THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO LUNCH

      It's warm today! Most of the ice and snow melted away while I was at the shelter—ice and snow that has clung fiercely to the ground for a week. No love lost!

       My first clue that something was amiss this morning was that mine was the only car in the back parking lot. Mr. A. let me in, cheerful as always, and soon I came to understand that Doug had been there but had left "sick," and wouldn't be back today. I'm thinking Doug needed the day off and just came in to make sure the kitchen was in good hands… and it was.

       Helpful Guy is still there, but to my surprise, his annoying habits were nowhere to be seen—as if somebody'd had a talk with him… He was "normal," and helpful in a good way, tho other than mopping the dining room, taking out the trash, and checking off names, I didn't see him doing anything else—he doesn't work with the food, and that's okay with me!

       Mr. A. had a sack of canned goods ready for me to make soup. It was a very different soup than usual—kind of brownish… But because I know what was in it, I know it was good. We even had a few requests for seconds. On the side, was our customary chicken salad and fruit cocktail. As I prepared my brew I listened to stories of this week's shelter events. Many were said to be sick and wearing masks. The "she-man" (think last year and pink crocs) still has a bed there, but doesn't sleep there and only comes for meals. None among the kitchen folk understands the arrangement. Helpful Guy was trying to connect him/her with a body found in the river some time ago. When the kitchen help start talking, it can go anywhere, and gossip is so captivating! Also, Crusty Old Broad was seen taking the she-man into the kitchen to help serve meals! On top of that, "the inspector" is coming this week, the residents have been extremely slovenly, and Dean (the caretaker) was given no warning.

       I hadn't seen Dean in months, but today he came thru the kitchen twice—just long enough to hear about the upcoming inspection and to grouse loudly about it. I had to give him a Beanie Baby to calm him down.

       The crowd was predicted to be small because the weather is nice, but you know last week it was small and the streets were icy. The pre-release numbered about 13. The homeless residents numbered about 19. To my delight, the little 14-, 12-, or 11-year-old girl was there, and I was ready for her. When I offered this pig across the counter, she squealed with surprise. She jumped up and down, thanked me warmly, and left the counter bouncing. I will make special efforts this week to find something just as appealing for next week.

       Only one person presented with a face mask, and she pulled it down, to talk to me. I asked her to please put it back up. She was so queasy that she could only tolerate the fruit cocktail, but if we had an orange, that would go down even better. We never have oranges… I did find a banana for her later, and she seemed pleased to have something to take back to her room. I hope she took all of her germs too!

       Because there were BBQ plates left from yesterday, we had food to carry over, and the guys assured me it would be served out this afternoon and evening when folks come for a snack.

       I was exhausted when I left, but it's always a good tired, and I hope all of your tired this week is the good kind too.

NINE DEGREES?

       Do we need a protractor or compass to figure this out? No. We need a thermometer, and we need only to set it outside—that is what we awoke to this morning—that and no power.
       I must tell someone why we had no power. Be a pal and listen. There is a high-brow condo complex across the road from where I live. The grounds that border the road have a 35-yr-old row of pines that are gnarled with vines and brush. In my town, LAND belongs to the owners all the way to the pavement of every road. There are no rights-of-way. So when a landowner is negligent, there is no recourse. Case in point: Last night, a fierce wind blew over yet another tree from the fancy property. The tree fell in the road, taking a power line with it. The power company (and more than three police cars came to remedy the situation (with taxpayer dollars), and the negligent property owners are scott free, as usual.
       So I put on thermals, top and bottom, heated my car for 20 minutes, and scurried out early to the shelter kitchen where I knew it would be warm. BOY, was it warm in there! Mr. A. and Helpful Guy were making sack lunches and cleaning. Soon, Doug came in and gave us the weather report—wind chill "minus 20." I knew it was cold!
       Doug had been up all night with a sick child, and by the end of the shift, he too was not well. I just hope he didn't share that bug. He did whip up a fine meal for the residents: scrambled eggs, biscuits, applesauce, and sausage gravy. He gave me permission to make "just one pan" of corned beef hash with poached eggs. That didn't take long, and I spent more than an hour making sack lunches with Mr. A. We made about 50… enough to last 2 days.
       Serving was the most tedious event I've attended at the shelter. The biscuits had to stay in the warming oven; the sausage gravy had to stay in the pot on the stove; and plates could not be made up ahead of time because… some people don't want gravy on their biscuits, and some don't want eggs… the permutations went on forever. On top of that, I was told to give small portions of the eggs.
       The pre-release group was small—maybe 8 people. We have a new gal among them. Doug says she's a kleptomaniac and not to leave anything of value (especially credit cards) where she could get it. I said, "Doug, that's not a kleptomaniac, that's a thief!"
       "Yeah," he said, "and she spent 15 years in prison for it!"
       The resident homeless group was also smaller than any of us expected. I don't know where they went in such bitter cold. However… the "little girl" who is sometimes said to be 14 and whose mother says she's 11, and who is listed on the roster as 12 came to lunch! I grabbed the most delicious stuffed bear in my bag and a big "car cup" of gum and presented them to her excitedly. The child was ecstatic! While she ate, the bear sat by her plate, and the gum was nestled between its arms. Good times.
       I was there more than 3 hours, and SO glad to get out! It was hot, we had too much "help," and tensions run high when Helper Guy is around. He often appears to be jesting, but there's an undertone that makes me awfully uneasy. Doug is going to tell him to find someplace else to go on Sundays; he, too, feels the aggravation.
       Thanks for listening. You faithful readers surely save me a lot of money on therapy!

RUNNIN' NEKKED IN THE FRONT YARD

      We had us a kitchen full of workers today, with Mr. A., Helper Guy, Doug and me. Doug shoved the soup pot at me and indicated that I was to fill it, handing me the key to the pantry. Mr. A. made sack lunches, and Helper Guy followed me down the hall to help me carry the canned goods back to the kitchen. He's quite an amusing fellow, never silent, and quick witted. If I heard one quip about being a white woman today, I heard a dozen. I was clearly outnumbered—and then he started calling me "Mother." We were knee-deep in laughter.

       Having been told that we have a young teen girl there, I took a big, beautiful teddy bear that I've been saving for special. I put it under the serving counter near the cracker box. And I actually saw this child come to the dining room with her mother early in the day, just for water or coffee. Her mother is not rowing with both oars, has been in and out of this shelter numerous times, and drives Doug slap up the wall with inappropriate requests and comments—she wants special. We don't have special, and we are not a full-service café…

       The soup was extra good today! I was going to make use of a can of beets, hiding it in the soup, but Mr. A. tossed it out when my back was turned. Later, as he ate the soup, he carefully picked out all of the chickpeas.

       On the side, we had our death-in-a-tub chicken salad, crackers, and apples that I painstakingly cut up. The canned fruit supply was low.

       The pre-release group numbered maybe a dozen. They ate well and were fairly quiet. It's a gorgeous day, and that kept a lot of folks from coming to lunch—they had better places to be. The resident homeless numbered around 18, but there were no children. Those who came ate very well! I didn't see my "old fellow" with the scruffy beard. The other old man (the one who has "methed himself up" pretty bad was at lunch. He's so battered, and so much younger than I.

       Early in the day, a black fellow came to the kitchen for coffee and announced to Mr. A. that he wasn't taking any food from any WHITE people (speaking of Doug). Mr. A. was most unhappy with the fellow, and spent some time plotting a comeback.

       Then there was the big fuss that filtered from the Gatekeeper all the way back to the kitchen about some squatters who were using our front lawn. Mr. A. and I went out to see, especially to see the "little old lady" among them who was showing out (that's Southern for making a spectacle of herself—among other definitions). To our disappointment, the woman was not around when we got to the front.

       As we neared the end of the 2nd lunch period, Mr. A. reached under the counter for more crackers and came upon the stuffed bear. He grabbed it and held it to his chest. He LOVED it! He wanted it. "Can I have it???" he asked excitedly. Yes, of course. Then he held it out to the last diners and presented his new roommate—no trouble, no needs, no feeding or walking—just lots and lots of love. I guess for him, it's a  puppy—a perfect one.

       My 3 hours were ended, everyone was fed, and I started to disapron when I saw the men making up the dinner plates. I still had lots of energy(!), so I stayed and helped with that. The kitchen phone rang, and I heard Doug saying, "You're kidding! You're kidding!" It was Gatekeeper, calling to announce that the "little old lady" had disrobed from the waist up, and was making quite a stir on the front lawn.

       Oh! And the big cheese got wind that Doug was shopping for other jobs. He got a nice raise last week! I told you they'd wake up someday, and it's so gratifying that they woke up before they lost him.

       See you next time; keep your shirt on.

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…

…the more they stay the same. Doug had a gigantic pot of his potato soup on the stove, and it was full of fresh, diced potatoes! Usually, it's just made from potato powder and milk, but this pot was hearty. To appease me, he asked me to make a little pot of vegetable/chicken soup. We served chicken salad and fruit on the side. For dinner he was making deep-fried breaded chicken breasts, green beans, and rice.

       Mr. A. was busy making sack lunches; "the helpful one" was not there, and we appreciated not having the help. If BOB came today, it would have been after 1:00, and I forgot to tell you I saw Mr. Huggy last week. He's been in hospital with gastrointestinal issues that you don't want to hear about either.
       Because the deep fryer was in use so much, the large overhead fans were running most of the morning, and the rice steamer was too. Either of those is enough to drown out all other noise, so there was little room for light banter.

       Doug said that two of the guys who work there regularly "got into it" one day last week, right there in the kitchen. Thankfully, it was only words, but when Doug tells a story and demonstrates how he stealthily avoided physical contact, it's just plain funny.

       Of our diners, several stood out. Among them were a 72-yr-old man who looks much older  because of meth, a silver-haired short paunchy fellow who is said to have been a mafia head (and looks the part), and a child. I didn't see the child until I was about to leave near 1:00. He was in the dining room with his parents. All were well dressed. They were not there to eat, but to visit. According to Doug, the father is a pre-release but doesn't eat there because "they have money." He has done time because he embezzled money from a bank, and didn't I remember that story? Nope. So they "have money" and don't eat at the shelter.

       The pre-release who brought a friend last week (not allowed?) brought him again today—it's his brother. They've both served time, and the brother has those tattooed tear drops at the corners of his eyes, indicating having served two sentences. Those can also indicate having committed murder or having been raped in prison. These brothers also have a sister  and parents who've served time; I think Doug said it was a family business…

       The scruffy fellow who thinks I'm special was there, but unusually quiet today. And our bottomless pit, the disabled guy who is always so neat and dapper but had a brain tumor… he ate and ate and ate, as always. There's something about his system that allows him to hold vast amounts of food but never gain weight. He's a pleasant one to have around—always cheerful.

       We have a very large woman resident who uses a wheelchair. Doug said they had a fire drill last week, and the woman got out of her chair and ran outside where she began to yell, "help!" Doug asked one of the head honchos if he should help the woman but was told, "only if you want to hurt your back." Sad.

       Late into lunch hour, Gatekeeper brought a young woman to the kitchen to get her started on some community-service hours. Mr. A. put her to work making PBJs. She said it was fun…

       The candy bins (two!) are well fixed, and again I brought home enough to hand out little candies to every diner for the next two or three Sundays. It's apparent that feast and famine can both be depended on to visit the candy bins, so I'm stashing it away.
       today's chuckle: The stove repairman refused to bring the replacment part on Thursday because Miss Lillian was working that day; and that's the way it is.