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.