ONWARD, SOLDIERS

     Truly, after Friday's painful, painful journey, I thought returning today would be suicide. No.
     I parked out front to avoid Kevin, though I saw no evidence of him when passing the back porch. Sweet Gatekeeper was in the kitchen, and she'd already pumped out 50 PBJs. I set to work sacking them. We went to the walk-in fridge and made lunch and dinner decisions based on the myriad restaurant donations. Sadly, many of those stayed on the "dog food" shelf.
     For lunch, we had several large trays of donated hors d'oeuvres. Gatekeeper plucked off some moldy peppers—then she taste-tested several of the vegetables! That girl must have a stomach of iron. We also chose rice-stuffed peppers and stuffed chicken breasts. Some of those foods were delicious, according to reports.
     For dinner, we chose a large pan of shredded beef, black beans, a dozen fresh spaghetti squash and rolls. (We have five 5-gallon tubs of black beans, so the next time you order those at your favorite restaurant, give it thought.)
     The spaghetti squash was fresh, and Gatekeeper and I both knew those were destined for the dumpster if some woman didn't come along and cook them. So we did. Cutting them up was very hard, but when they were baked she enlisted a young man from among our residents to help us prepare the dish. He's working at a restaurant, and he has culinary skills. My arthritis and I were thrilled to have his able hands scraping out the "spaghetti" and mixing it with herbs of his choice. It smelled divine!
     There were so many jobs to do that they all ran together—coffee, ice bucket, serving lunch, preparing dinner, cleaning, and there were requests to open the door (keep the gate), provide sack lunches for late churchgoers… "Unending services rendered here."
     A young woman is staying there now with her large, beautiful black dog! I didn't know we housed dogs. I did see my little boy as I entered through the front today. He and his daddy were waiting to go to church. I told him I've missed him awfully! He said he's been at summer camp and today church. I asked him to leave me a note or draw me a picture because I miss him so much. He looked a bit sheepish at the suggestion. How cute was that!
     Kevin was in his private apartment on the back porch lift. He slept through the entire day. I can only imagine that his Saturday night was a doozy. Gatekeeper and I checked on him from time to time. At least three people mentioned Kevin today, saying he holds a special place in their hearts. He has no idea how many people love him.

Kevin sleeps.

     Our steady friend from the hotel across the street came for lunch, and he brought his new boss with him. They are delightful young men! One of them even repaired our toilet seat—just because it was wobbly. That was dear.
     As afternoon came on and we began dinner prep in earnest, an interesting character took up the piano bench in the dining room and began to play. His appearance is reminiscent of Red Skelton's Freddie the Freeloader, and his posture is like that of Victor Borge in his comedic element. His hair is dark and curly, and if he's had a bath this year, it is not apparent; however, Gatekeeper assured me the man bathes.
     His piano abilities are all in his mind, but if you listen closely, you can hear the genius in his renditions. There is a mystical rhythm in his choices of bass and treble notes that gives away the depth of his musical emotion. I thought it might be fun to play Chop Sticks with him, so I wandered over to the piano and asked him, "Do you play Chop Sticks?"
     Yes, he does. He rolled immediately into his version of six strikes with each hand, high and low, no special choice of keys, but so obviously a rendition of Chop Sticks. I gave him a smile and a thumbs up as I hastened back to my kitchen post.
     Often, I thought I would leave there today with many aches and pains, but by the time I finally left, I could only feel the glow of a magical day in a magical place.

P.S. To my Romanian reader with the Macintosh: How did you come to find this blog… why do you open it immediately upon its posting (is that programmed into your system?)… and why do you read it?

7 HOURS IN HELL'S KITCHEN

     Yes, I've been working with Doug on Fridays this year, but this Friday I was there because the shelter asked me to come and BE the cook… because there was a death in Doug's family. No, I did not want to BE the cook, but my neighbor said she'd come by in late morning and help me. You begin such a project with positive feelings and a smooth plan, and I do know the drill.
     I went by yesterday, and Lanyard Guy gave me full instructions on today's meal. He made it sound so well planned, and he assured me that "all you have to do is..."—well, that was his take on it.
     Arriving around 9 a.m., I found that Kevin's nasty trash heap from yesterday had been cleaned. I felt relieved. I phoned the front desk and asked to be let in. The kitchen was dark, but soon I began the daily grind. Lanyard Guy had labeled the foods I was to serve: donated meatloaf and corn in pans in the walk-in fridge, and I was to open two cases of another vegetable (pick one) and heat biscuits from the fridge.
     There was so much food in the fridge—donated, rotting, gonna rot… and just as I decided to "save" a box of fresh zucchini instead of opening two dozen cans, the lone onion rolled out from under the bottom shelf, as if an angel knew I'd want it.
     I began my labor peeling the zukes.
     After putting the fresh veggies on to boil, I set about making the PBJs. Lanyard Guy said to give each sack one PBJ and one Nutella sandwich because we have a lot of donated Nutella and a shortage of peanut butter. Halfway into that project, I ran out of peanut butter and was unable to open new jars of Nutella. The office staff found peanut butter in the front pantry and opened jars for me. But, really, can you imagine a Nutella sandwich for breakfast... with its whole 2% protein, and 150% sugar? Well… at least, I made them with whole-wheat bread—not that it matters.
     When my neighbor arrived, we added some failing squash and a half dozen new potatoes to the zucchini. The pot was full of "fresh vegetables" that were otherwise destined for the garbage. My wrists are killing me.
    One of the office workers came in and put the pans of donated meatloaf in the ovens, telling me that I should put a tomato topping on them. We had no catsup, so I poured some spaghetti sauce over them. The loaves were burned to a blackened crisp around their edges, but still edible for the most part. It IS a homeless shelter. Our donated corn was somewhat frozen, but it thawed well in a big pot on the stove. As for using the biscuits, I decided to serve a pan of donated pita bread instead (my neighbor and I noted that it would soak up the meatloaf grease nicely).
     The morning meshed into a blur, but Kevin was mixed in thickly. He has moved again to the back porch, suitcase, trash and all, and while he's never in his "right mind," today he was especially not there. It was several hours before I figured out how to deal with the situation. Unless I could convince him to "clean up his mess," I would be obliged to use the front entrance. Besides, I was so hoping Kevin would help me put some of the myriad boxes in the cardboard dumpster… didn't happen. But eventually, I found the stash of Gatorade (his favorite) and told him I'd give him two if he'd clean up. He bargained for two cups of ice to go with those. Win, win.
     Eventually I had 50 PBJ and/or Nutella sandwiches, and my neighbor and I sacked those with drinks, chips and napkins. Then we made 50 meat and cheese sandwiches and sacked those in 25 sacks. But there was so much else to do!
     No one had put fresh water, rags and bleach in the dining room bucket for residents to clean their tables. The bucket had dark gray water in it. Ew! The floors were dirty. Neighbor took thorough stock of the kitchen and asked, "Do you ever have volunteers who come here just to clean?" No, we don't.
     At noon I put out some sack lunches for the few residents who might come to lunch. Five minutes after noon, an office worker came to the kitchen. She asked about lunch, and I told her no one had come. "Did you unlock the door?" Well, no.
     Our guests numbered about a dozen, including the autistic boy and his mom and Fancy Lady. We have a tiny, toothless old one (previously noted) who needed mayonnaise today. I didn't have time or energy to find a jar, so I gave her packets, but I had to cut them open for her. She can't open those. We have some things in common.
     On the serving counter, I noticed a zip-lock bag of rocks (and one large bolt). Those, I was told, were "payment" from Kevin. Evidently he felt beholden to Lanyard Guy who is generous with plates of food and drinks. This homeless shelter is obviously functioning outside as well as inside.
     Oh! A new office worker came to the kitchen to offer his services. We let him take out a heavy trash bag! He's the PR guy. Nice fellow! I wonder how long he's worked there... and how long he will last.
     When Neighbor and I were more than ready to GO HOME, it was time to make up 35 plates for the dinner meal. She patiently filled those plates with corn, zucchini and meatloaf, I added the pita bread and wrapped them in plastic wrap. Then I put them on huge metal trays (6 each) which I put in the warming oven. Heavy stuff all. My body wants to QUIT.
     After my neighbor left, I washed pots and utensils, wiped down surfaces, swept the kitchen, filled the napkins dispensers, gathered my things and was surprised to find that the back stairs were neat and tidy for my exit. Turning out of the parking lot, I saw Kevin bent over on the sidewalk (his rock-hunting position). I rolled down my window and said, "Have a good night, Kevin!"
     He turned quickly around and thrust his dirty broken arm (still heavily bandaged) through the window, very gently placing a lovely piece of mica in my hand. Rewards come in surprising ways.

SO LITTLE TIME

    When I approached the stairs this morning, shortly after 10:00, a woman was on the sidewalk across from our back porch. She was talking, but I assumed not to me as I headed for the steps. I caught a glimpse of a man relieving himself against the back of the building's el, rightfully assuming it was Kevin. On Kevin's "apartment/lift" was a lovely foam mattress. The woman, it turns out, is well known around there, and she had been cursing so loudly as to wake Kevin.

     Our gatekeeper went out then and told the woman to move along. Kevin tidied up his place on the lift and disappeared after that. Doug had asked him where he got that nice mattress, but Kevin wasn't telling. It came with a fitted sheet too! About an hour later, the woman came to the back door, asking for a drink. Doug told her no. 

The construction site continues to evolve.

Expired drinks, cereal and pastries, and recyclable plastics.
I love cupcakes; seeing them expired hurts!

    The PBJs and the meat sandwiches were all made. Doug and I sacked those with drinks, chips and sundries in a record 15 minutes. We also made 12 breakfast sacks. He was excited about that! Men feel bound to make a race of everything, you know.
     Missing today were cheese for the meat sandwiches and mayonnaise and mustard packets. Sack lunches have had only dry meat sandwiches all week. Some have complained. Doug and Gatekeeper are quick to say, "They should be thankful to have anything!" Well... it's hard to imagine, but I'm sure they're right.
     For lunch we made the soup. Two weeks ago, I took home eight nice pork chops to freeze for our next soup. Today, we used them. The soup was good! Doug deep fried mini-corndogs as the side. No one complained, and many had seconds. Our crowd has fewer women and more men now. The little boy and his father are still on the list, but I haven't seen them in weeks. The autistic fellow and his mom were there, as was Fancy Lady. Nothing to do but serve them gently and give thanks for not walking in their shoes.
     Only one fellow comes to Sunday lunch from the hotel across the street now. The others were let go. Surprisingly, he jumped in and helped serve some of our guests!
     When the lunch crowd had cleared out, Doug and I put together 30-some dinner plates: mashed potatoes, fried okra and donated meatloaf. We had no rolls.

The warming oven saves dinner.

     A toothless old one shuffled into the dining room very late. Usually, Doug reminds such folks that they are late, while giving them a meal. He doesn't do that to this one. She is too fragile and dear. She only wanted a sack lunch and some of her cottage cheese that we keep in the refrigerator. She's a chatter, and I feel guilty for not giving her as much time as she'd like. She ate in silence, dipping her spoon into the community mayonnaise jar over and over.
     I left after 4 hours, my arms full of plastics to recycle and a little box of fried okra.
     —Thankful here
     

ONE FRIDAY IN JUNE

     Work in the lot behind the shelter is full steam ahead. There were machines and workmen aplenty when I parked my car and took the hot shovel out of the back. I jettisoned it across two fences, as that many workmen looked with surprise. I waved to them, but they wanted an explanation. I told them the shovel was found behind a tree there and that I was just returning it. "It's not ours!" they said.
     "That's okay," I said. "It's somebody's, it's not mine, and you might as well have it." They were in. They were in "two" deep. It took a minute for one of them to graciously accept it from the other and put it in his truck. Too cute, and no longer my problem.

Looking thru the window screen, we can still see the construction work.

     Approaching the back steps, I first noticed that some empty drink crates were arranged into a wall of sorts. I wondered if Kevin had moved back in. He had. It was 10 a.m., and Kevin was sound asleep. He remained that way for the full 3 hours I was there.

Looking down from the porch. Kevin is oblivious.

Three hours later… still oblivious.

A full view of "the stairway/lift apartment."

     Doug has returned from another week's vacation. He was not surprised to find that there was no cheese for the meat sandwiches, and there were no mayonnaise or mustard packets. The packets had been ordered and received, but mysteriously disappeared. Also missing was his phone charger (for his old flip phone). And WHO needs 500 mayonnaise packets? I'd love it if he'd put a critter cam in there! As hard as I tried to sell him on that idea, he wouldn't buy it.
     So many things are just not right in that place. Doug had to throw out a half dozen large pans of restaurant foods, dried and not dated or labeled. And the new 8-foot-wide cooler in the dining room is full of boxes of donated lettuce. Doug whined, "Who would use that much lettuce?" We won't, and he will have to haul it to the dumpster. Throwing out trash is a large part of his post-vacation duties.
     Just before noon, a man who was mowing told Doug that he mowed right by a man's feet, out behind the building, and we might have a dead one on our hands. He was miffed, at any rate, that he could not mow there. Doug and I locked up the kitchen and headed out back to see this body for ourselves. By the time we got there, the corpse was sitting upright, rubbing his eyes. The Grim Reaper would have to wait.
     We had 8 or 10 folks come for sack lunches at noon. There are some new ladies living there now, and Fancy was there, of course. The autistic boy and his mom were there, and for about a month now there's been a young fellow who eats very well, but appears to do nothing else. He arrives early for meals and has an air of entitlement, but that's all he has.
     For dinner, Doug deep fried drumsticks, steamed cabbages, heated pintos in the oven and baked a pan of corn bread. We filled 36 plates and got out of there early! —Good night, Kevin

TOO MUCH TO TELL

     Kevin was in his place on the back-porch lift when I arrived this morning. He was cheerful and quite "busy" as usual. He asked about the shovels, and I assured him I had returned the good one on Friday. Doug, however, had put the shovel back where it had been found (under a tree), and we assume the city reclaimed it. I left the 'splaining to Doug. As for Kevin's broken arm, it's  feeling better, but the story of that injury is still incomplete. Doug's version mentions Kevin getting into an argument with some bad hombres who held his arm down and jumped on it. Totally believable. Horribly sad. We didn't see Kevin again today, though Doug went out and called to him when lunch was ready.
     Last week we planned to serve quiche today, so I took pie pans, Jiffy pie crust mix, sautéed mushrooms, and chopped chives. Doug made a bowl of chopped peppers and onions. The shelter had the sour cream, cheese and eggs. Bacon was ordered but denied. Doug was baking ham slices and (2-year-old frozen) biscuits to go with the quiche. It was one of those best-laid plans.
     There were pork chops in the oven for the dinner menu. Oh, those plans were so well laid.
     We began by rolling out our pie crusts, but that duty fell mostly to me (experience, I suppose). Then I whipped up a batch of eggs and additives for each pie shell. Some had peppers, some mushrooms and chives, one only cheese. Doug slid them into the oven with pride, but what a mess we'd made on the prep table!
     THAT was precisely when the fire alarm went off. No, it wasn't a drill, and this time I did take my personal effects with me as I exited the back door. Doug and I crossed the street and stood obediently on the sidewalk, per regulations. We were alone there for minutes before a scant few residents meandered out. Long minutes later, we heard firetruck sirens. Doug returned to the building to "see what was happening." He felt that someone had set off the alarm while smoking in a bathroom. He was right.
     Meanwhile, three of the city's most stalwart vehicles roared up to our facility with a dozen or more  brave men in full fire-fighting garb. No one rushed into the building. This was a hurry-up-and-wait event—an expensive one.

The city's finest approach our situation. 

    On the sidewalk, I was chatting with one of our young residents when he wondered aloud why an old woman was trying to go into the building. She had just arrived on foot, carrying a large bag, she hadn't a clue about the alarm event, and apparently she was not intimidated by the fire truck parked at the front door. I tried to explain to the boy that the old woman's sandwich appeared to be missing at least one slice of bread… but he could not accept such a state of mind. I came to realize that his puzzle, too, might be missing a piece.
    Finally, the city's finest mounted their stallions and raced off to another emergency, sirens blaring.

And the first shall be last.
Heading back into the building, the old woman with the big bag was last.

     By that time, it was just minutes until noon when the residents would expect to be served. Doug and I were feeling the pressure. I don't know why no one thought to make an announcement that lunch would be 10 minutes late!
     Anyway, those quiches were HUGE when Doug pulled them out of the oven—and they were brown on top, but no harm done! A few residents never heard of quiche, but none of them turned it down, and most of them asked for seconds.
     The usual little boy and his dad weren't there, but we have a new boy who is 12. I met him last Friday. He wasn't at lunch today, though he was at the fire drill. He's an enormous child (apparently food-driven), so I assume he and his mother had a better place to grab "a bite." Lord knows, we didn't have enough quiche for that one.
     Fancy Lady was very late to lunch, and there were only two small slices left when she arrived. She was happy to get them.
     Come Tuesday, Doug will be on vacation again. I don't know if I want to work the kitchen next week or not. Things are so shaky there that I have come to wonder how long this shelter can exist. Perhaps it would be good for the hierarchy to see how things work when neither Doug nor I am there (Doug says I hold the place up—I don't). But during his last time off, they ran out of bread and paper bags... and heaven knows what else. The kitchen is not at all well run unless Doug is there. He, too, has wondered if the place might crumble soon. It's interesting that we've both had those thoughts.
     Too, our supplies are more and more donations. Expired drink cans show the wear and tear of having been tossed around; some have sprung a minuscule leak and are empty. Some loaves of bread have molded, and much of it is stale. I know it's a homeless shelter, and I know those PBJs are for the street people, but Fido often fares better. Our quality of service has diminished enormously since my return in November, and it was nothing to brag about then.
     We made 25 PBJ sacks today (50 sandwiches), and 18 lunch sacks (36 meat sandwiches). Geeze! I think we forgot to make breakfast sacks! Oh, well...
     Doug fried okra and made a pot of mashed potatoes to go with the dinner pork chops. We filled 32 plates and put them in the warming oven. He was determined to get out of there by 2 o'clock, and I think he made it.

Twenty-five sacks of PBJs can leave a person winded.

HOT STUFF

     Last Friday was a typical day at the shelter. Doug and I served a few sack lunches and plated 36 dinners while enjoying our music and the usual conversation. 
     On Sunday, Doug asked me to make a pot of soup. We served it with crackers and fruit cocktail. Buddy helped me gather canned goods from the front closet for my soup. Our diners were fewer than normal, and we especially missed the two boys and their parents. Also missing was Fancy Lady. Kevin, too, was not around, though Doug had been watching for him all week.
     The kids from the hotel are down to one, since two were fired. The place is much too quiet, and residents seem to be accomplishing little.
     It was after 1:00 when we finished plating the dinner meals and I left. Backing out of the parking lot, I noticed a large shovel propped against a tree. It was so new that the label was still affixed. There is no working going on in that area, so I assumed the shovel was taken from a work site in town because there is always construction in progress. But I thought it was a shame that such a nice tool should be abandoned like that, and I thought, too, how handy it would be this week while my son helped me in the yard. But I'm a decent sort, so I left the shovel in God's hands and went home.
     Today, my yard work was begun and, sure enough, we needed a large shovel. Tonight, after having dinner in town, my son suggested we drive by the shelter to see if the shovel was still there. Darkness was setting in, and the parking lot was deserted. There was no shovel.
     As we started to drive away, I saw Kevin's little head peep up over a stack of drink crates on the back porch lift. He waved to me. I got out and went up the stairs to the level of the lift where he greeted me warmly. He said he just got out of jail yesterday, and he just got out of the hospital today. One of his arms was bandaged completely. He was going to tell me how his arm got hurt, but the story was so very long that he never got to the end of it. He did tell me that he had that shovel I was looking for and that I was welcomed to it! In fact, he had an even better one, and I could take both of them, as long as I brought the better one back on Friday (he'd promised it to one of his home boys).
     We must assume that Kevin is a collector and that he barters for his needs. Part of his injured arm story included his being drunk and high on drugs. The words roll off his tongue as you or I might say, "I was hot and itching from mosquito bites."
     Kevin waylaid me at least 10 minutes, showing me parts of his rock collection and trying to finish various tales of his adventures. I was forced to take my leave as gently as I could.
     So now I am the temporary keeper of TWO shovels that are surely hot.
     Rock on.