NEW APRONS FOR ALL

     Arriving at 10:15, I found Doug and ex-gatekeeper sporting the new aprons I'd left there on Friday. Truly, they looked SO SILLY in those girly aprons that I had to laugh! When I gave Doug the rooster apron I'd made just for him, he looked much more appropriate. Now I will focus on making one for ex-gatekeeper that actually fits him! I've put Doug on the hunt for Ex's favorite food, thinking an appliqué of that would be good.
     For lunch we served Doug's famous potato soup and some donated pasta salad. I found a box of French beignet mix. It was like cake flour in a plastic bag in a box, with instructions on the back. Those kinds of donations always get thrown in the dumpster, and it does break my heart. So I asked Doug if we could make the beignets, and surprise, he was interested! We added some water to the cake mix, rolled out some thin dough and dropped those little things in the deep fryer. We didn't have the powdered sugar called for in the recipe, but we put cinnamon sugar on them, hot from the fryer. NOT good for you, oh, no! But tasty, so tasty! All but two of our residents helped themselves to those beignets. And you know... I think a lot of people turn down a thing because they don't know what it is. Our autistic kid glared at the goodies, holding his greedy fingers just over the pan, trying very hard to reject my offering... and I said, "You can try one, if you like, but if you don't like them, that's okay." Of course, he ate 5 or 6, or more.
     Gossip..... We no longer have a security guard for the weekends, so the office staff is filling in (today at least), taking 8-hour shifts, and Richard will take the night shift as he was in the beginning. The security-guard company doesn't have anyone else to offer us at this time.
     That said, the senior office worker was there from 10-4 today, so Fancy Lady made herself very scarce, and I was told that was because she is $300 behind in her rent! I thought she was the wealthy one who simply chose to live there. Well.
     For dinner, we dished up 30 plates of potato salad, rolls, green beans and meatloaf. I didn't taste the meatloaf, but the potato salad and beans were sour, but we thought it was just their recipe. Gosh, I'm glad I get to eat at home.
     So here we are in our new aprons... Ima make ex-gatekeeper one that fits him. Next week, he'll be totally dapper! And PhotoShop's "blur" feature is good for wrinkles too!

Doug asked for a chicken, but rooster fits him much better.

IT'S SUNDAY AGAIN

     Doug, ex-gatekeeper and I had a fine time sacking PBJs and then serving up hot lunch plates. About a dozen of our residents were elsewhere and did not come to lunch. The most interesting bit was when Fancy Lady told Doug that last night the security guard stayed in the dining room watching a movie with a friend all evening. The back story is that the shelter has hired security guards, but apparently they don't...
     Anyway, Fancy said that during the time the new guard was away from his post, many unauthorized people came into the building, and a number of them slept on the floor. This does not provide safe housing for our residents (and their children). Sigh...
     A fellow I've not seen before came to the open back door at lunchtime, asking for Doug, but Doug was out of earshot, so I offered to stand in. The man was going to his job, he said, and he didn't have anything for lunch. He used to live there, and he knew Doug was good for a sack lunch. So am I.
     After lunch, the guys and I put together 30 plates for the dinner meal.
     It's a beautiful day--sunshine--warmth--good fellowship. See you next time.

JUST SHOOT ME NOW

     As reported before, I was asked to "work the kitchen" today while Doug is on vacation. I was told that the new PR fellow's parents would be helping me, but I was NOT told that we'd have a dozen landscaping volunteers and the shelter staff to feed, as well as our resident homeless. There was a "gathering" in the dining room before the feast, and Major God gave a little speech about the volunteers... (I didn't exactly hear it over the pot washing that I was doing). Then there was a long bowing of heads. Then everyone ate.
     PR fellow's dad put our heated pans of donated foods on the serving shelf, and set out plates and utensils. That was a godsend. He also cleaned them up afterward.
     I made a plate of my French tomato slices. We're spilling over with tomatoes. A large box of tomatoes was delivered to the back porch, and a half dozen heavy pans of food were brought in. I labeled them, dated them and did enough lifting to last me.
     I put many boxes on the back porch to be broken down by a stronger person, put many huge pots through the sterilizer, scrubbed the tub sinks, sanitized the surfaces, enlisted garbage patrols, and steered the preparation of 35 dinner plates for the warming oven. After four hours of what I think of as hard labor, I left with an aching back.
     There was no laughter, only a few shared smiles. This is how it is when I am put with folks who wear their religion like a helmet. They are very kind people, slightly older than I (much more worn), and far too serious.
     Our lady with the cane is back from the hospital, and would not stop thanking me for visiting her last Sunday... as if it weren't on my way home anyway. Sadly, I imagine she was there for many days with no other visitors—else why is she living in a shelter, disabled and aging?
     My last effort of the day was retrieving our ice bucket from the front grounds where it had been taken to supply the landscaping volunteers. I mean REALLY! Major God just looked at me when I said I'd come for the bucket. He seemed reluctant to let me have it. The bottom was covered with dirt and leaves, having been on the ground. I told him I needed to sterilize it and return it to the kitchen for the next meal, so he caved. Where is that man's smile? How afraid of absolutely everything on Earth is he? Only people who are afraid can carry such a solemn face all day, every day. His God is a scary one.
     Well... it's over. I won't be going in on Sunday. They're on their own; I have Weed 'n Feed to put out, and Doug will still be vacationing. Drugs... I need drugs.  

FLOPPING ON THE PIER

     Nothing is "usual" anymore. The shelter budget has been stripped to a bare bone, and a thin one at that. A supervisor was fired (and banned from the premises); they still refuse to hire a gatekeeper for daytime on weekends, as Doug is there... so he is expected to manage the kitchen and the front of the building. Today, he tried to shoo away a hoard of loiterers, and found it necessary to call the law. Loiterers leave a lot of trash at our front door—and they "do things" out there for which we don't want to be known. The place needs an official gatekeeper.
     Sack lunches are becoming a thing of the past. We keep a few, but in-house folks are served donated hot meals every day at lunch as well as dinner now. There is very little actual cooking, as the donations require only heating. Lunch today was a chicken/rice/broccoli casserole, black-eyed peas with spinach, and a roll. No complaints.
     I cannot report on the dinner menu, as I didn't stay to help load the plates. Ex-gatekeeper was there to help and I was tired—mostly from doing very little.
     The boss from the hotel across the street came for a lunch plate, and he said that every one of the shelter and/or post-convict folks he's hired from our place has failed to maintain their positions with the hotel. I was disappointed to hear that the tall, thin trans fellow has also quit that job ("because his girl friend is out of jail now, and he has better things to do").
     Of the little boys, only the chub was at lunch, snubbing our offerings as always.
     I didn't see the deaf fellow, but Fancy Lady and I had a long talk. She avoids pasta (and all carbs), and it's plain to see, as her figure is perfect. She said her friend with the cane is in hospital, but only after being forced to go, after four long days in bed, not eating, and suffering from pneumonia. Maybe she's not as intelligent or fully functional as I've assumed.
     I packed a lot of PBJ sacks. It's just not funny when the acrid smell of old grease from a freshly opened but long out-dated bag of pretzels assaults one's nose. Still, that's what we have, and that's what those on the street get: two PBJs, some really old pretzels and a soda.
     In late morning, a young man came to the back door and asked for some towels. Doug pulled off a handful and sent the fellow on his way. We didn't want to know what those were for.
     Doug is taking some vacation days, and the new PR guy asked me to "do" next Friday. I told him I really didn't want to. He said, "You'll be fine because my parents will help you." I repeated myself; he repeated himself. So I guess next Friday will be on me. Were it not for the heavy lifting, I'd rather do it alone!