I did take a friend with me, Sunday before last, and we enjoyed our endeavors at the shelter kitchen. The others there enjoyed meeting my friend too. After our kitchen duties, we continued the week with many adventures that lead to enough fatigue to keep me home last Sunday. Even shelter kitchen volunteers can have a life, from time to time.
Today, truly, nothing has changed at the shelter. Mr. A. was hard at it, putting together tonight's dinner; Doug was organizing boxes of foods, and Crazy was busying himself well out of my way. As for me, I began by sacking a few hundred sticky donuts, then I served hot dogs and fries to the pre-release. I put some chocolate candies on the side.
The resident homeless got the same meal, and the food ran out with exacting precision—like the biblical loaves and fishes. When I called yesterday, I received word that there were no children at the shelter, but that was wrong! There are three children there! Two fathers are living there with their 8-year-old boys, and one also has a 2-year-old boy. Fathers! This is rare.
Though I'd been told there were no children, I never trust that report, and I always take something for children. Happily, today my bag contained a funky Beanie ostrich which the toddler loved, a box of colored pencils, and a yoyo. Everyone was happy. Next week, if they are still there, I'll certainly do better by them. Shame on the people who don't give me correct information, even tho they have it!
Doug is leaving his resume here and there; Mr. A. was depressed, saying things have irrevocably changed for him; Miss Lillian is being less responsible about her assigned workdays; I suppose more change is in the wind. Perhaps now is a good time to nag the head honcho again about that raggedy piano in the dining room.
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