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.