Hoping to put in 30 minutes in my favorite place this morning, I went gaily to the shelter where I found Doug, Mr. A., my daughter and her roommate laughing and happily preparing lunch, dinner, sack lunches, and sack breakfasts. They were busy!
They had made tuna salad and fries for lunch. On the side were crackers. It wasn't very enticing, but no one complained. Well I remember the days when bad-ass prisoners (and even homeless folks) would complain bitterly about such a meal. Apparently, those days are over.
I put some chocolates on each plate—guilty that I could not do more.
Those foods had been arranged at the serving counter, so I could easily put a scoop of tuna salad and a handful of fries on each plate. It was far too obvious (and I love them for it) that this arrangement had been prepared especially for me…because they know how much I love to serve the people. No one else in that kitchen approached the serving counter during lunch. It felt like I was being hugged—silently.
Of the two 8-year-olds who remain at the shelter, only the little girl was at lunch. She seemed happy to see me, and obviously happy to have new toys. She made a great display of posing her new bunny and loving on it. There is never a need to wonder if she likes her gifts.
There were many funny moments between the guys and the gals working in the kitchen—far too many to note here. It's all about a camaraderie that is special only to that place. My 30 minutes became 60… and then 90. And then I limped to my car, smiling. It was too long for this convalescent person, but I don't think it did me any harm.
Mr. A. will give the boy his toys at dinner tonight—a super-fabulous stuffed dragon, a little kaleidoscope, and some school supplies.
Next week… oh, maybe 90 minutes won't feel like anything but a good time!
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