BACK IN THE SADDLE

       Single-digit temperatures are threatening to burst our seams at the shelter. There were few stragglers plying the streets when I drove into town, and the kitchen's back door was closed tightly against the cold.

       Crazy let me in and promptly turned his back to walk away. "Hello!" I shouted, but he ignored me. If I had not greeted him, he would have remarked snidely. Not my problem.

       Mr. A was hovering over a huge pot of soup—his own concoction and mostly noodles but with a beef base. He and Doug taste tested many spoonfuls, and when Doug suggested "more salt, but don't get heavy handed," Mr. A added salt and forgot about the heavy-handed part.

       The soup was good (salty, but good). The most interesting aspect of this pot of soup was Mr. A's pride in it. He made many announcements to anyone within earshot that his soup was so fine.

       He and Doug made dozens of grilled-cheese sandwiches to go with the soup—some with American cheese and some with Swiss.

       The pre-release numbered about 12—more than usual. They were just ordinary-looking folks with ordinary manners, and I'll admit that sometimes I miss the characters we had a few years ago. Today, our prisoners are no doubt the cream of the crop—no tattooed tear drops, no strutting, no power moves.

       Because lunch went quickly, we let the homeless residents come in early, so Mr. A told me to not give anyone seconds until 12:20, just to be sure that everyone got a meal. Still, there was a lot of food!

       Early on, a man came to the counter and said he wanted only a sandwich, so I asked if he'd like American cheese or Swiss. Other diners had simply taken what was on their plates, but it was no trouble to honor the man's request—we had a lot of food!

       When Mr. A heard me offer the man his choice, he hit the ceiling. "We do not give anyone a choice! They take what they get!" and on and on. The man came by the counter twice after that, mouthing, "I'm so sorry." But I told him I'd do it again, and he finally smiled with some sort of relief. THAT is hard living, taking a shelter worker's intolerance to heart like that… hard, hard, hard.

       There are FOUR children with us now! The 7-yr-old who loves to color is still there. Another boy is 10, and his little sister is almost 2. (The year-old baby was not at lunch.) When the boys came to the counter, the 7-yr-old asked, "Do I get a toy today?" I've been gone for two Sundays, and I guess he missed me, for whatever reasons.

       "Yes, you do," I said, "and I have something for a 10-year-old boy too! Do we have any 10-year-old boys here? Will all 10-year-old boys raise their hand?" I was looking straight at that child, but he doesn't know I'm harmless, so he just stood there silent. I repeated the question twice. At last, the 7-year-old raised his hand excitedly. By George, if the other guy wasn't going to step up, he was! "YOU are smart," I told him. And I let them know that toys were in the offing, just as soon as I finished serving.

       Many people asked for seconds, but I was not allowed to give those out—and in the end, some left without seconds. Of course, there was food to throw away. That hurt.

       The boys each got Play Doh and a spike ball. Also, I gave our newest fellow some colored pencils; he'd indicated that he needed some. He didn't need crayons because he has some, though they are in storage. So that's what they do with their earthly belongings. I've wondered.

       The little girl got a baby doll with a crocheted blanket. She held the doll on her shoulder with one hand, while feeding herself with the other. She and her brother both appeared a bit on edge, and it's understandable if you meet their frantic mom. The tone of her "…but now I'm homeless!" announcement said she found the situation incredulous. She's hyper and obviously out of her depth. "Miss Joy!" she called to me across the dining room, "how did you know to bring toys for three children today?" Oh, her world is so small right now.

       Sadly, if I shared my personal observations with staff there, they'd all frown and snort. Staff can be so hard-hearted.

       But I'm glad to be back—with one and a half good hands. By next week, I should have two!