QUIET CHAOS

      The kitchen was overflowing with projects when I arrived. Mr. A had the work table covered with sack-lunch items, Doug and Crazy were there, Dean was there, and our gatekeeper. Mr. A was filling sacks, but the others just seemed to be taking up a lot of space. The radio was on an odd station, the steamer was grinding loudly, and even floor space was limited. I didn't know where to start or what to do.

       Doug pointed to a pot he'd put on the stove and said, "Fill that pot with soup for the overflow." I've never been there at night when the overflow comes in, so I've no idea what that scene looks like. I did see full-blown winter plying the streets as I drove into town: several men were heading from downtown back to the day shelter behind ours. They had blankets, hiker backpacks, all their earthly belongings—just leaving one meal and heading toward another.

       Mr. A was grumbling that when he'd left yesterday, there were 29 sack lunches in the cooler for today; but, when he came in this morning, the lunches were gone. The food that was left for the "overflow" was still on the stove, untouched. This behavior has gone on for years, and it's depressing for those who work there. Before I could engage my brain, my mouth said, "Why don't they put in a nanny cam and catch these people?"

       Of course Crazy was all over that with, "You gonna buy one?" He doesn't plug in his brain very well either. A nanny cam would be the first thing stolen…

       So we made more sack lunches, as we always do. My pot of soup, they predict, will go untouched.

       For lunch we served hot dogs on buns and pre-fab potato salad. I, personally, would not eat any of it, but no one complained.

       The 9-year-old came to the counter with a huge grin. I gave him a yo-yo and a frog to go with his dragon. The 7-year-old got a bear and a yo-yo. He seemed pleased, but he was much more interested in telling that he'd been making pictures with his notebook and crayons. Doug already received two pictures, and I've been promised one for next week. Maybe I should get that child a sketch pad…

       Little Twooo Cute got a Fisher Price cow ball. When you pinch its nose, it vibrates all over the table top, making noises and mooing. The young 'un was not interested in touching the thing until he realized that after a few seconds it would stop. I'm sure that by now he's in charge of that cow.

       My daughter came by and helped while we were serving the homeless residents. There really wasn't much to do; we had far too many hands; and the meal, quite frankly, was pathetic. I don't know what Doug is making for dinner, but surely it's a far cry better than lunch.

       See you next week—God willing.