MORE THAN I DESERVED

       I got to spend 7 hours with Hottie today. No one hogged our work time in the kitchen. No one interrupted interminably. I was blessed hour upon hour with time to try to make up for lost time. Too wordy, I know; but, I will never fully understand why that sweet child was there for nearly a year during which I stayed away because of a crazy man who has now been banished from the place forever... you remember Crazy. Thief! Banished! Yes, Doug feels sorry for him, but that's Crazy's shtick, and he does it so well!
     Time to move on—forgive the past for its meanness—forgive life for its inevitability.
     I awoke at 6:20 this morning, went back to sleep and didn't wake again until 9:40, but I was at the shelter at 10:15, and it's a 15-minute drive. I want applause for being a woman who is so organized that she can dress, eat a bite of breakfast and get her ass in the car in 20 minutes. Thank you.
     Tomorrow is Hottie's last day with us. I was privileged to spend all of today with him, and even to be at the "good-bye" celebration his co-workers gave him—complete with an enormous cake. He knew something like that was in the wind, and he thought it was to happen tomorrow... but no... it was today. Best of all, and to his relief, he didn't cry. Sometimes, you just want to take them home with you!!!
     We made dozens of lunch and breakfast sacks; we (he) concocted an enormous pot of soup for tonight's dinner, and we tried to invent a special dessert. That effort began in the storage closet where we were told there was a fresh box of donated canned goods. Hottie excitedly extracted several dozen cans of pumpkin (ew), sweet potatoes, evaporated milk... you name it. He was mentally mixing up a pumpkin dessert, sans recipe.
     Back in the kitchen, I convinced the hot one that we could make a pumpkin/sweetatater cobbler, and that I could make the pastry for it. He surprised me with boxes of pie crust mix! I made the crust and lined a huge pan with it. Meanwhile, he opened many cans of pumpkin—old, old cans.
     Here's the thing: I've always believed that canned goods were "good" for as long as we want to believe they are—like in a bomb shelter. That is not true. Our "test kitchen" discovered that 5-year-old cans of pumpkin, pie cherries and sweet potatoes are dark and yucky. Hottie ATE half a can of those dark, partially fermented pie cherries. You just CANNOT tell a man when to put a thing in his mouth and when to not!
     In the end, our dinner offering was the soup, a scoop of pre-fab chicken salad, and a roll. The autistic boy whined that he wanted grated cheese on his soup, but I told him, "We're not serving that today." Our "crazy as a shot cat" sweetie came for coffee in the afternoon. I'm telling you, she is just precious and so delightful. I must pass this on to Doug! He hasn't been able to see it. My little gay fellow came in twice, and I gave him the "sign," so he knows I'm on his side. His smile was more than thanks enough.
     Oh! The turnover that's coming frightens me! No more Hottie, no more security guard, and no professionals on the horizon. En plus there is still no peephole in the back door, and street folks still knock there daily, demanding food and drinks. I don't understand. And did I mention that a uniformed head honcho has strolled through the kitchen twice this week? They don't look at or speak to me. Maybe they're too busy praying for me...
     Well... it was after 5 o'clock when I took off my apron and hugged that sweet boy good-bye. I can only hope that he meant it when he said he'd be back to visit us. We will surely be wanting to see him again.