BOYS, BASKETBALL, BABIES, & A BULLET

       Mr. A. was busy with dinner prep when I arrived. Doug didn't come in for another hour, so Mr. A. and I made PBJs (enough to use 4 loaves of bread). Then I cut up a pile of donated bananas to add to the #10 can of fruit. When Doug came, he made a big pot of his famous broccoli soup, and we put the chicken salad on the side. Meanwhile, BOB showed up, and our kitchen was bulging with workers. Helpful Guy was NOT there, and Mr. A.'s reason was a wacky one, but I will accept ANY reason for that man to not be there. Mr. A. set his new bear where he could see it all morning, having no fear that it would walk away.
       Those boys were so busy with tonight's chicken and their personal versions of this week's basketball games, that I found myself filling the ice bin, making the coffee, and filling all the plates. I didn't mind, but it was unusual.
       Our new mama came to the dining room mid-morning, and I gave her a musical lamb for the new baby. She is all smiles this week, and I assume postpartum suits her much better than being 9 months pregnant! We still have a 2-month-old with young mother, but I've never seen them. The 12-year-old came to lunch with her mother, and she was pleased with her goodies. It's nice to see her light up each and every week as if her gift is a first and only.
       The pre-release were in high spirits, and except for one (Doug says he's a very bad egg), I enjoyed their company. They ate well too. You'd never know, to watch them, that one of them jumped ship last Wednesday and was found 3 hours later with a bullet in his head. Dead.
       Doug's vacation starts today, so I won't see him again for a couple of weeks. Mr. A., Dean, and BOB will fill in, and probably Helpful… But next week is EASTER, and I'm ready with 4 dozen eggs to color for the occasion. This year, I will NOT allow the pre-release to fill their pockets with colored eggs! I will dole them out, one per diner. Too, I've amassed a large collection of stuffed rabbits, and anyone who wants to adopt one will have that opportunity. Big, burly men can be the softest folks in the group, I've noticed. Today, I gave the 12-year-old a lanyard to put her keys on. It was a freebie from a conference I attended. I had one other lanyard, and one of our men noticed the child's. "Do you have any more of those?" he asked. So I gave him the other one, and was amazed to see how quickly he attached his keys and stuff to his new lanyard. He strutted around the dining room, flashing it, for some time. Sadly, I hadn't any others, and there was demand for more.
       So this was such a fine day at the shelter, and I give Helpful most of the credit for that!
       Get your bunny on; we're plowing ahead toward Easter—my 5th anniversary at a place that feeds the morally impoverished, the physically and mentally poor, and me.

SMALL STUFF

      Lunch at the shelter today was without special event. I am not complaining. Mr. A. was at home and didn't feel well. Helpful Guy (pzzzt) was right there. Doug said Helpful has been TOLD to keep a low profile. My purse remains locked in the car, and the keys in my pocket.

       Just to give you an idea of how Helpful's brain works: around mid-morning our one wheelchair resident motored to the kitchen for some ice. "Can I have some ice for my cup?" she asked.

       Helpful said, "What?"

       "I want some ice for my cup," she repeated.

       "You want what?" he pushed.

       I was THIS CLOSE to snatching him bald! There's no excuse to taunt a sickly, old woman in an electric wheelchair, but that's Helpful's version of a sense of humor…

       We have a two new babies. One is 2 months old, very tiny (according to Doug), and the child of a very young woman. The other was born this week (I served his mother last week), and they will be returning to the shelter tomorrow from hospital. On Doug's advice, I left a musical wind-up plush toy with the wheelchair lady, to give the 2-month-old.

       The 12-year-old girl came to the dining room mid-morning, I assume in hopes of receiving her toy, because she did not come to lunch (no clue why). I gave her the toy, and she told me about school. It was the first time we've had a chance to chat. I like her.

       We had my soup, the death-in-a-tub chicken salad, and fruit for lunch. For dinner, Doug is making BBQ chicken, salad, rolls, and mashed potatoes.

       So we had a good day, all-in-all. Doug will be away on vacation for the next two Sundays. His request was initially denied because Miss Lillian refused to fill in for him, but the shelter managed to make other arrangements when Doug refused to change his schedule. The boy is beginning to man-up to those dweebs. I'm proud of him.

WHO'S THERE?

      The first thing I knew about today's experience at the shelter was that Doug wasn't there—mine was the only car in the back lot. Mr. A. was just opening the back door to take out some trash as I topped the steps. He was so cheerful! Helpful Guy was in there too… He had cleaned the dining room and eventually washed some dishes and made coffee. Boy, did I keep an eagle eye on him today! I left my purse in the car and kept my keys in my pocket. At one point, Helpful went into our pantry and just stood there, gazing at the shelf where I've always kept my purse…

       I gave Mr. A. another big stuffed bear, and we left it in plain sight, to see if it would disappear like the last one. Things always disappear at the same time as Helpful, though, and he was there when I left—so I won't know the bear story until next week.

       Doug was missing in action; i.e., "he'll be here in a little while." I was there 2-1/2 hours, and Doug never came, so whatever he was doing was known only to him and Mr. A. He wasn't on the job.

       Mr. A. was plowing through the making of two meals. He put those cardboard pizzas in the oven for lunch, but he sprinkled sausage, bacon and extra cheese on them, and I was impressed. He made French fries to go with the pizzas, and I opened two #10 cans of fruit. Lunch.

       For dinner, Mr. A. deep-fried chicken breasts. When the warming oven was full of those, he whipped up a huge pot of mashed potatoes. Then he began to sauté fresh baby asparagus. Honey! That stuff was awesome. Some dear soul donated a whole case of it, and Mr. A. was aiming to prepare it all (or I would have borrowed one of those little bundles…).

       Our little girl was there, and she chose a delightful stuffed seal to go with her "car cup" of gum and her St. Patrick's Day Beanie Baby. I know; I spoil her. And about the child: Helpful was complaining bitterly that the child's mother lets her sit smack in front of the big television, and the child "wears glasses!" So he thought the mother was not parenting properly. If I had to guess, I'd bet the child is doing whatever she can to "escape" this place that she must call "home."

       Mr. A. and I put together nearly 50 sack lunches before serving time, and overall I stayed too busy to do a lot of bonding with the residents. It did seem as if we had an unusual number of grumpy folks, though; especially the very pregnant one.

       Rumor has it that the shelter might sell their property and buy elsewhere, creating separate housing for pre-release and homeless. Mr. A. is hoping for an opportunity to become the paid cook at the homeless unit. Of course, rumor is just that.

DON'T LOOK NOW, BUT…

       Part of the draw of the shelter kitchen is its constant change. While "the soup, chicken salad, and fruit" sound repetitive, change is the only constant. Today's kitchen staff was back to "the new normal," with Doug, Mr. A., Helpful Guy, and me. BOB refused to come in because he and Helpful clash (see? it's not just me), and we had no other "volunteers." Helpful read his paper in the dining room when he wasn't washing dishes. He didn't even hang over my work at the serving counter. Mr. A. was dragging, said he'd been up in the night with bad leg cramps, and went home long before we served lunch. Doug was dragging a bit too, and all because while winter is God's way of reminding us that we are not always in charge of comfort, daylight savings time is something we do to ourselves. The pangs of this change reached deep into the shelter today.

       FMI (For My Information), Doug says we cannot speak of Miss Lillian in front of Helpful because he tells her everything. Good to know. Also, Doug turned in his vacation request last week, but "somebody" took it off the prison honcho's desk before she could see it and gave it back to him saying, "You'll have to get Miss Lillian's OK on this."

       Of course, that sent Doug into a small rage: What full-time manager asks a part-time worker to approve his vacation? That's okay. Doug will resubmit it next week, handing it directly to Mdm. Prisonworks. Love watching these mini-soaps unfold.

       Both lunch groups were unhappy with the time change, and many were late. We served 16 pre-release and 14 homeless residents, tho there are probably 50-some people living there. I know that because near the end of the second lunch period, the fire alarm went off. No one moved. They wanted to eat, they couldn't smell or see fire, and it was difficult for them to hear Doug and me say, "Get OUT!" Our voracious eater (the smartly dressed fellow with brain damage) was seriously going after the food, even as I said, "I'll save it for you! And you can have more!" But he would not leave until he felt he'd scarfed up as much as he could.

       In the end, I was the last one out the back door. I didn't grab my purse or anything because, after all, the entire human contents of the building would be outside with me, thankfully, on a warm sunny day. We filled the sidewalk across the street. The coughers and hackers too… What a motley bunch, some in their pajama bottoms and many sporting myriad tats.

       It was at least 10 minutes before we heard sirens, but eventually, two mid-sized fire trucks rolled up, and eight or 10 firemen alighted and sauntered into the building wearing full gear to include oxygen tanks on their backs, with their hands clutching axe-like implements. I do love a uniform… but I swear one of those firefighters looked no more than 18… Grandsons are 18; not firefighters…

       Doug and Gatekeeper stayed close to the firefighters, leading them to the bathroom where too much steam had set off the alarm… and eventually bringing me the report. About 20 minutes later, the all-clear was given, and everyone returned to the building. Oh, and you should know, while we were outside, Gatekeeper passed a clipboard around the group of pre-release for each to sign.

       Our little girl is not well. She was well enough to stand outside with her mother, and I saw a pink fuzzy pig dangling from her hand. Later, she came to the dining room, and I gave her a new bear. Good times.

       During the hoopla, Helpful Guy disappeared. Doug tidied the kitchen while I served the latecomers. Then I went to the back to get my things. My purse was where I'd left it… but… the zipper was closed all the way. I had left the zipper open about 3 inches because I couldn't get a good grip on it earlier, and it was hurting my hands to try, so I just left it like that. Also, I had placed my car keys on top of my wallet (in my purse), so I was alarmed to find the zipper closed. Then I found the car keys under my wallet. Oh, sigh. Nothing to do but look, so I looked. GONE were the two 20s I'd received at my last stop late yesterday when I checked out at Wal-Mart. The ones were there, but those 20s are history.

       I began to moan to Doug, and we tried to piece together the puzzle. Naturally, we both want to blame Helpful. Doug says that while the man's efforts with serving breakfast on weekdays are appreciated, otherwise he's "as useless at tits on a bullfrog." We don't like him. He has an odd sense of entitlement that we don't have—and he was simply gone, after the alarm. Doug said, "He just left!" And I said, "I guess so; he's got money!" Then Doug remembered that the firemen had been in the kitchen too… looking all around… This is not how we want to think of our firemen. I just cannot go there. I reminded Doug that he and I had both been very busy making lunch and dinner and serving lunch, while Helpful had many opportunities to step into the back.

       We talked about setting a trap next week… but I think I'd rather just lock my purse in the car and keep my keys on me. No need to throw more money at the problem.

       So that was today's version of "feeding the homeless."

       Next month, I'll have been there five years, and it's been an awesome experience that I would not change. Also next month, I get to dye 5 or 6 dozen eggs for Easter Sunday. Those never fail to make a huge hit… as if the purple ones were grape flavored, pinks strawberry… Everyone is a child when it comes to dyed eggs. Me too.

WHAT A CROWD!

      Surprisingly, the crowd was in the kitchen! Mr. A. and the young woman working off service hours were making sack lunches. Helpful Guy was… um… well, when he wasn't trying to tell me "how" to set the plates on the serving shelf, he was reading a newspaper in the dining room. At least he was not in my face. Doug says he had a talk with him, to wit: "We need to be polite when Miss Joy's here."

       Around 11, another fellow came to work there, and I must assume he, too, is working off service hours, either as a public debt or to help pay his public housing rent. He was upscale and mature, compared to most.

       When you consider that three people are nearly too many in that kitchen, having six was almost a struggle. Doug assigned me to prepare his special potato soup. He gave me instructions and left me with the whisk. It was an arm-breaking task, but the results were so fine!

       We served tuna salad, chicken salad, and fruit on the side. There were only about 30 diners, and one of them told me that "half the people here are in the bed sick." He described it as an upper respiratory illness, but I do see a lot of green gills in there lately. Fruit seems to be the only thing some of them can get down.

       By 12:30 my back was throbbing, and my work there was finished, so I left the other five making a stockpile of sack lunches and PBJs for Doug's needs this week. He was one happy camper, getting a head start on the week. Last week, Doug and Mr. A. prepared some wonderful meals for Miss Lillian to serve out on Monday, but when she got there, she refused to serve them. "I'm not giving them that!" she scowled. I've heard her say that before. Then she made "meatloaf" composed of grounded beef on the bottom, ketchup in the middle, and cheese on top. No muss, no fuss. I think Lillian doesn't want "those people" to think she could prepare anything tasty, lest they ask for it again. Dealing with her provides the rest of the kitchen staff with days of gossip and entertainment.

       The only child at lunch was the young girl, and as promised I shopped for her last week. She was delighted with her new gift. 

       Miss Joy is tired.

This one was hard to part with.