Who IS This?

      To my delight, again, only Doug and Mr. A. came to the kitchen today. Doug had placed the tall, more narrow pot on the stove, and I was told to make soup, but not too much. While I was digging through the mystery box, he changed his mind. "Make egg noodles with garlic and butter."

       "Can we have a big fire like last time?" I asked eagerly.

       Mr. A. didn't know about the fire, so Doug enjoyed replaying the story for him. He remembers it in greater detail than I, so hearing the story again was fun for me, too. ("New Moon Fire Ceremony" 8-17-14.)

       As I returned to the pantry for the egg noodles, the phone rang, and I answered it. A woman wanted to speak to Doug. Doug had his hands in raw chicken, so I asked the woman if he could call her back.

       That's when she rudely demanded, "Who IS this?"

       Before I could answer, I spotted a very large, very black roach on the floor. The lady on the phone could wait. "Mr. A.!" I yelled. "Kill it! Kill it!"

       But Mr. A. doesn't do bugs. No, he doesn't. He backed away. Meanwhile, Doug took off his gloves and came to the phone. While he took his call, I did what I had to do… and stepped on the roach. Mr. A. would clean it up.

       Our snooty caller turned out to be Miss Lillian. She wanted to ASK Doug if he would work for her on her day off… because she has realized that she needs to clear such things directly with him… because he's the kitchen boss. Wonders never cease, and I especially enjoyed being there to witness that one.

       So I made a pot of egg noodles and we served those with chicken salad. No, Death-In-A-Tub will not be back. Apparently, it's no longer available, and we are stuck with the green-pepper yucky stuff. Oddly, none of the diners complained. I sliced a bunch of tomatoes, and found some cookies and grapes to finish off the menu. The colors were especially bright and inviting. The last diner got the last plate—that's calling it close.

       The only young 'un at lunch was the 12-year-old, and she got her usual little stash of goodies. Again, I had an opportunity to speak to every one of my guests, and they are in good spirits today. There's still a lot of grousing among the kitchen staff about those "lazy people," but I simply cannot embrace as fact that "normal, emotionally healthy people" would choose to live in a shelter. They may look normal; they may have lovely manners; they may feed you a good line about their hopes and dreams and efforts, but that missing element always stops them just short of success.

       The guys and I made up some sack lunches, and I left, nearly 3 hours after arriving. The morning had gone by far too fast.