AN EXTRA-BITTER COLD

      There was a skiff of snow on the edges of the car windows this morning, so I checked the temperature online: the wind chill was 4°. It didn't really matter that it was a balmy 22  in the sun and out of the wind.

       Our gatekeeper was a man who has served many Sundays in that position. He didn't want to give me eye contact as he pressed the button to let me in. There's a pall over the whole staff at the shelter, and I assumed Gatekeeper just wanted to keep his feelings private. Still, I gave him a cheerful "good morning" and got one in return.

       In the kitchen were Miss Lillian and Dean, a tall handsome fellow I've not met before. They were hard at work. Until now, Dean has only worked part-time there and not in the kitchen, but now he is full-time. Lillian was instructing him in the ways of our kitchen, and Dean was learning fast.

       They had already prepared a pot of soup for lunch and a huge pan of hotdogs in buns. We deep fried chicken patties and put those in buns. There were plates of leftovers for the homeless residents, and I opened a #10 can of apples. We put several dozen pieces of cake on the counter, and no one left hungry.

       When the lunch and dinner menus were fully prepared and/or well underway, Dean and I made up a dozen sack lunches, two dozen pbj sacks for the street folks, and a half dozen breakfast sacks. Sundays have always been Lillian's day off, but things have changed. Topping off her longer hours, she had to get all those meals ready early so she could leave before 1 o'clock; she had family responsibilities. She was happy to see me, and to be honest, I was happy to help her in any way I could.

       We have the same four children we've had for several months, but today I got to meet one of the little twin girls. Until now, they've not come to Sunday lunch when I was there. I wish you could have seen that child's face and heard her gasp of delight when I handed her a beanie bear. You'd have thought it was, well, a lot more than a little beanie bear. Her sister is sick today, but I left a bear for her too.

       The boys got gadgets and candy, but if they delight in them, I don't see it. I think some of these children (especially the boys) have learned to put on their manly faces for all occasions—no crying, no laughing.

       Our threesome team was awesome. We had assembly lines going at every opportunity, and Miss Lillian played backup, cleaning up after us and keeping us on task. She even dug a rubber mat out of the back room for me to stand on! I was thrilled with that!

       By 12:30, Dean and I had served lunch to more than 50 guests. We had filled 45 plates for dinner, wrapped them, and put them in the warming oven. I brought home a little bowl with pork chop, rice, and gravy for myself—Miss Lillian can cook. Anyway, Lillian was able to get away 30 minutes ahead of her deadline. I left Dean well prepared to serve dinner. He'll only need to put the plates on the counter and check off the diner's names.

       Speaking of the diners, they are unaware that anything has changed; they seemed extra sweet today, extra thankful, and quite happy overall. I don't think it had a thing to do with how much they liked the food.

       On leaving, I stopped at Gatekeeper's window to mention how different today was. He agreed. We're rather stuck in a hard place right now, with no help for it but to carry on. I thought about never going back, but then I remembered: it's not about me—duh.

       When I have news I can share, I will. You can put out a prayer if you like—The Source will know exactly what we need.

       Two pitiful street dwellers sat on plastic boxes in the contained foyer, curled over their own laps, surviving the bitter cold. Their indomitable will to live always takes me by surprise.

BABE, I'M GONNA LEAVE YOU

       Stepping out to go home, after the morning fun, I heard sweet melodic picking on a guitar, and a man singing. I turned back to see. He was sitting with the smokers on the pre-release side of the building, and they were all drawn in by his gift.

       He wasn't "one of us." He looked to be a street dweller, and as he played, I studied him from head to toe—knitted cap, bright blue eyes, decaying bottom teeth, a modest blonde and gray beard bound with a rubber band. His thick black sweater hangs long. His guitar is well worn, but it has a rich sound, and the strings hug the neck just right. His fingers moved gracefully from note to note. His nails need a good scrubbing. The dark green pants appear clean but stained, and his sparkling white socks peep out from sturdy brown suede shoes.

       Most of all, he sang and he played with conviction—Led Zeppelin's "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You." I've never admitted to most of you that my brain is a celebrity desert, so while I've heard the name Led Zeppelin, I had no idea what songs he may have done. To me, this homeless man was the author of that song. He was wearing the words; he was living them, and he gifted me with a piece of himself that I will always treasure.

       But arriving… Joey and I were both late to work, though it didn't matter at all! He and Mr. Huggy had put together some soup yesterday, and it was the most unusual-looking brew I've seen in our soup pot. Joey had the pot filled to the top, too! This recipe incorporated broiled chicken, three kinds of green beans, various dried beans, rice, carrots, potatoes, limas, corn, chicken broth, and peas. It had a greenish cast and looked sumptuous!

       I brushed melted butter over 100 slices of French bread, sprinkled shredded cheese on them, and garnished them with a few parsley flakes. We baked those.

       Joey and yesterday's crew had made at least 5 HUGE baking pans filled with banana pudding (the product of a donation that was "use or lose"). We had 2 large boxes of fresh individual salads too! That was lunch.

       Around 55 people came for this meal, and I'm guessing they liked it because we got good reviews and many requests for seconds. Only two little boys showed up. They were too quiet. My crayons and little cars did not pull them from their serious demeanor.

       Among the resident homeless, I saw some new fresh faces, some old and withered faces, some weary faces. Most of them are sleep-deprived—it's not unusual to have them rubbing their eyes as they approach the lunch counter asking, "Am I here at the right time?" It's the way they ask; I know they've been admonished for showing up at the wrong time—and they fear a reoccurrence.

       The C&W music was more awesome than ever. I brought home three song titles to download! Joey's falsetto is still in fine form. I didn't see The Hugs today, but the gatekeeper lady that I like so much was there to partake of a salad, and her perfume was the first thing I enjoyed on walking in this morning.

       I'm feeling better, thanks, but the hang-dog is still with me to some extent, so 2-1/2 hours were quite enough! Passing thru the inner foyer on my way out, I overheard pieces of a conversation between a man and a woman who were there just to get warm. Perhaps you remember that place where folks who don't live at the shelter can come for warmth—and nothing else. The woman was emphatically telling the man that she wears men's t-shirts and sweats "all the time!" He shot back with, "That's an abomination! The Bible says that's an abomination!" My five or six steps to the outer door didn't allow me to hear more, but I think I got the meat of it.

       As for finally leaving and that magical musician, when he finished his song and I asked him, "What is that?" he gave me the Led Zeppelin title. He was in his element, and if I could have suspended that moment in time for him, I would have.

       "I'll play you another one," he said, adjusting his fingers on the strings.

       I thanked him for the song, but something in my back and feet insisted on replying, "Babe, I'm leaving; I've been on my feet all morning, and I gotta go!"

      At least I left him with a laugh. Maybe he'll share that, and it will spread on the streets, under the bridges, down to the crisis center—you never know.

GOT NOTHIN'

       I'm sick. Sore throat. Antibiotics. Really sorry—mostly for myself…
       Joey reports that his GED is coming down the homestretch of the reading and comprehension courses. Math will wrap it up—I'm thinking next summer.
       Joey also reports that ONE has left. We'll miss him. He is over qualified for that position, but he brought great levity to a sad place. I hope he has left for more rewarding pastures.
       Have a good week. Stay well.

DEARTH OF DUTY

       Joey called tonight (it's Saturday) to say that he has THREE "volunteers" coming in tomorrow to work off their "service hours." He had three today, too, and he said the kitchen was crowded. I could hear the angst in his voice. He was trying to imagine how to incorporate five people into such a tiny kitchen. It's just not feasible and probably not safe on a number of levels.
     I was happy to ease his mind and promise to stay home. He has his plan for mac 'n cheese casserole, and he's comfortable with that. Besides, he'll have three people to direct, and they will accomplish much of the work that he generally must do alone on Sunday afternoons. I'm happy for him!
       Of surprise too, for Joey at least, is that there are so many "volunteers" here in the dead of winter—during these extra-bitter-cold days. The truth is: crime and punishment don't have a season (that I know of), and these folks just happen to be piling in at the same time. Another possibility is that "the word" may have gotten out that our kitchen is a cool place to work off those punishment hours. I, personally, would prefer working in the kitchen to hanging garments at the Goodwill store or scrubbing graffiti off of buildings.
       Anyway… I'll be resting tomorrow, and sending happy thoughts out toward my people at the shelter. As always, I hope they don't miss me; I hope the children have better places to be at lunchtime on Sunday; and I will miss all of them—whoever they are on that day.

HOW YOU CAN TELL IF THEY LIKE IT

       ONE was outside when I arrived, standing with the smokers, enjoying the sunny day. He let me in and he unlocked the dining room doors for me, assuming Joey wasn't there yet. But Joey was. And Joey was as hyper as I've ever seen him. It was early, by our usual standards, but he was flying around the kitchen as if there were a state of emergency.

       We had planned eggs, grits, sausage, biscuits and fruit. "I'm making this new recipe for cheese grits," I said. "I got it from a friend yesterday."

       Joey was annoyed. "I'm making sausage," he asserted.

       "I know," I said. "And we planned grits and eggs…"

       He reiterated that he was making sausage, as he nervously put 70 patties on baking sheets and shoved them in the oven. That's when I had to slow him down and explain to him that our menu was simple, that I was on-board with it, and that I going to make the grits recipe and help him with everything.

       He calmed. "Oh, I thought you…" Well, he thought I was changing our plans, and for unknown reasons, he'd begun the morning awfully stressed. It wasn't long before he settled down and we began to enjoy our usual endeavors. The shelter is "at capacity," so there is a lot of pressure to serve enough food.

       Take this grits recipe, for example. It makes a 1-1/2 quart casserole. We made it "times ELEVEN." The recipe called for 1 cup of grits. We used 11. It called for two cups of water and two of milk—we used 11 times that. I didn't have the heart to strip the shelter of 11 times 1-1/2 cups of grated cheese, so I skimped on that a bit. Also, we used 22 eggs in the grits recipe. If you whip the eggs and add them to the cooked grits in a certain way, they blend in and give the dish body. Our cooked-up enormous pot of cheese grits filled two large aluminum serving pans which went into the oven for half an hour. While those cooked, Joey and I scrambled about 3 dozen eggs and baked 70 biscuits.

       NO, THE FRUIT ORDER WAS NOT FILLED.

       I set up an assembly line at the serving counter, and we let the pre-release select what they wanted, filling plates individually. It was easy(!), and they seemed pleased to be able to SAY what they wanted. Seconds flowed freely, compliments rang out often, and when the resident homeless came to lunch, the compliments and thanks kept pouring in. Every plate that I saw going to the trash can was empty.

     "Do you know how you can tell if they like the food, Miss Joy?" Joey asked. "They're talking!" And they were. The dining room was just abuzz with happy chatter.

       One fellow came to the counter and looked over the selections carefully before choosing only two items. "I have high cholesterol," he said.

       "Honey," I replied, "Everything here is high in cholesterol—and I have that too."

       "Well," he said, "Just give me some of everything."

       Joey says Miss Lillian doesn't pour bacon grease over the broccoli anymore because they don't have any. What a blessing!

       Two young women came in mid-morning to make the sack lunches. Joey had them make 50! They had such a good time that they said they want to come back after they've worked off their service hours and just work there for the fun of it. How many times have we heard that?

       So the sky is as BLUE as a sky can be, the cold rain is gone, everybody went out today with a full stomach and a smile. We have four resident children, but they were not at lunch. I saw Mr. Huggy bringing folks back from church as I was leaving.

       Joey said that next week he wants to make a macaroni/cheese/broccoli/ham casserole and serve fruit on the side, period. Sounds good… but I won't hold my breath on the fruit.

Cheese grits casserole, sausage & biscuits

DEAD OF WINTER

       It's 70° on this mid-January day, and I fully expected to have few residents at the shelter for lunch. No. We served about 50 meals. Our pre-release have raised the number considerably, and I've no idea why their population has suddenly increased there. I do know that preparing and serving lunch has become such a large task that I no longer have time to banter with my people, to get to know them, to establish any sort of relationships. Admittedly, it was always sad to hear that a favorite had returned to prison or to his old ways.

       We had a lovely young woman working off her service hours today. She prepared the dining room, mopped it, filled the cutlery containers, and occasionally disappeared to the back porch for what I assumed was a smoke. She's willing and helpful, but not self-starting. I asked her if she has children, and she said, "No! I'm waiting until I get married!"

       "Good girl!" I applauded her. "I've always said there are too many children in the world and not enough parents!" She agrees. I do admire that about her.

       Today Joey made "the soup." In fact, he had a huge pot already on the stove when I got there. In time, a few macaroni noodles burned on the bottom of the pot, and we put his soup into two pots and I added more food (because I KNOW that our biggest pot will not feed more than 35, and we were expecting more than 50.

       Joey said he would have fruit for today's meal, but by the time I got there, other workers had given the fruit out for snacks, and there was only one #10 can left. I gave each of the 50 diners 5 little chunks of fruit. It worked.

       Joey had boiled 40 eggs for me. I took my little Cuisinart processor, and in time, we had two platters of deviled eggs. Each diner got a bowl of soup (or two), deviled eggs, a bit of fruit, and crackers. There were no complaints and many requests for seconds. Today's soup was filled with large slices of broiled chicken breast, roast beef, sausages, broccoli and other vegetables. It was possibly the most hearty soup we've ever served.

       Only two children were at lunch—a boy about 11, and his sister who looks to be about 14. They were delighted with the Beanie toys I gave them, a pen, and some crayons. The little artist still lives there, but was spared Sunday lunch at the shelter. It's always wonderful when they have someplace else to go.

       On leaving, as I passed through the dining room, the face of a sweet young man turned toward me. "Thanks," he said. I laughed a little, and then I hope fiercely that he'd never think I would laugh at him. No, I laughed because the pleasure is surely all mine. It feels silly to be thanked for having such a fulfilling morning.

       Many residents were outside when I left—the pre-release smoking on their side of the front door, and the resident homeless on theirs. As I drove away, and no doubt because I know nothing about living on the streets, I was drawn to make note of the many folks in town who appear to have no place to go. Women. Men. Their sacks. There are many of them out there today. They are the ones who never "qualify" to live at the shelter—who cannot control that thing in them which will not be tamed.

       They make a utility bill look awfully appealing.

DE RIEN

       That's French for "nothing."
       Miss Lillian asked for a weekday off, so she's working Sundays (today and perhaps next Sunday).
       At first, I was down and out about having to miss MY Sunday at the shelter. But, you know, it's not about me. If the shelter residents can survive 6 months of "incarceration," I can certainly endure one or two Sundays away from them.
       Which reminds me: It has come to my attention that at least one reader doesn't understand this shelter's version of "homeless." Our homeless are "residential homeless." They are people who have no place to go... but who have qualified for this shelter's program. They can stay there for as long as 6 months, provided they find a job and a place to live in the meantime. The shelter helps them with these endeavors. I think most folks complete the program, but I don't have any real statistics on that. I do know that our pre-release prisoners face those same criteria, and I have seen some of them fall back into the deeper aspects of the system.
       Because there appears to be a Master Plan for all things... it turned out that I scarfed up NINETEEN pristine Beanie Babies today for $5 at a flea market! Had I been at the shelter, I would certainly not have had the energy to attend the market; so, someday when I return to the kitchen, I will have a greater bounty of fun to share with the children.
       Joey has not affirmed my position for next Sunday... so we will all have to wait and see. À bientôt—that's French for "see you soon."