HELL IN A HAND BASKET

      There was plenty of parking out front, so I entered by way of Gatekeeper's desk today. For those of you who remember Brenda (health food nut/took over my prep table nuisance), she is now the night-shift gatekeeper. One of the residents let me in, and Brenda never looked up. Passing down the long hall toward the dining room, I was shocked at the hoards of rolling dust bunnies. Dean was so obviously not having time to be a full-time custodian and a half-time cook.

       He was rushing through some dinner prep when I arrived. In fact, he rushed through everything. Several times, he left me alone to mind the deep fryer, and I noticed when I left that the floors had been swept. Poor man.

       We were going to serve onion rings and corn dogs, but the fryer stopped working every time we dropped a basket of (frozen) corn dogs. Apparently, those need to be thawed before deep frying. We did cook onion rings, and Dean found some fresh chicken salad, so lunch was good.

       The little girls were in attendance, and were again surprised with their Beanies and candies. I marvel at how well adjusted they are. Their mom is quiet and kind, but I can see the weary on her face.

       We've an older man among our homeless—white hair, suspenders, a painful gait—where does he go from here?

       When Brenda's shift ended, last week's new fellow took over—Lanyard Guy. He came to the kitchen and we exchanged pleasantries. Seems like a hard job, but those who assume it appear to ride easy, even if they don't last long in the saddle.

       As the second group cleared out, Lanyard Guy came to ask us if we could feed one more. "There's a man out there who says he hasn't eaten all day."

       Dean said to just send the man back to the dining room. I was looking for some poor, ragged street dweller, and was surprised when a very young man strode in with a large backpack.

       "I'm on spring break," he said. "My parents threw me out."

       So that wrapped up lunch. Dean and I used the very last two clean aprons. The kitchen floor hasn't been swept in awhile. I did clean the awfully nasty wonderful can opener. It had never been cleaned…

       The scuttlebutt is no longer so vague. Miss Lillian has turned in her resignation. No one has been found to replace her, but one person has applied. Dean gave up his second job to fill in when Joey left, and now he won't be able to get that back. He would like to have a place in the kitchen, but they told him he'd need a diploma… The shelter offered to help him get one, but the person in charge of prisoners said they still would not allow him to work in the kitchen. We've no idea why or how he is "allowed" to do that now. Mr. Huggy is not a paid employee, but he is working often in the kitchen, in spite of his nasty personal habits.

       I stood at the hand-washing sink this morning, looking out the little window into a cold rain. Joey was like a pin that held up a bridge; the whole thing has crumbled. I can't see past the rain.

HEALED BY MEDICAL SCIENCE— WORKING BY THE GRACE OF GOD

      I was sick, I tell ya! Two weeks of pillow fluffing and chicken soup. Boy was it good to get back in the shelter-kitchen saddle today!

       Spring is toying with us! The windows are open. The parking lot and the shelter are full. I was sure these circumstances were paired with bone-chilling weather. Not.

       Dean had the back door open, and I found him lying on the floor, trying to crank up the deep fryer. Miss Lillian had ordered pizza and onion rings for lunch, but the fryer refused to budge. A phone call soon enlightened Dean: the fryer had been "turned off" in such a way as to keep it off until some special person did some special thing to it. Doesn't matter.

       He looked at me. "What can we make to go with this pizza?"

       I found some fries in the freezer, but they too required deep-frying. I'm sure you know my ultimate solution… and the brew was good, if I say so myself.

       We had a dozen or more cold plates of beans and cabbage with cornbread and macaroni 'n cheese, and Mr. Huggy had left instructions to serve out a half gallon of beets. We were going to throw those out and keep it a secret, but I decided to put the beets on the serving counter in little bowls, just in case someone had a taste for them. They did.

       There's a new gatekeeper, and he seems capable, but he's just learning the ropes. I was shocked to learn that Dean has not yet figured out who eats first (and what), after his many weeks in this service. So I told him, "The pre-release eat first and best." Now he knows. I can't imagine the stink that would have ensued if he had served the homeless residents first!

       The new gatekeeper didn't know the drill either, but he's a nice guy, and I guess I'll see more of him. It felt quite odd having two middle-aged men looking to The Sunday Lady for guidance.

       Dean had the best time feeding people today! He even took food into the dining room and served extras—Lillian would have had a stroke! He complained often and bitterly that Mr. Huggy is stingy with food and gives child-size portions. Of course, I don't witness those meals, but Dean says the people are really disappointed and unhappy when they leave the dining room after a Huggy meal. While Miss Lillian is still chief chef, these guys taking up the Joey slack aren't yet cutting muster—Huggy because he's stingy, and Dean because he's cowed. He loves it when I am there and we find ways to give the folks all the food they want, without cutting into Lillian's meal plans. Maybe some of my attitude will rub off on Dean. I hope so.

       We had two little girls today, about 9 and 10. I gave them each a Beanie bear and a candy bar. You should have been there! Those kids and their mother are some of the most appreciative that I've seen. It's a joy to give them things. They reveled in their new "babies," and very soon had those babies swaddled in little blankets and were skipping through the lunchroom in animated play. Dean watched them with a big smile on his face.

       And there was this fellow in that homeless group who saw me with the bears. "How cute!" he said. "I want one…"

       So, I got him a beautiful red-breasted robin from the toy bag, but he wanted a bear. "I don't have anymore bears today," I said.

       "What have you got?" he asked.

       "I have a rat…"

       "Oh! I'd love that!" he said. And he did. Then he slid it stealthily into his pocket, lest there be a run on the "me too" thing. He's got a child in mind for the rat—a little boy, I think. Dean had seen the bird and decided it would be perfect for his grandson. Everybody's happy.

       Well, this appears to be the new routine—the new staff. Joey won't be back, and he did nothing to precipitate his requested departure. It's just one of those very sad things that comes from places of authority and cannot be changed. Of course, he's still my buddy and I'll keep you posted on his GED progress.

NEW ROUTINES

       The parking lot was full this morning. I can only guess that the cars belong to the residents and possibly two workers. I wondered if it had anything to with the sub-freezing temperature. At any rate, I had to park behind the building and go in the back door—the door that I'm always so hesitant to answer. Dean let me in.

       Given time, everything changes. On Thursday, I was well. On Friday, I had some sinus issues. Yesterday, I stayed in bed with a sore throat. This morning, I felt much better, but I have a really snotty nose. Looks like an ordinary cold. So I sallied forth to the shelter, knowing I'd be wearing gloves all morning.

       Dean was glad to see me. He explained today's plan of attack and that he needed to finish some custodial duties while I held down the kitchen fort. Really, there was very little holding down to do. Several stacks of leftovers were on the stove and work table. One group of plates held hot dogs, coleslaw, and baked beans. The other stack, however, held only thick (mostly bread) pizza and fries.  Here, have some starch for lunch… 

       Dean gave me a pan of cold meatloaf which I put in the oven. He found three bags of coleslaw for me to dress, and I found some applesauce. There was chili warming on the stove and we had a small bowl of chopped onion.

       Mr. Huggy was in charge of Miss Lillian's prewritten dinner plan, and Dean was to get that ball rolling while the Hugs was at church. The list was chicken, peas, and broccoli/cheese. I asked if those were "green" peas? Dean thought they were.

       "Surely," I said, "he means some sort of brown or dried peas! Nobody wants two green vegetables at once!" (Not that such a menu would harm any of those nutrition-deprived shelter residents.) As I scanned the pantry, I saw several #10 cans of black-eyed peas. They're simmering now. Dean washed the chicken wings and put them in the cooler to await Mr. Huggy's administration.

       As the pre-release came through, I offered them their choice. I won't repeat the menu, but clearly, giving them so many choices makes a big difference in attitude. They really enjoyed lunch! The next group did too. Even Dean and I enjoyed it. We got to give people what they wanted and all they wanted. That's a first. Our gatekeeper was the lady I like so much; I left toys with her for the children.

        Dean thanked me for coming in, but I am The Sunday Lady; what else can I do? Miss Lillian never did do Sundays except in an emergency. Mr. Huggy has church bus duty, and I don't see any hope for turning back this clock.

       I didn't hang around after 12:30; changing gloves every time I needed to blow my nose was challenge enough. At the moment, things are going downhill again, but it's just that time of day.

       Went. Saw. Served.

NOT SO HOT

       Maybe it's just me, but that shelter has little life in it today. Cutie gatekeeper from months back is in the gate saddle again. We enjoyed our hellos. Beyond there was a long empty hall, an empty dining room, and a cold kitchen. At least the lights were on. And truthfully, Dean was on my heels, ready to bring me up to date with lunch plans and instructions. Miss Lillian did not come in. She's on a mission. If you don't ask, I won't tell.
       There were nearly 20 cold plates of leftover pizza and fries to serve out. Lillian did call to give me complete instructions, which I greatly appreciated. Those plates were to be served, as were plates of donated "lasagna," some wilted, darkened salads, and hard round rolls. The "lasagna" was thick with tomato paste (I mean just buried deep in the stuff), there was no visible cheese, no layers... just enormous penne pasta smothered in yucky. No telling who dubbed that stuff lasagna, but it was free.
       Dean had a pre-cooked ham in the oven for tonight's dinner, and we put four #10 cans of green beans on to simmer. He and I fully covered the issue of whether or not to pour off the water from the canned beans. While some folks who work in that kitchen "rinse" canned vegetables and cook them in "fresh" water, Dean and I concur: the water in the can is sterile, and it's full of vitamins and flavor.
       I made up a few dozen PBJs, but there was little else to do with food prep. Dean's abilities are being put into play four ways to sundown; he's ragged from being stretched too far, and I was happy to take up a pail of bleach water, wipe down the dining room tables and chairs, and fill the napkin and dinnerware containers.
       In time, we got that CW music station cranked up, and we left the back door open for most of the morning. Those upbeat things seemed out of place, but we surely needed them!
       Both of our lunch groups were on the quiet side. We apologized to them for the fare, but our hands were tied. In 3 years, I think I've come to know these people (as a people), and it's just not customary for them to be that accepting of such foul grub. They know we're having it rough, and they're taking it on the chin with us.
       None of the five children who lives there now was at lunch—thank God. I did leave toys for all of them with Gatekeeper. He's such a cutie (have I mentioned that?). He took the toys gleefully and said, "What? Nothing for me?"
       There are no plans for next week. There were no plans for this week. God willing, I will be there next week, and I will do what I can with what we have.

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.