house" broke this week, so he guesses he'll need to get another one. I sense in his telling about it that such a purchase must be made thoughtfully. These events bring out the thankful in me, and I need to have that brought out often.
       BOB and Dean have come to know each other, filling in together lately. The whole clan stands behind Doug—except for Lillian. The hierarchy also mentioned this week that a huge amount of donations had "disappeared," and that won't be tolerated. Only two people, to my knowledge, have helped themselves to the goods, and it's almost funny, but those are the two who try hardest to get Doug in trouble. What a mess!
       Today, I found 3 large crates (the size of banana boxes) full of beautiful yellow summer squash in the cooler. I cannot afford yellow squash unless I find it at the outdoor market in summer, but there it was, all free today, and not a soul willing to cook it. I brought home 5 squashes, but it didn't put a dent in the donation.
       Another large box was full of new potatoes (red & white) and bell peppers (red & green). I used a dozen of the little spuds and a few of the squash for my soup. Also in that box were 5 tiny turnips (I brought those home too). It was my house or the landfill.
       Just to give you an idea of the massive amounts of donated junk foods, imagine six banana boxes full of donuts, two filled with bakery cookies and cakes, two full of animal crackers, one full of last December's Moon Pies, and one full of candies and gum.
       It's SAD that the nutritious foods are not used because "we" are too lazy to prepare them, but the gooey sweets are embraced gleefully. Our 4-year-old's mommy wouldn't let me give her a candy because "she already has too much of that stuff!" Good mommy!
       You won't be surprised that Doug and I raided the main pantry for canned goods for my soup. I was intrigued with cans of "turkey meat in sauce," so I took a few of those, thinking they'd be almost like having chicken in the soup. Man! I popped the lid off of one can and saw what looked like dog food. It didn't smell any better either. Doug's taking it home for his dog… Oh, and the pantry was nearly bare. Doug says we no longer give bags of canned goods to the homeless who are walk-ins. Last week it was full; this week it is one hungry-looking pantry. Why don't we give the fresh vegetables and oversupply of donuts to the walk-ins? Surely, some among them would have a stove… you think?
       Still, we had enough assorted vegetables and chicken to make a fine pot of soup. Our 500-pounder declared it to be the best soup he'd ever eaten… and no, he didn't need his insulin at lunchtime…
       If we have any "fun" pre-release, they either weren't there today or they were too cold to be jolly. They came, they ate, they left. The homeless came en masse, and there are new children, so now we have at least four. They got their choice of bubbles or PlayDoh, and  gum. I noted with interest that the homeless wore their heavy coats and scarves to lunch, in the same room where I had to crack a window to avoid heat stroke. I guess that's like wearing your diamonds as opposed to leaving them at the house, at risk of theft.
       Doug spent most of our time together scrubbing down everything he could. The bread box was scrubbed. All the spice bottles and their box were scrubbed. Lillian had fussed at the new part-time fellow last week for leaving the salt box on the shelf over the stove, while he was cooking and using it. She wanted that salt put away when it was not being shaken into a pot. I dunno, but something is amiss here, and I'm really happy to have a day job that doesn't include "the powers" at the shelter.
       Doug gave me the distinct feeling that he would prefer making the same wage at McDonald's to working under such stress, so I must wonder how much longer he'll kowtow to the bizarre system of this environment.
       Feels like change is in the wind again.