WHERE THINGS DISAPPEAR

      That shelter kitchen is not a safe place to put anything you treasure, no matter how easy it is for you to believe surely no one would take this! Yes, someone would take "this"—would, can, does and did—as we learned again today. Yesterday, I went by the shelter on other business, and I left two containers of bubbles for the teens. Mr. A. "hid" them in the pantry, so he could give them to the kids later. Later became this morning, and after exciting the kids with the prospect of getting bubbles, those bubbles were nowhere to be found. Three of us searched high and low. Nothing. It just gets a body down after the umpteenth lifting of things that are intended for the less fortunate.

       Yesterday, we learned that our new family "needs everything." This family consists of Boy 14, Girl 16, Grandma 60?, and Great-grandma 86. No mom, no dad. No wonder I thought "Mom" looked shop worn! So some of us gathered things and shopped yesterday until we had filled some of the family's needs: shampoo, soap, toothbrushes/paste, deodorant, Tylenol, and even a big sack of yarn and knitting needles & crochet hooks for the ancient one. She wanted those. Now she can busy her hands, and it makes my heart warm because I know how important that is for us gals.

       I put together a stash of fun stuff for the teens to enjoy in these hot, idle summer days—PlayDoh, crayons, colored pencils, sketch books, and some gum. For Boy, I had a funky multi-size screwdriver that I hope he enjoys, and a 6-bottle wine box I'd put hinges on, to put his treasures in. Yes, Girl was treated equally, but with different things. Those kids are so innocent and unassuming. I imagine their lives have always been blessed with less…

       Today, I took about 50 mini-skewers of olives/cheeses/cherry tomatoes. I also took a little bottle of olives with anchovies (hoping to see the man from last week). I didn't see him, but I did meet two other fellows who were interested in those olives. They both love olives, but one had never tried them with anchovies, and he was eager to do that. He said he liked them! The other fellow said his ex-wife used to serve those kinds of things… He ate a half dozen. Of those who asked for extra skewers of olives etc., most were tall robust men. Maybe it was the pepper jack cheese that spoke to them.

       There is no news on Miss Lillian, but she's still around. As for Mr. Huggy, on inquiry I learned that he "met a girl and moved away—out of town." Good!

       For lunch we served French fries and corn dogs, all deep-fried. I put my skewer offerings on the side, along with some Hershey's kisses. Yes, there was candy in the bins today—finally. I brought home enough to last another 2 Sundays.

       Meanwhile, I guess I'll be shopping for bubbles again.

DIGGING THROUGH THE TOYS

       Doug informed me last night that there is a new family at the shelter. Grandma is 86, Mom looks much older than she is, Boy is 14, and Girl is 16. The staff is very sad about this family's situation, but they are being cared for: the man who made a pass at Girl was promptly thrown out. I was itching to meet them, and when the doors opened for their group's lunch, Boy was the first one to the counter.
       "You must be Bobby!" I said. Seeing Girl right behind him, I handed him a rubber ball and asked, "Would you like to have this to throw at your sister?" He grinned at his sister. Yes, he would. Everything about the child's countenance says he's a very good kid, not shy, and not rude. More than anything, I want to see that family GONE next weekend. If that's not possible, I'll settle for having the pleasure of lifting their spirits.
       Girl watched closely as I gave Boy the ball… and a pen (with a little pull-out conversions chart)… and a tablet… and a pack of gummies. His eyes grew bigger as his hands filled with loot. Then I had the pleasure of offering Girl a pretty pen and a hard-bound journal (Doug and Mr. A. told me she'd prefer those to a stuffed animal). She was delighted! Now all her hopes and dreams would have a place to go.
       After lunch, Grandma came to the counter asking for a rag to wipe the table. I so did not want that sweet old soul wiping the table. She's 86! She looks older. Her teeth are in bad shape; her hands are gnarled; her nails are discolored and misshapen, but her spirit is calm. She came again to ask if we had another pen. Girl's pen, it was discovered, didn't write, and the child had run outside crying. When a 16-year-old dissolves in tears over a dry pen, this is a pain that runs much deeper than its circumstances indicate. Doug found a pen, and all was well I suppose, but the original pen was prettier; I had saved it from a conference I attended long ago—obviously too long ago. So that was the upshot of my rummaging through the toys last night, looking for things for teenagers.
       Yesterday I prepared fresh vegetables for today's diners: broccoli, cauliflower, grape tomatoes, summer squash, black and green olives, and baby carrots. No one got a lot, but the servings were colorful. One man wanted to discuss olives with me. Here at middle age, he'd never tasted a black olive, and he was surprised, having always assumed they tasted the same as the green ones. I was proud of him for trying them! I told him of some of the things that are stuffed in olives because he wanted to know why some had holes in them and some did not. Maybe next week I'll surprise him with a collection from my store's olive bar! Red, black, green, stuffed with assorted things, and some with pits! Yes, that would be fun.
       

SHORTS IN A WAD

       Yesterday, I got a bee in my bonnet  to make deviled eggs for the shelter. Two dozen eggs—less than four dozen halves. I'm not very good at getting the shells to come off neatly. All afternoon on my feet left me wondering why I ever entertained such an idea, but it was too late to turn back.
       On arriving this morning, I set the deviled-egg carrier on the work table and went to the pantry to put on my apron. By the time I returned, Mr. A. and Doug had sampled the fare. They tried to put the lid back on so I wouldn't notice, but they failed.
       Doug put me to work on a pot of soup that he'd started on Thursday. He said it needed to be "saved," just as I've been saving the new-nasty chicken salad. WHY am I always assigned a pot of soup that is mostly tomatoes? That stuff could pour itself, it's so strongly acidic. So I spent a long time literally spooning out more than a cup of chopped tomatoes… probably should have syphoned off some of the juice. Added two cans of chicken broth, a can of corn, a can of pintos, and 2/3 can of refried beans. Near serving time, I added a cup of elbow macaroni. I never did give it the taste test. Sometimes you just know the stuff isn't going to cut muster, and you can only hope the diners will slurp it up along with the sides, so their meal blends well.
       Mr. A. spent 2 hours bagging donated donuts. Doug taste-tested every variety. For a skinny rascal, he can pack away the donuts and never get busted. His favorites are "cream-filled" with birthday cake frosting. Talk about decadent!
       During the donut-bagging time, one of our pre-release wandered into the dining room and mentioned to Mr. A. that Doug's food is awful, and that she's so happy on those few days when Miss Lillian is there. You may recall that Mr. A. will NOT volunteer in that kitchen alongside Lillian… there is no love lost between those two… and Doug is the professional cook there. So Mr. A. let his guard down and wound himself into three or four knots over the comment. If he said it once, he said it a dozen times, "I HATE PEOPLE WHO AREN'T APPRECIATIVE!"
       I tried to explain that the woman's brain doesn't work like his, or that she was just looking to stir up trouble, or any number of silly things, BUT to waste his time and energy THAT ANGRY over a comment from a prisoner was not good. Mr. A. was not hearing me. In the end, and after more than 2 hours, he stepped onto the back porch, lit a cigarette, and seemed to let the matter go.
       You see, Mr. A. has been in circumstances wherein he found himself in need and greatly appreciative, so it's especially hard (impossible even) for him to accept other behaviors.
       We had no children today unless we count the 40-some diners from all walks of life and from all levels of dependence and independence. I looked out over the crowd of homeless residents and made note that some were well-kempt, others not so much; some were of good humor, others with flat affects; some wiped tables and emptied trash in a robotic fashion, others had more pep in their step.
       Everyone enjoyed the deviled eggs! I had put gourmet olives stuffed with garlic cloves on top of six or eight of the eggs, and it was interesting to see who wanted those. Most folks did not want an olive. Those who wanted an olive were excited to see that it was stuffed with garlic (special). It's these little things that I see from time to time that tell me our homeless have not always been homeless, nor have they even lived with less—they've been around.
       I left Mr. A. in better humor than he'd had earlier. When I say his shorts were in a wad, there is no exaggeration! The man was furious. He was livid. He was fit to be tied. I wonder if he realizes that having a stroke or a heart attack over a prisoner's comment isn't worth it.