SNOW ON THE MOUNTAIN

       About 10 minutes after my arrival, Crazy left out for greener pastures, and he was unusually pleasant. Mr. A was vigorously stirring a big pot of soup, and Doug was working up a pan of scalloped potatoes. I was assigned to toast 4 loaves of bread and put the toast in the warming oven to go with the chicken salad for lunch. Our goal was to serve a warm lunch on this first snow day of the year.

       The soup was new to me, and you'll want this recipe! It was concocted from canned cream of mushroom, powdered soup base, corn, and chunks of grilled chicken. That soup was fine!

       Our deaf resident was at lunch, and we got off a few words, but most of mine turned to mush in my fingers. He's patient though.

       The boys (7 & 10) and the 2-yr-old girl were all there, the boys asking eagerly, "Are we getting a toy today?" All I had for them were tubs of Play Doh, and I found some BlowPops in the pantry. The baby was happy with a stuffed bear. There was a box full of candies, so every diner got one.

       Then a tall, handsome, strong-looking young man came to the counter to ask for milk. I had to get out a new jug, but I couldn't open it because my hand hasn't healed enough. "I only have one good hand too," the fellow said, but of course his hands were much stronger than mine.

       When we began to compare surgical procedures and scars, they were nearly identical! He had injured his thumb shooting machine guns in Afghanistan. I pressed him for his hopes and dreams. Most of his abilities lie with weaponry, but he's a good mechanic and wants to open his own little "mom 'n pop" garage. At the moment, he's homeless. It messes with my mind and hurts my heart to look at such potential standing on the receiving side of the lunch counter.

       In the middle of the frenzied serving of our resident homeless, I looked up to find Mr. A missing in action. I needed more plates, more bowls of soup, someone to check off the names—and I found him—out on the back porch. Doug had gone to the store for chewin' tobacco, and Mr. A was calling him to request a pack of cigarettes. Boys! My standing as kitchen mother is safe.

       Tomorrow night, at 10 degrees, many who won't come to shelters will ply the long road south of town, cross the railroad tracks, follow the path into the woods, and hunker down with a small fire, all their earthly goods, and their well-guarded freedom. It's gonna be a long winter.