The social system was a bit
unusual in the kitchen today. Doug was working on dinner prep, and his
often-handy volunteer fellow was "hanging around," as he does best. I
had opportunity to get to know that fellow better: he's disabled because of
numerous strokes; he's only 50 but looks younger; he's overweight but says he's
lost a lot; oh, and I think he's the one with 11 children and 17 grandchildren.
But he's nice, and if I ask him to help with anything at all, he will.
Doug said my job today was to
make the soup, so he and I took a large sack and went up to the pantry. A
single lost soul had fallen out on one of the plastic cubes in the foyer. His
hat covered his face, and he lay on his back with his feet dangling. Just
looking at him gave me a miserable feeling. We passed a long rack of coats
outside the pantry door. "Don't touch those," Doug said, "there's
been a bed bug situation, and the news media came last week to report on it."
I asked about the health department, but there was no word on them.
As Doug and I exited the
pantry closet, we noticed that the man had moved. He was lying face-down on the
floor, in the far corner, near a bathroom door.
Doug asked Gatekeeper if she
wanted him to get the man up, but she said, "No. I've already had to move
him once today; it's no problem."
I think it must take an
enormous amount of chutzpah for a young woman to make a grown man get up off
the floor—not knowing his mental or physical state. But she says he's harmless
and easy to handle.
The soup pot was again filled
to the brim, and I had plenty of ingredients (at least 26 cans of vegetables).
I added some water, and then I cooked a package of brown rice mix and one of
ramen noodles together in another pot. When those were done, I added them to
the soup. Too, I asked Doug for okra today. He gave me all I wanted, but didn't
think the breaded, frozen okra would do. I knew better. Maybe the best pot of
soup ever… ain't it great that they can keep getting better?
Another honest-to-God
volunteer made the PBJs today. He used to live there! I vaguely remember him,
but there are so many, and they change so often. Anyway, he has work now and an
apartment, so he comes back on his day off to "give back." I think
he's a first, and I've seen him there numerous times lately, so I think he
might stick.
BOB didn't show up, but Doug
looked for him all morning.
Mr. Huggy is said to be in
hospital again. Miss Lillian is apparently there on certain days (one of the
volunteers made it well known that he NEVER comes on any of those days).
Someone also wondered aloud why the Styrofoam plates keep disappearing. In many
ways, not much has changed. Doug told me, as he has many times, of a better job
opportunity he's found. It's just a matter of time before he slips through the
shelter's fingers.
The pre-release were a
formidable group and a happy one. They were almost giddy about having seconds
of everything (chicken salad and fruit on the side). They were thankful and
kind.
The homeless, too, were of
good cheer and ate very well. Near
the end of their mealtime, the grandmother with the two children came in, and
today they seemed "normal," not hanging back. I was happy to have
an opportunity to give them stuffed toys, crayons, and a coloring book, all
scrounged from the thrift store yesterday.
Our last straggler was too
late for chicken salad. He looked sad about that. I offered to make him a
chicken/turkey/cheese sandwich, and he accepted. After he'd eaten, he came to
the counter and thanked me for the sandwich. "Nobody else would have done
that for me."
why?
So the other day, as I drove
toward town, I saw a tall, strong-looking man with a thick white beard, walking
away from town. He'd come about 6 miles, and I don't know how far the next
shelter might be, but I imagine perhaps 15 miles or more, so he was on my mind
a lot. I see many of his kind along my road, and I always wonder where they are
going. He had on warm clothing, he wore a large backpack, and he carried a
strong walking stick. My curiosity got the better of me, as my eyes wandered
through the homeless in the dining room. One "old," worn-out fellow
with a thick beard impressed me as someone who could answer my questions. So
when he came for more soup, I asked him about the men I see walking along the
highway, "Where are they going?" He was bursting with information,
but our tête-à-tête was interrupted, so I asked him to come back when the line
cleared, and he did.
He was eager to explain the
system wherein those walking homeless survive. Sometimes, he says, they have a
blood disease or other disease, and they can't stay at a shelter. Sometimes
they just don't want to. Apparently, it's easy enough to get meals, but lodging
is another issue. These men, I was told, walk that highway until they are well
out of town, and then they veer off onto trails into wooded areas. They mark
trees, so they'll know how to get back out. Once in the woods, they make
themselves a little camp for the night, and they build fires when it's cold. He
went into great depth to explain how the ashes stay warm, and a fellow can just
add wood in the night, to keep from having to go "ffff, ffff, ffff"
again. We didn't get into "what if it's pouring rain," but maybe I
can pin him down on that next week. I have a feeling he's going to be there a
long time.
He asked if I was married, and
shamelessly admitted that he likes to go out and jitterbug from time to time—drink
a little—maybe even smoke a little pot… He told me his name (all of it) and
asked me mine. He gave me his age (which I assumed to be close to mine), and I
told him I was in 7th grade when he was born. "Oh, that don't make no
matter," he said.
So I guess all the good ones
really aren't taken, if you're not
looking for a fellow with teeth or employment or housing.
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