IT'S THE LORD…

      Can you believe it? Another drenching rain, bitter cold wind, streets filled with debris, and too many bags to carry in under an umbrella. One of the street dwellers was staying dry in the foyer and greeted me with, "There's a pretty lady!"

       "A wet lady," I corrected him. Cutie Gatekeeper let me in, and I found Dean and his wife abuzz in the kitchen. Before I could begin, Dean had to show me his complete dinner preparation (as always), and explain that lunch would be my soup, chicken salad, crackers, and fresh pineapple slices. He also shared the details of a meal he served yesterday and how well it was received. I cannot impress on you enough how much this man loves taking care of the people in the shelter. In fact, his ministrations are being returned; when he left the kitchen to catch up on his custodial duties, some of the residents were already cleaning for him.

       We were expecting 60 guests, so the soup pot was filled high. Topping our fresh pineapple slices were little cubes of flan that my friend kindly sent along today. A few folks wanted to know what flan is; one pre-release teased me repeatedly and finally said, "It's custard, right?" And two young women wanted extras—which they got. In fact, one of them took one look at it and said, "Is that flan?" She was so excited. Most of the others were clueless, and I do love introducing new foods to them.

       Our 9-year-old and her parents are still there. Because the other two girls have left, I am free to give this child extra goodies, so today I went to her table and gave her a large coloring chart (with stickers and colored pencils), a whole box of crayons, a little bag of candy and gum, and a gorgeous Beanie bear in one of those pinkish-purple colors that little girls love. She never opened her mouth. She did not smile. She just looked at me while her father urged her to say "thank you."

       I don't need a child to thank me. I want to see her happy, and the fact that her troubles are so large as to deny her from having happy disturbs me awfully. Also, her parents (according to Dean's best guess) weigh a collective 800 pounds and often use the child as an excuse to ask for more food or something special. They will even send her to the counter to ask. She's a beautiful child; to look at her you'd never know what her roots look like.

       Most of you will remember a toddler we had last year who never smiled. You may recall my report that the child's mother would put her in the crib, lock her in their room, and go to a meal by herself. Maybe you remember the one or two little smiles I eventually coaxed out of the child. She's a "big girl" now—about 3—but not much has changed, and as you've guessed, she's back.

       Our other two children are infants, one on formula and the other about 1 year. I am no longer pressed to find babies something to eat, and I haven't time anyway.

       Dean's wife and I were looking out the kitchen window at the gray skies and blowing rain. "What's with this weather?" I whined.

       "It's the Lord," she said, "and He was right upset this morning when our lights went out at 5 o'clock!"

       I was up at 5 o'clock too, but only to slug down some sinus headache meds, and I didn't crawl back out until after 9… so I wonder where this couple finds the strength to do all that they do.

       As I passed back through the lobby, the same man who'd greeted me earlier nodded toward the 9-year-old who was walking ahead of me, "That's yo sista, ain't it?"

       "Yes," I said, "Yes, she is."

MIXING IT UP

      Until today, I had not traveled to the shelter in a drenching downpour such as required an umbrella just to navigate the 20 feet from the car to the door. This miserable rain that set in yesterday continues with a vengeance and hammers on my sinuses. There were a half dozen men smoking under the eaves on the pre-release side, but no one offered to open a door for me, though my arms were full …

       Cutie Gatekeeper let me in. He was preoccupied with a young man who appeared to be asking for assistance, but we are not a "drop-in" shelter. Dean and his wife were busy in the kitchen, and lunch preparations were mostly a done deal. I was more than a little shocked to hear that we were serving the same hotdogs we had last Sunday, and that we'd served them yesterday (with no ill results).

       A pot of chili would be used to top those dogs, and a few baskets of deep-fried potato wedges would go on the side. That was the plan. I didn't like the plan very much, so I let Dean think he was giving me permission to make a pot of soup, and I talked him into letting me serve out a large container of fruit I found in the fridge. When all was said and done, we had four or five plates left over, and that's as close to perfect as it gets.

       I had plenty of time before lunch to make up a dozen PBJ sacks, but things were hectic when the groups came in because we had so many choices. "You can have hotdogs with chili, hotdogs without chili, fruit or no fruit, and/or a bowl of soup. The potato wedges were a given. One man ate four hotdogs with potatoes, soup, fruit, and then a whole fish-sandwich with sides meal from yesterday. He's keeping up his girth.

       Among the people I met today were a man who is becoming a woman, and a woman who seems to be a man. No, they're not together. The little girls who are sisters have moved out, but the other little girl is still there, as are two infants. Everybody got toys.

       On leaving, I passed through the foyer where six people were hunkered against the pain of life. I don't think they live there. Then I dashed through the rain, loaded my bags in the car, and backed out. That's when I saw the mother of one of the infants pushing her stroller out the door to take advantage of a long cigarette which was already between her lips. I do believe she would have done that even if there were not a few sheltered spots to stand on such a day as this.

       Call me when it's over. I have a headache.

SCRATCH WHERE IT ITCHES…

       A pre-release opened the inner sanctum for me—no gatekeeper in sight. Several guys were having coffee in the dining room, and the kitchen was dark… so I turned on the lights… and then Dean and his wife popped through the back door! The first thing Dean did was turn off the lights—not realizing they were on… so we began the morning with a laugh.

       Good news! A nearby church had a huge hot dog feast yesterday (with expensive beef dogs), and they brought their leftovers to us! We had hundreds of those gorgeous wieners, hundreds of fresh buns, and two huge aluminum pans of creamy coleslaw. The three of us "tested" the stuff—can't be too careful…

       With applesauce that we added, that was lunch, and we gave out seconds and thirds, with enough left over for tomorrow! Not only that, but we served as large a crowd as we've ever had. They were laughing too, so I passed Joey's wisdom on to Dean, "Joey said you can tell they like the food when they're laughing."

       We needed 14 sack lunches, to complete the 45-lunch refrigerator stash. I made those before serving time. We also needed 23 PBJ sacks, but it was 12:15 when we finished the two meals, and my feet were done. Dean and his wife can do the others. Lunch was easy and over, and dinner was in the oven—no sweat.

       We had a very interesting fellow among our homeless residents today. He's not young, or necessarily old; the only thing you can really ascertain is that he's been rode hard and put up wet. His jeans hung low, not out of a need to be fashionable, but just because. His hair was a mess. His teeth were here and there. But he had a keen interest in lunch—and seconds. His biggest problem was an itch. When he came to the counter, he kept pulling up his shirt and scratching his belly. In fact, he had to take care of that several times before he could reach for a plate… When he returned for more food, he was scratching all around his neck.

       By that time, Cutie Gatekeeper had made several appearances in the kitchen, and I had informed him of the "night theft" that's going on in there. Anyway, I called up to the front desk to inform him that "number 14" has a very suspicious itch. I've never seen anything like it.

       While we were serving that group, Dean left to take one of the pre-release to his job. I handed the young man a sack lunch and they went out. Soon, Dean returned to say his truck wouldn't start, so I gave him my car keys and sent them on their way… but not without giving him a perfunctory "eye," and adding, "it's new."

       When he came back, he was all smiles. "I like your ride! That little camera when you back up is really cool!" I didn't tell him that while it's cool, it's not the complete answer to backing up.

       None of the girls was there today, but all of their parents were. I gave the sisters' mom the special Beanies I've been saving for their last week (we think this is their last week), and I gave goodies to the other mom. Everybody was happy. Yes, Dean wanted some for his grandson too.

       Word reached Dean that "some lady" called yesterday to ask if they needed a Monday volunteer, so I think Miss Lillian might have help tomorrow. I got nothin' else—unless sore feet and a big smile count. Á bientôt!

MONDAY?

       The kitchen seems to be falling apart at the seams. All the work Dean and I did yesterday to put Miss Lillian ahead of the game today… that was not even remotely visible when the woman arrived this morning—or is it ever. I know because I went in to help her.

       Careful scrutiny brought me to the facts: when the day shift leaves, that kitchen's fare is fair game. All the candy baggies I carefully prepared for sack lunches yesterday were scarfed up last night during "snack time." All the PBJ and regular lunch sacks that were made up ahead—gone.

       Lillian had a fellow wrapping doughnuts for her, but he ran out of steam and returned to the group home early on. I made up 25 sack lunches and 25 PBJ sacks. She helped me stuff in the cookies and fold down the bag tops. My back was killing me after 2 hours on concrete. Call me stupid, but I forgot to stand on the rubber mat (which stays UNDER the prep table).

       If you know any of our history, you'll recall how "territorial" Lillian and I used to be. That has fallen by the wayside. We are in this thing together now. She even turns on the CW music just for me—after all, she says, the gospel station was "just talking."

       I wish I could be there more often. Then again, it surely wouldn't be long before they'd find a way to get shed of me too. I'm too outspoken. Hang tight, you hear?

PERMUTATIONS

      Doug broke his foot! There's talk of surgery. I know no more except that he's out of commission, and the cooking situation at the shelter is back to pre-Doug status. Dean and I are "it" for Sundays, though today he brought his wife to help. She did a lot of dinner prep, but she's a bit handicapped and is slower than the average bear. For me, the best part of having her there was seeing how much Dean loves her.

       When I crossed the parking lot this morning, some of the guys out front let me know that they were hoping I'd make my soup. It's nice to be appreciated. Lanyard Guy let me in with, "You look nice today!" I've no idea where that came from, but I was feeling a glow and apparently it showed.

       Arriving at the (now never locked) dining room door, I heard raucous laughter inside and stepped in to see 4 or 5 pre-release having coffee. "Y'all need to cheer down!" I said. It's a joke. It's funny. They didn't get it. Every face turned toward me with just a touch of shock or dread, and I realized that I wasn't in the company of free people. "Hey," I covered with a big smile, "I can hear you laughing all the way out in the hall!" That was a long 2 seconds, but it ended well, and they know I'm on their side.

       Dean had some leftover BBQ for sandwiches, coleslaw, potato salad, and baked beans. There was almost enough, but we needed a pot of my soup to stretch those foods far enough. As it turned out, one fellow got only a sack lunch and potato salad, and Lanyard Guy had to settle for potato salad and a sandwich that I made for him. No one complained. Best of all, the food was all eaten, everyone had enough, and they're getting a great dinner tonight, thanks to Dean and his wife.

       Huggy breezed through the kitchen around mid-morning (to our dismay), but he only passed through. I was armed to the teeth to fend off any instructions he might want to dish out. Lucky for him, he just said "hi" and "bye" on his way to church. Stories of holding hands with women residents and having one of them tweak his "cheeks" were spreading through the kitchen. Of course, we all want to know WHY the cameras never pick up on THAT.

       Dean plugged in the CW oldies right after I arrived. He's so dear to actually show me how much he appreciates having me there. Oh, and today, my little girls have a new friend at the shelter, just about their same age. I was able to give each of them Beanies, candy, gum, and bubbles. It's time to get outside and blow some bubbles! Their mom came through the dining room around mid-morning. She thanked me for all the attention I've given her girls and said she hopes they'll be leaving soon. She left with "God bless you!" I know. I know. It's endearing! But she has no clue how much those little girls have given ME. Not a clue. I will miss their giggles and delight awfully, but I will celebrate their having a home of their own. It's okay; we can cry.

       We filled the PBJ bin with 25 sack meals, so Miss Lillian won't have to worry about that tomorrow. As always, I opened a soda for myself and poured some into my ice water around mid-morning. Sometime during the PBJ-sack preparation, my soda disappeared. Obviously Dean packed it in one of those sacks. I got down on the floor and went through about 15 sacks, but to no avail, and my legs wouldn't hold out any longer. Some poor street dweller will open their lunch tomorrow to find a used soda…

       When my little girls came near the kitchen door to put their plates in the trash, I pressed my nose against the door's glass—yes, like a pig. It was a hit. They stepped closer to pig-face me back, and I asked them, "Are you ready for some toys?" Yes, they were. I will miss them so much!

       Dean has this fear that I will leave. He named all the other volunteers who are leaving/have just left, and indicated that he didn't know how the kitchen would get along. Miss Lillian has no one to help her tomorrow. Apparently, a lot of the old volunteers are just worn out, and now Saturdays will find Dean working alone. I feel this need to be there for both of them, but… where the hell are all those folks who wanted MY job when I first started? The place is crying for volunteers—y'all come on down!

MY PEEPS

      When I arrived, a tall, lanky fellow announced to the others in the smoking area, "She's here to cook us some lunch!" Then he opened the door for me. Sweet. Brenda was keeping the gate, and she unlocked the inner sanctum door, but she never looked up. Think pitch-black dyed hair, no makeup, and permanent frown. Happily, Lanyard Guy took the next shift at noon. Always a pleasure.

       Dean and Doug were just as hyper as they could be this morning. They're both strung out over Huggy events of the week. Huggy bossed them around. Huggy refused to give out enough food (and had too much left over). Huggy was braggadocious and even nasty; i.e., "WHY are you taking out more sugar? HERE is where we keep the sugar and there's already a bag open... and NOW you KNOW!"

      The Huggy bashing went on for the entirety of my 2-1/2 hours there. In the end, while I will back up the guys about Huggy's bad habits, poor manners, and feel-copping ways… the man did have more than one heart attack in the past 6 months, and his overall health is very much on the sad side. We could well find him cashing in his chips right there at the shelter at any given time. So I reminded the guys that maybe it would be easier on all of us if we tolerate the old boy with just a touch more grace. Easy for me to say: I haven't seen him in weeks, and they must endure his strange ways daily.

       Well… aside from that and our basic food prep, there is little else to report. I made up 25 PBJ sacks by myself, and I was mixing a huge bowl of coleslaw when the pre-release came to the counter, so I didn't get to speak with any of them. Dean and Doug were at the serving counter, still, when the homeless came for their plates, so I missed them as well. As you know, connecting with my peeps is the best part of my time there. The girls were there, though, and I had a big bag of goodies for them!

       The guys were still harping about Huggy when I left; they knew he was due to arrive at any moment and try to take over their cooking. They are paid employees, you understand, and Hugs is only a volunteer—but he is a formidable personality and he has "seniority." Tough gig.

       I'm tired, and my back hurts, but P.S.: the coleslaw was a big hit—celery seed, a sprinkle of sugar, a dollop of vinegar, and a drizzle of ranch dressing. It sold out.

LOOK WHAT THE BUNNY BROUGHT

      A full parking lot forced me again to park behind the building and climb the stairs to the back kitchen door. I knocked often and hard, and I could hear voices inside, but there was no response. Finally, I called the front desk and Cutie Pie  gatekeeper let me in. I haven't seen him in weeks, so that was a nice surprise. The voices I'd been hearing were pre-release folks having coffee in the dining room. They aren't allowed to enter the kitchen, so all they could do was listen to my knocking.

       Yes, the kitchen was half dark, and Cutie was expecting Dean and our newly hired cook but, there at nearly 10 a.m., neither had appeared. I was preparing to rummage through the big fridge when Dean unlocked the back door and stepped inside. What a relief! He had Miss Lillian's little instruction sheet for the weekend meals, and we started by gathering the things on her list. Dean's undies were in such a knot! Last night he'd made a nice meal for everyone, but when someone asked who had cooked it, Mr. Huggy loudly took all the praise. I don't think Dean is going to let that go anytime soon.

       We were getting our lunch ducks lined up when Doug, the new guy, arrived. Dean met him yesterday and had said he thought I might like him. By the end of lunch today, we were both certain  that we like Doug. He's easy-going, cheerful, knowledgeable about food (we've been needing that), and he has a face with unforgettably character-filled features, as are his charm and good nature. Mr. Huggy has at least three people to avoid in the kitchen now!

       Lunch evolved somewhat from the original plans because the leftover soup had soured and Doug threw out the leftover pizza and fries—Go, Doug! He will not serve gooey, non-nutritious foods, and on top of that he diced onions and bacon to add to our pot of green beans. Unlike Miss Lillian, Doug thinks our people should be spoiled.

       So Lillian isn't leaving for another few months. I was wondering how such a drastic and sudden change could work. Now I know. Dean still wants to have a secondary position in the kitchen, and he's very interested in going for his GED—as a grandfather! I really admire the man, and I promised to help in anyway I can.

       For Easter, I boiled and dyed 5 dozen eggs, for the shelter. I put them in a huge bowl in front of the serving counter, where folks could help themselves. The first pre-release to stick his hand in the bowl took FOUR! Others were taking 2, 3, and 4. I had to speak to them! Still, they persisted in being greedy, and I guess some of the "Sunday" will be missing from my "Sunday Lady" name now (or maybe the "Lady"). Anyway, there were enough to go around to both groups, so all's well.

       Yes, I took Beanies and crayons for the little girls, but they are away for the weekend. Lanyard Guy (who came in around noon) will give them the treasures I left. Dean has taken to expecting a toy for his grandson every Sunday… "Did you remember the toy you promised me last week? — That's why I love you so much!"

       They're all kids—every single one of them—sneaking, grabbing, waiting for toys. Well… it gives me something to do.

       I had fun asking Doug why he wasn't using the electric can opener, as he deftly opened a #10 can with the "good" one. He can't make the electric one work, he says. Neither can Dean, and they both think the newer one is wonderful. I gave Doug its history and its cleaning record. He indicated that he'd be on top of that from now on. Something tells me he will, too.

       Dean and I showed Doug how we serve up 40 meals, filling the plates assembly-line style, and he showed us his great food skills. Doug says he's going to enjoy working with me—we both love to give the people all they want to eat, as does Dean. Of course, if Huggy is in the building (as he was yesterday), he will tell Doug in a New York minute that "NO, the people cannot have bigger portions!" Doug is anxious to show Mr. Huggy that he is the paid cook and Hugs is just a volunteer.

       I am on tenterhooks to see how this all plays out.

       Dean and I made up 25 PBJ sacks and explained why they only get sugar-free drinks. That "rule" has been changed right in front of my face lately. Joey taught it to me; Miss Gloria denied it; Dean brought it back, and now it's been passed down to Doug.

       All in all, it was a very satisfying morning. I would like to be a fly on the wall when Hugs strides in this afternoon to orchestrate the evening meal (which, by the way, is not his job and is already planned and underway). Doug said something about having to put his foot down with Huggy, and I demonstrated the bug-smashing step for him, so he could add some of my wishes to that. Okay, we're not nice. We don't care. It's high time the place returned to some semblance of normalcy!