NEVER A DULL MOMENT

     It's Doug's birthday! He got two cakes and sundry other goodies in recognition of the occasion, and we celebrated until 3 o'clock! It was not a dull day.

Welcome!

     My morning began at the back steps, where Kevin's litter was front and center. Doug met me in the kitchen with the announcement that he'd had it out yesterday with "Major God 'n 'em" about the massive amounts of donations we're receiving. Later, when two of the office workers came to discuss the issue, I asked them outright, "Exactly who is going to hell if we just say 'No, thank you?'" Their response was amazingly comprehensive. I surely wish Major God had been there for my question!

"Hey, Buddy… you think you can clean up your stuff right away?

Major God is coming, and we need to have it clean."

     Around mid-morning, Kevin brought a copy of Animal Farm to the back door and told Doug, "Give this to Miss Lady; I know she reads." Poor Kevin. Doug tried to hand it to me, but I refused to touch it. Later he brought another book and said, "You take it; you got gloves on." No sale.
     I don't know what keeps Kevin alive, though there are surely hundreds of thousands of humans in the Third World who live in poorer conditions. Kevin was eating foods we'd thrown in the dumpster and sharing them with flies. He tried twice to pay me with rocks today, but I begged off with "save them for me on Sunday! Okay?"

Have you tried this hemp water? 

     We had donated chicken pot pie for lunch, and when that ran out, the latecomers got sack lunches. The Hostile One from last Sunday arrived late and was most angry that we'd run out of pot pie. She claims that her bright red hair (cut harshly short) is her excuse for "attitude." She refused a sack lunch and sat down with the mother of the autistic boy—the woman who sometimes wears her teeth. That woman may be an addict, but she's no dummy; within a very few minutes, she had calmed down the Hostile One and was telling us not to worry, she had it covered. She did.
     Autistic Kid took one look at the pot pie and said, "I don't like that." I took a lesson from his mother and told him he needed to try it and that if he still didn't like it, he didn't have to eat it. Of course, he ate it all.
     Later, Office Worker was telling us that Hostile One's room was being searched and cleaned of many foods and drinks (like all that she took from the dining room last Sunday). No, she wasn't giving it to the people out front. She appears horribly addicted, with her edgy attitude, shaking legs and missing teeth…  and she's treading on thin ice with the staff.
     There's another new resident, very thin and very tall. He just got out of prison and says he never wants to go there again! All I could do was offer him sustenance, an encouraging word and a thumbs up.
     Doug and Shirt Man spent about an hour hashing out the downside of donations: Some things are rotten, some are molded, and why does "that woman" keep bringing us her rotten apples? Imagine a sealed box of mini muffins with a resident fly inside. Imagine a dozen banana boxes full of apples, plums, lemons, and bananas! There simply aren't enough people in that little shelter to eat such an abundance of food--not to mention the cooked meals in aluminum pans--dozens of them.

They come in the front door, are scavenged for salvage,

 then tossed out the back. Sad but necessary.

Ready-to-eat dishes, chef designed, carefully dated,

and much too much. (The walk-in fridge is full.)

     Kevin followed me to my car when I left, trying to give me a handful of rocks. I do feel a bit guilty begging off, but I left him with the promise of accepting them on Sunday, hoping fervently that he will not remember. After all, he'd spent the afternoon talking enthusiastically with an imaginary friend or simply to himself. I do it all the time.