LESS IS MORE

       There's a new pre-release, and he's awfully good-looking. I met him last week (shaved head, great smile, and very personable). We don't get too many who are endearingly outgoing. So there he was, walking some laps in the parking lot, when I arrived with my music just "out there." I got a big grin.
       Cutie Gatekeeper (no, I am NOT infatuated with every male in the place) let me in, and Doug was hard at work putting dinner together. Tonight they're having turkey baked with gravy, green beans (a Sunday-night ritual), and some bodacious candied yams. For lunch Doug said we could have anything I wanted to fix. Have you noticed that in the beginning I was there only to serve up what he had planned... and that now he's quite liberal with the soup ladle?
       There was more than enough in the mystery box to put together the best-yet soup. Honest. We served egg salad and applesauce on the side, and diners are always free to make a sandwich with their egg/chicken/ham salad.
       I finished making sandwiches for the PBJ sacks that Doug had started. Then I served up most of the lunch plates—we had about 35 guests. Several of the pre-release seem to be treating me more like a mom than a stranger lately. I like that. There are resident homeless to whom I've become attached also—no secret.
       One lone child lives there now—my little boy. The little girl's mother took her, and because the "dad" wasn't blood kin, he had no say. Also sad, no longer having a "dependent child," the man was put out. The report is that he was already beyond his limited time to stay there.
       So the three 400-pound people were nearly all gone, because the single one was critically ill and hospitalized last week. This week, she has returned to the shelter (or HE—truth be told). Having been clued in about the gender issue, I was eager to see this person again, just to understand how FAR OFF my gender-meter IS. It is FAR off. "She" came to the serving counter with "her" long bleached ponytail, her big earrings, makeup and pink shoes—and of course, "her" girth.
       Doug ASSURES me that "she" is a complete "he" underneath. And that's okay... it's just outside the box, and it takes one by surprise. SURPRISE!
       I had to leave a few minutes early today, to meet a friend, and I didn't see my little boy until I was passing through the foyer. I told him I had left him some candy and gum. (I don't like to leave a Beanie in a child's absence). Then I pulled the cutest orangutan Beanie from my bag. "I have the cutest-ever monkey, if you want him," I said. The child reached out his hand, barely touching the monkey. He wanted it, but he was awfully shy about letting that be known. I teased him unmercifully. "Oh," I said, after his first little tug, "only if you really want it." He tugged again, but oh, so gently... and I teased him until he gave it a sincere yank. "Good boy!" I said.
       I think we were both grinning from ear to ear as I left my Sunday "job." Really... I'm sure I cannot afford to pay for this exalted position—and yes, I still feel like I have some ownership in it. Don't say anything!

BUGLING THE HOUNDS

       Cutie Gatekeeper moussed his hair for me today! He did the sides and the top—very short and just-right curly. I do adore that child.

       We have a number of new residents among our pre-release and our homeless, and I'll try to introduce you to some of them, but before I could meet them there was lunch to prepare. Doug had his dinner plans well underway, and his lunch plans were, "Joy, you think of something."

       I never mind hearing that! Within a short while I had a big pot of soup on, and Doug said we could serve ham and chicken salad with it. I mixed some odd cans of applesauce, apples, and pineapple in a large bowl, and added bananas from the huge stash in the refrigerator. Sadly, the bananas had to be picked through carefully and most of them discarded. We added cinnamon to the mix and it was all consumed, as was the soup and meat salad. There was just enough left for one or two plates. The soup received rave reviews—even from Doug, the cook!

       I was amused with Doug's follow-up story about last week's chicken pot pie. When Miss Lillian had arrived on Monday, word of the pot pie was still spreading through the shelter. At her first opportunity, she asked Doug, "How did you make that?" He never told her the winding tale, only his (final) biscuit ingredients and that he'd added more chicken. All's well that ends well.

       One of my favorite pre-release fellows is leaving this week. He'll be missed. All of the women pre-release have left, but sadly one went back to "the big house." I don't understand how a person with five state warrants out on them can slip through the cracks far enough to get to a shelter in the first place…

       Among the resident homeless, we have two interesting new fellows. One is a special-ed case, and I do wonder why he is there and not in a better equipped facility. The other came to lunch bearing the bruises of a recent skirmish and not appearing altogether sober. He probably won't be there next week.

       A while back I mentioned that we had three 400-pounders. We did. There was the couple with a child, and a woman (I thought). I served "her" many, many weeks, always cringing from the pains that her mass seemed to inflict on her. Last week I arrived at the kitchen to learn that "she" was in hospital with life-threatening cardio-vascular problems (duh), and  that she is a man! Whoa!

       This week, the news is that "he" is somewhat improved and is expected to be back at the shelter soon, "sucking mayonnaise from the condiment packettes." Ew.

       Again, both of my children were in attendance. My little girl's father strode to the lunch counter with a smile on his face, no cane, and no limping. It was miraculous! (No dieting either—if lunch was any indication.) But I was happy to see him feeling so well. The child was still in her pajamas, skipping gaily through the lunch room, showing a little old beggarly-looking man the boo-boo on her finger and telling him about a similar injury she'd had in kindergarten. I've never seen her so animated. I motioned her to the kitchen door where I offered her a choice of a green Beanie bear or one that looks like Winnie the Pooh—she chose the Pooh and dashed off to share her goodies with her adult friends.

       Whatever got into the girl had also infected the boy, as he too was undeniably cheerful and talkative. I called him next to the kitchen door for goodies, but having run out of lizards and creepy boy things, I wasn't feeling very optimistic about my offerings: A black & white gibbon monkey OR a very floppy, adorable speckled pup. He snatched the pup with a gleeful "yes!" and dashed away to show it off, his arm leaping the puppy across the room. Who knew?

       Almost as an afterthought, I had also given each child half of an empty paper towel roll. "It's a durt-de-dur," I told them. As the little girl left, I put my hollowed fists to my mouth and called after her, "Durt-de-durt-te-dur!"

       Doug and I put together 30-some sack lunches and sorted the gifted bakery bread that arrived around 12:30 (a Sunday ritual now). The dark breads cannot be served at our shelter because of poppy seeds and possible drug-test contamination. We froze some for Dean, and we froze a batch of large loaves to slice and heat for next Sunday's lunch.

       There was sweeping, organizing, and dishwashing to do—just the usual. I left with a right smart sore back and an enormous grin on my face. Several folks called to me in the parking lot, "Thanks for lunch!"

       Doug had already thanked me for all the help I was today. "Hey," I said, "I had a great time, and that's really all that matters!"

GOD BLESS THE CHILD

       It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood… I can't remember when a Sunday morning has been more uplifting—though the exact secret to that is a bit illusive.

       Doug was busy with dinner plans when I arrived. Lunch had been donated yesterday—Styrofoam meal containers with spaghetti and salad. All we had to do was take them out of the cooler and put them on the counter.

       …but for dinner, there was chicken pot pie in the making. Doug was thawing large bags of frozen pot pie ingredients. For the dough, he mixed up flour, milk and butter, which he poured over the top. He put two large pans of the dish in the ovens, and he put a huge pot of green beans on to boil. Applesauce will be served on the side.

       I found only a dozen sack lunches in the fridge, so I made 2 dozen more before the pre-release came to lunch. There were about a dozen people for that meal, and serving them was a no-brainer. Doug and I had a lot of time to catch up with news.

       Miss Lillian is back from vacation, and things are again looking skewed. Dean is not welcome in the kitchen (orders of the hierarchy), and it becomes more and more evident that he will not take over Joey's old position when Lillian retires in the fall. Maybe it's time for me to write the nasty letter that's been taking shape in my head.

       Among the dirt that Doug shared was the story of a homeless resident who came to the kitchen to get a sack lunch to take to his job. Very soon, he came back to the counter, THREW the sack at Doug, and it bounced off the counter. The man shouted that his chips were missing and his sandwiches were smashed. Doug looked in the bag. The sandwiches were  fine. Then he took a fresh lunch and gave it to the man saying, "If your sandwiches were smashed, it was only because you threw your lunch at me." Doug was working very hard to contain his true feelings.

       As soon as he could, he shared the story with Lillian. "What's his name?" she asked. The next time the man came to a meal, Lillian grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked his face close to hers. "If you ever do that again—you'll be out of here." Doug is a tall, strong man, but Lillian is a powerful force to be reckoned with.

       The night crew is still ransacking the kitchen, but Lillian is supposed to get a handle on that this week. I look forward to hearing the report—the guy she'll be dealing with is formidable too—formidably lazy, and sadly second in command.

       I asked Doug if Lillian had missed the PBJ tub, and he said he'd told her the truth, "It slipped right through Joy's hands, she shouted, 'Damn, it broke!' I thought she'd fallen…" and Lillian just hooted with laughter. Works for me.

       Cutie Gatekeeper came often to the kitchen. He does hate sitting at the front desk, monitoring the coming and the going—it's a very confining and boring job. On the other hand, it's frustrating when a resident opens the doors to a stranger. So that issue has been batted around this week.

       About mid-way through lunch, I asked Doug for his biscuit topper recipe. I had seen a 10-pound sack of "plain" flour on the stove, so I figured he had a recipe… When he listed flour, milk, and butter as the ingredients, I said, "No leavening?"

       "No," he said. "It'll puff up."

       I really didn't want to contradict him, but somehow he got the idea that it might not puff up. We were in the pantry looking at the flour supply. When he realized his mistake, his precious face turned almost purple! He was angry!

       I assured him we could scrape off the gooey topper (which was fairly done by then) and replace it. So we did. I also suggested we add some chicken to the pies, as the pre-fab mix doesn't have enough meat. As it turned out, adding the meat improved the nutrition of the dish, and the fresh biscuit topper was fluffy and fine. We'll laugh about that for a long time.

       I was thrilled to see both my little girl and my little boy at lunch! The girl was the first to arrive at the counter. "Good morning!" I smiled. She just stared at me. The rims of her eyes are a bit red, and there's a little red mark on her face. One side of her father's face was crimped, as if he'd just been sleeping on it. I understand that "Mom" returned to town, but is not allowed to return to the shelter. The child was "away" during the day this week, so I guess she had something to do besides while away her time at the shelter.

       When I caught his eye, I motioned the boy to the kitchen door. I gave him some gum, a sucker, and a red lobster Beanie (my very last "boy type" critter). He was pleased.

       Then I asked the girl's father to send her to me. She had her choice of the world's cutest Beanie puppy or a blue Beanie bear. She chose the bear. I'm sure now that she has a thing for the bears. It was good to see that her face was not so sad anymore, but her eyes were still red, and there was that little mark on her face, and geeze, Louise!

       As I crossed the parking lot to my car, a few people bade me have a great day. The children were playing with two yard-long sticks. I tossed them my last tennis ball and told them to share. "We will!" they shouted.

       Isn't it great how children can assume the happy-life position no matter where we put them?

ANTICIPATION IS MAKING ME WAIT

      Last night I learned that "my little girl" had returned to the shelter. I raced to the toy closet to select two treasures from which to let her choose, knowing that seeing her again would be the high point of the day—after I had worked more than 2 hours preparing and serving lunch.

       In spite of my request last night, Cutie Gatekeeper did not spike his hair for me today, explaining that he'd slept until 10 minutes before having to report for work. Besides, it's raining, and no hairdo takes well to rain. He'll try again next week.

       He and I were the first to arrive in the dark kitchen. He doesn't know where all the light switches are either, but we tried a lot that didn't work. Pretty soon Doug arrived and we had light aplenty. Doug was in good spirits today. For lunch, we had 16 plates of leftovers from last night's dinner, but he didn't know what he was going to do about the 16 or 20 more plates that we'd need. I've been wanting to make my corned beef hash with poached eggs for a long time, so I suggested it, and Doug was in agreement. I browned the corned beef hash from a #10 can (in three batches), then spread it evenly on a large baking sheet. I made nests with the bottom of a cup, and cracked a raw egg into each one—about 20. Doug put the pan in the oven, and within 40 minutes, it was ready to serve.

       On the side, we got rid of a large pan of fruit cocktail, and a large pan of leftover rolls. As has become customary in the past 5 or 6 weeks, a man came to the back door with more large sacks of bread, so there will be rolls for dinner tonight too.

       It was interesting to watch the pre-release approach the counter. They recognized the BBQ leftovers from last night, but the hash was almost an unknown. When I told them that I'd "made it myself" and that I first saw it made in a fancy restaurant, they decided they could try it. Some asked for seconds. Some gave great reviews. Cutie Gatekeeper ate two plates. So I'm calling it good.

       The stash of lunch sacks was so depleted that I made up 30 during my 3 hours there. Miss Lillian has been on vacation for 3 weeks, but returns tomorrow, so Doug wanted everything to be in perfect order for her reentry. I asked him if anybody had noticed the missing PB&J tub, wondering what Lillian would think... and Doug said one person had asked about it last week. "I said, 'We don't have that anymore,'" he explained. What a guy!

       Our homeless residents were an extra sad-looking group today. They look homeless, though there was one man wearing an exceptionally pleasing cologne, and I complimented it. On the whole, they were a pretty rag-tag group. Of course, she was there… and I had waited so long to see her. "I missed you!" I told her. She had on a little pair of play high-heel shoes—what a beautiful child.

       Her granddad (now hear this) is not her granddad. And her grandmother is not her grandmother. They are, as I originally assumed, her parents, though the woman is said to be the only one who is genetically connected to the child. Her daddy has just "always been with her." It doesn't take genetics to make a good daddy—just being there with love—so apparently he qualifies. He did not have a good week, and he doesn't feel well today, but he did take the BBQ plate with two sandwiches, so I'm guessing his appetite is okay.

       Anyway, I offered the child her choice of toys, and she selected a patriotic Beanie bear with sit-down legs and extra-soft fur. I also had a tiny coloring kit for her, and I asked her, "What are you doing this summer?"

       She said she was going to the Boys & Girls Club, but now she can't because of her ear (swimmer's ear?). So I must imagine that she is stuck there at the shelter all day, every day. I'll be looking into activities for her this week, but I'm not holding my breath. She'd need transportation and supervision—all those things that kids with abundance can take for granted.

       There were no other children present for lunch, though the little boy in still in residence.

       Doug said that Mr. Huggy came by yesterday to say his duties "overseeing" Doug were ending, as Miss Lillian was returning. If you've been paying close attention, you'll be laughing right about now.

       The nightly kitchen raids are ongoing, but Doug hopes Lillian's return will help with those. Heaven knows how it will pan out when Lillian retires for good, in the fall.

       Dean was again not there for the Sunday meals, but he's been a steady hand through the week. And there's an old, old volunteer who appeared one day recently. She marched into the kitchen, introduced herself to Doug, and said, "You'll have to get your stuff off this work table. I'll be needing it." Come to think of it, I know that feeling :)

TMI!

      Cutie Gatekeeper let me in. He's got his short strawberry hair all spiked up in the middle, and Honey, that is one cute kid! I told him so too.

       Doug was alone in the kitchen. I got a very solemn, "Hello," in response to my cheerful greeting. You know, I don't like to manipulate people in a premeditated fashion, but this situation called for some levity; after all, we were fixin' to spend the better part of 3 hours together. So I made haste in asking him questions about himself… and within a minute, he was perky and engaged. He reported on his family, today's food prep and the pre-release.

       "I've been learning lots of stuff about those guys during the week," he announced. "That guy who was just in here for a cup of coffee?"

       "Uh huh."

       "Guess what he's in for? He's a hit man! Well, actually, he tried to hire a hit man."

       Another robbed a bank, and another was a good enough embezzler to still have an expensive car. All of the above are Caucasian. Our African American pre-release are much less hazardous with their simple drug violations.

       The stash of clean aprons was depleted, so I took the dirties, along with our cleaning towels, to the laundry room and ran a load. Things aren't as well-ordered as they were this time last year. I even did some sweeping. Mr. Huggy had come in this week saying he was told Doug needed help, but it only throws Doug behind when he must stop and deal with the Hugs. Major consternation! On top of that, the night crew is still raiding the kitchen for "snack time," leaving a lot of mess on the floor, serving foods that have been prepared for the next day, and generally destroying Doug's hard work. He seems reticent to pitch a fit about it, but I keep encouraging him to.

       Also, Lanyard Guy has been letting street folks come to the dining room to be fed. Doug had to remind him to NOT do that. "You don't know those people! They could come in here with weapons and hurt all of us!" Lanyard Guy is just too totally focused on his little sign-out sheet of pre-release. In fact, he cannot accurately tell me on Saturday evenings how many children live there because he only watches the pre-release. He's there; he's letting people come in and go out; but, apparently his focus is awfully limited.

       Just FYI: Leslie doesn't come there anymore. We don't know why, but we miss her. Even the diners miss her.

       For lunch we served four #10 cans of black-eye peas, death-in-a-tub chicken salad, garlic bread, two #10 cans of fruit cocktail, and orange slices. We had a big crowd; I was too busy to count them.

       The PBJ container was out of sack lunches for the street folks, so I made up 25 of those, but not before first dropping the half-gallon tub of PB&J on the pantry floor. I dropped it once before, when I was working with Dean, but there was no harm done. Today, the tub hit the tile, popped open, splatted its mix on the floor, and cracked! It made an impressive noise which, when mingled with my loud "Damn!" brought Doug running and grasping his heart. He thought I had fallen! The poor boy whined for quite awhile about the fright. Nothing I could do but clean it up and start over. But it does make me wonder how I could have dropped that same tub twice, when this time I carefully used both hands.

       The little boy came to lunch. He was very happy with a lizard that he chose, some gum & candies, and a bottle of bubbles. A man sitting next to the child said he also wanted a toy, and I had to back peddle my way out of a corner with, "What would I tell the next child if I don't have a toy for him because a man with a beard got it?"

       My little girl's grandfather came to lunch, and I asked after the child. He said she was in another town with a relative and under DSS supervision. As I was leaving, I met the man in the foyer and heard him telling someone that the child was coming back this afternoon. So I stopped to engage him about her. The relatives "had a fight," and Granddad thinks they're bringing the child back today—he isn't sure. Grandmother is a thousand miles away, camping in the woods with her boyfriend. That's gotta be rough when you weigh 400 pounds. Anyway, I left an adorable monkey in a blue-striped t-shirt with Granddad, to give the child when he sees her. He's still talking about asking for custody (when his disability comes through), so I threw out some thoughts for him about open adoptions, his health issues, and her impending teen years.

       He lit a cigarette and pressed on his lower abdomen, "Oh! Those beans!" I'm thinking it wasn't the bitty bowl of black-eyes, but more likely the two PBJs he made for himself to top off his lunch. I feel full just thinking about it.

       Doug was in good spirits when I left. We had ourselves a fine time, got a lot of work done, and look forward to next week. In the meantime, I'll be attending to the big jelly stain on my shirt. Aprons are good—not magic.

GONE

      My little girl is gone. Surely this is a good thing, but I had to sift through the details, as they varied from person to person. Doug and Dean were in the kitchen, and Cutie Gatekeeper was minding the door. There was little to do because lunch was leftover barbeque sandwiches, baked beans and potato salad. We served only 28 people; one took a sack lunch, two "required" a non-pork plate, and one who arrived quite late was given chicken salad. I took four bags of breaded okra, and Doug deep fried it. For those who loved it, there wasn't enough.

       Between putting together a dozen sack lunches and serving lunch, I asked questions. Doug said the little girl had left. Dean said she'd gone to live with her grandmother (and I assumed the man in the wheelchair). But Gatekeeper had the real scoop: the child is in another town now, staying with an uncle and under the watchful eye of DSS. So… my fears ran from horror to sadness to relief. At least, sometimes DSS gets it right. It's out of our hands, isn't it?

       The child's grandfather was not at lunch, but still resides at the shelter. I didn't see him. In fact, none of the "really interesting" people was there. Compared to last Sunday's crowd, the place was nearly deserted today.

       The little boy and the baby still live there, but were not at lunch. I don't like to see children living at a shelter, but I surely miss them when they aren't around. Their very presence brings a "family" atmosphere to the lunchroom.

       By the time I left, Doug had completed dinner prep and was planning to do as little as possible this afternoon. Maybe Dean will take a break too. They both spent the morning running on all cylinders, as if there were a train to catch.

       I picked both their brains about Mr. Huggy, but they knew nothing. The Hugs keeps a very low profile with the kitchen these days, and the cooks like it that way.

       Until next time—be well.

UPRIGHT!

       No, the vertigo is not gone, but it's better, and the queasiness hasn't been around for a few days. I waltzed in this morning without weaving more than a couple of beers worth. One of my favorite pre-release greeted me cheerfully from his smoking area.

       In the foyer I passed Gartantuan Granddad sitting on a short bench with a lot of papers around him. He did not smile. He tucked some papers under himself, as if to hide them from me. Cutie Gatekeeper let me in.

       In the kitchen I found Dean and Doug! What a treat! They've had an interesting week. For starters, Mr. Huggy had been around (full-time volunteer), and he was instructing Doug on food prep one day, "This is how it's done!" Doug is not interested in how Huggy says it's done, and just so you know, Huggy "thawed" some frozen chicken in hot water and cut it up on a surface that we never use for food prep. After he cooked it, he insisted that Doug try it. Doug took a bite, stealthily deposited it in a napkin, and said nothing. Huggy is also reported to be involved with a woman there. For the life of me, I can't remember that story, but the guys find it fascinating that Hugs can have women so easily.

       Leslie again worked on Saturday, and I still miss seeing her. She baked a fabulous pasta and cheese casserole for tonight's dinner, and I had a plate of it—to go with a bunch of other stuff I ate. Somebody is feeling better… And guess what? Leslie is going to apply to volunteer every week because she loves it there so much!

       I made 3 dozen sack lunches while my three No. 10 cans of black-eye peas simmered. For lunch we also served three No. 10 cans of fruit cocktail and 10 pounds of chicken salad. That fed 45 people, with three plates left over.

       The strange fellow with the tiny sunglasses and cane did not come for lunch, but I was ready for him—porkless, fake little twit. If you've seen the movie "Thumbelina," just think of Mr. Mole—that's the twit. They tell me he rides a bicycle! Generally, I think of myself as a more forgiving person, but after last week, I don't have much for the twit. They said that after he left the counter, refusing to speak to me, he went to Gatekeeper and told him that we would not fix him anything he could eat. Doug was ready to give the guy some tuna, but wasn't given an opportunity. Just wears you right on out, some days.

       My little girl was extra bouncy today. She loved the sparkly Beanie bear I gave her, and I heard her telling her granddad all about it, "This is a Christmas bear!" Her grandmother did not come to lunch. I heard Granddad telling Dean that he and his wife are divorcing. He plans to have custody of the child—with his 400 pounds and cane. As to Grandmother, she has taken up with "the guy in the wheelchair." Granddad is obviously very hurt.

       None of us in the kitchen has ever seen "the guy in the wheelchair," so he remains a mystery.

       My little boy got a Beanie stingray and some gum. He had the toy over his shoulder as he left the lunchroom.

       It was 12:30 before I thought to take off my apron! Everyone had eaten and left. Gatekeeper and I said good-bye as I passed into the foyer and out to the parking lot. My little boy was chewing a massive wad of gum and romping under a tree. I tossed him a tennis ball as I headed for the car. Except for Granddad, happy campers all.