NOTHING TO REPORT, SIR

      If ever there were an uneventful Sunday lunch at the shelter, it was today. Doug was slicing raw hams when I arrived. The greasy mess was all over the work table, and he was just going about his work as he always does: first in a frenzy, and then relaxed because it's suddenly all done. He always exclaims about being finished and organized, as if he weren't expecting to arrive at that point.

       For lunch, Doug's order of chicken and egg salads had come in, and I found enough canned goods to make a large pot of soup. "I know I always say this, Miss Joy, but this is the best soup you've ever made," Doug said as he poured himself a second bowl.

       I was a bit surprised to find two expired cans of beans in the mystery box—one died in 2010, and the other last year. The edges of their lids had a bit of rust around them. We didn't use those…

       We had a large pan of fruit to serve with the salads and soup, and every diner got a wee pack of gum. Our pre-release were of good humor, but our homeless were pushing my buttons 10 minutes before the first group had finished. I sent the two troublemakers out to wait for the announcement. Two or three minutes later, they returned saying that lunch had been announced… The pre-release were unruffled and continued to finish their meals, and I sent the scoundrels out again. In due time, Doug called Gatekeeper and asked for the announcement. Kids.

       That young woman who was double dipping last week to take food outside to her boyfriend came to the counter for her plate. "Can I get two bowls of soup?" I'm guessing she saw something in my eyes that spoke to her. "I'll come back after I finish this one," she said. She did come for another bowl later, but she did not leave the dining room.

       Our 14-year-old and her sister 17 are still with us. They are so appreciative of the goodies I give them, and the goodie box had overflowed into two more boxes this week! There were candy canes filled with Hershey's kisses from someone's Christmas stock, and Russell Stover chocolates from the Easter supplies, and heaps of other goodies. I carried away as much as I could, so it will be available to give to them in subsequent weeks. Things that are left there seem to disappear.

       So the soup pot was literally scraped clean, as were the salad containers. I had the pleasure of treating the tall, young Oriental fellow to a can of sardines and another of anchovies. "Twenty. Thank you," he said clearly, giving his bed number.

       The Christians didn't show up before I left, but I greeted them last week, and those 5 huge bags remain unchanging. A homeless woman spent the morning cleaning and doing chores for Doug, and two fellows from that group volunteered to help after lunch. Compared to having nothing but a bed and a sidewalk, mopping looks like fun!

       You know, "nothing" was a really good morning!

MOTHER'S DAY…

      I parked in the back lot, as I have for months now, to climb the metal stairs to the open kitchen door. On the lower landing was a chicken's leg bone. I assumed it had fallen from the trash bag on the way to the dumpster and kicked it aside so no one would trip on it.

       Doug was having a hissy fit over all that needed to be done, so I began by assuring him it would all get done. His nerves are always so near the edge that it's easy to imagine he was a colicky baby. Among his grievances was the fact that people had taken two dozen sack lunches last night without signing for them. I made more.

       Mother's Day always brings out sentimental feelings and kind behaviors in the folks at the shelter. Doug assumes they're recalling better days. Looking forward, I watch our adorable 6-month-old while I listen to Doug's review of her mother. How will this child feel on Mother's Day when she is older? Her mom is somewhat unsavory, and she leaves the baby with anybody who will tend her. At lunch, the baby was with a woman who just got out of jail—a crack head and ex-madam. We know these things because another resident who was also in jail has shared them with us. Before Doug gave me the skinny on that one, I had remarked that she has a very sweet face—a sweet countenance.

       I like to think I'm a good judge of character, but that's being disproved.

       We served fruit, chicken salad, Doug's cream of broccoli soup, chicken nuggets, crackers, and little skewers of cheese cubes and olives that I took from home.

       Among the pre-release we have a fellow who seldom eats in the dining room, but comes there on Sundays. Doug says he's got anxiety issues with being in groups. When the group cleared out, that fellow stayed behind to bend our ears for awhile. He's been in prison 10 years and out 1 month. When I pick apart the many things he said, I feel that he's terrified, but hopeful. He can't believe he lost 10 years. I'm guessing he needs more people on the outside to talk to—all he has now are other prisoners—and the kitchen help.

       Among the homeless is a tall young fellow who slides up to the counter and bellows, "What's going on here?" nodding toward the food.

       "It's lunch," I answer turning away.

       "Well, what is it?" he demands.

       So I give him a verbal menu and turn away again. He takes the food. Then Doug leans in close and says, "I can't stand that guy; he does that at every meal!" Doug's days are fraught with irritation.

       Our Oriental fellow got most of my special ministrations today, as I took a can of sardines just for him. When I mentioned it to Doug, he reached into a cabinet where he squirrels away delicacies and handed me a tiny can of anchovies. Our target was so pleased with his gifts, and his "thank you" was perfect.

       Children: I was told that we had one baby and two teenage girls, but the 1- and 9-year-olds are still there, and I did not take enough goodies for everyone. After some hand wringing, I gave all the big girls two packs of bubble gum and the babies nothing.

       Bitty Baby's mother is also manipulative. After first taking her plate, she returned to the counter and asked Doug for some Saran wrap. We thought the request was unusual, but harmless. The woman then wrapped her plate and took it out front to give to her boy friend! Gatekeeper was livid!

       Returning to the counter, she asked me my name, then told me hers. Later she came again, calling me by name, "Joy?" (It feels out of place… really out of place.)

       She wanted another piece of Saran wrap. I just gave her a blank look. God forbid I should become an accessory to feeding the boy friend. When I wasn't forthcoming, she reached toward the piece of wrap that was hanging from my cheese/olives dish and asked if she could just have that.

       Miss Lillian again did not order what Doug had put on the Wednesday list. Later in the week, one of the budget heads called him in on the carpet for "over spending." She accused him of spending $6,000 in only two weeks! He was quick to point out to her that he had not spent anything…

       The worm is turning, slowly but surely.

       I left knowing that everyone had a full stomach—even someone we had not intended to serve… Squarely centered on the landing at the bottom of the steps was the leg bone, and each end had been gnawed off.

       I returned to the kitchen and fetched Doug. He descended the stairs and perched himself on a stool. Then he flipped a switch to raise the big metal "lift" used for bringing heavy deliveries to porch level. Surely something was under there, and Doug didn't want his feet exposed. We both examined the underneath area long enough to determine that it was nasty and offered numerous places for a nest. Then I headed to my car, and Doug returned to the kitchen, tightly closing the door behind him.

       Like I said, everyone had a full stomach.

WHEN COOK IS HAPPY

    …everybody's happy. This week, Cook is happy! Of course, it's all about the scuttlebutt, and things are changing, so we'll cross our fingers. Again, Miss Lillian did not order the foods on Doug's list on Wednesday, so the cupboard is pretty darned bare! When I asked him about the dearth of food, he said things were looking up because THE director of the shelter is being replaced. Doug met the new director this week and likes him a lot. The new guy says anybody who's not pulling their weight is out. Doug thinks Crusty Old Gal will be the first to go! Furthermore (and here's the best part), the new director thinks the kitchen should have two full-time cooks and none of this part-time/helper nonsense. We agree!

       So I'm excited to see how all of this shakes out.

       Meanwhile, the candies/gum box was filled this week, as was another whole box! I spent about an hour digging through them for things for the children and for tiny packs of gum to hand out with lunches. We have no cookies to pack with the sack lunches, so those packs of gum have been used instead… Rare is the day when we have no cookies, so I wonder if it has something to do with Wednesday's order.

       Guess what??? The 1- and 9-year-olds have left, but we have a new 6-month-old, and she's so cute! I gave her a stuffed infant toy and she hugged it and smiled and kicked her feet, jumping in the arms of the girl who was holding her. What a happy baby!

       The teenagers are still there, as is our Oriental fellow. He can say "twenty," his bed number. He is impeccably neat and clean and polite. He is wretchedly quiet, as there is not a soul for him to talk to. Doug says he's as smart as I imagine him to be, and I look at him and wonder: Wouldn't some benevolent family be blessed to take him in and help him acclimate? Where can I find one of those?

       Doug made his divine potato soup today, and we served chicken salad and fruit with it. The young woman who's been working community service hours for several weeks now was there again today. I was already aware that I don't fit in with younger people (anyone under 50), but she makes it painfully evident with reports of local events she's attending. She's a good worker, though, and takes a lot of the sweat off of me when it's time to sling the hash or make sack lunches.

       As soon as the pre-release were seated and eating, one of them began to banter with Doug, and Doug told me the guy needed putting in his place (all in jest of course). So I got a Snickers bar from that full candy box, held it out of sight, and walked out into the dining room. "Doug says you need to behave," I said, putting the candy by his plate, "and don't let me see you showing out again!"

       Five or six voices rang out, "We need to behave!" as I knew they would, and we did have enough candy bars for everyone. These are the times when I can fully appreciate being the mother in the kitchen, even if I cannot talk about popular events in town.

      Not wanting to bring home 10 pounds of tiny packs of gum, I hid two bags of them in the pantry. One bag is squeezed between two sacks of flour in the back of a box of sacks of flour, and the other bag is at the bottom of a box of tiny packets of salt. Hiding things in that kitchen is difficult, so I'm eager to see if my stealth works. (More importantly, will I remember where I hid them?) Doug said that between last night and this morning, the contents of one of the large candy boxes diminished by 4 or 5 inches…

       It was over when it was over, and my back was done long before it was over. And about my back: I have engaged a fellow at a local gym to teach me to strengthen it. So far, his ministrations have given rise to great pain in much of my body, but it's far too early to complain. If he were not French… but he is… 
       So I believe that one day I will leave the shelter kitchen with a spring in my step that matches the smile on my face.

FOILED AGAIN

       Doug's undies were wadded irretrievably UP when I arrived this morning. He'd taken Saturday off for a family event, and Miss Lillian and Dean had taken his place. Many things had been done wrong… not the least of which was 30 pounds of ground beef thawing in the big cooler, dripping bloody water in puddles in the floor.

       After listening to his rant for about an hour, including how he was QUITTING(!), I took him aside and pointed out that the people who are messing with his head are not as smart as he is and that they are doing things to get his goat. His best bet would be to keep a journal of activities, have his mole (gatekeeper) initial events in the journal, and pretend he isn't bothered.

       I felt like a teacher running interference between bullies and the smart kid on the play ground… and I had this very real fear that perhaps I would choose to not go there anymore…

       Time passed, lunch prep got underway, people came and went, and one phone call (from one of the antagonists) gave Doug a chance to blow off some steam. After that, he said, "I'm great! I gave them a piece of my mind, and I'm fine now."

       You know… I don't think of myself as a scorekeeper or a hall monitor or a mediator. I'd rather leave.

       Interestingly, the pre-release who mops for Doug (just because he's a nice guy) was SO excited to see that I'd brought sardines again (as I'd promised). The 2nd can was put out for the homeless group. The plate sat on the shelf, ignored, until that tall young Oriental fellow came in. He made haste in taking it. I asked him, "How  is   your   English   this   week?"

       Many attempted sentences later, we gave up. He is of good cheer, but I don't get the feeling that he's in an ESL class.

       Of our four kids (1, 9, 14, & 17), only the 14-yr-old was at lunch. I gave her the goodies for herself and her sister.

       My back/legs/feet were hurting a pretty good lick all morning, so when everyone had been served, I checked out. Who knows what any "next moment" will bring, but it seems especially worrisome when I wonder about "next Sunday."

LOOKING BACK

      Four years ago this Easter was the last time I set foot in an organized church—and truthfully, that one was pretty disorganized. I told myself that if leaving to work in a shelter on Sundays was the right thing to do, then I would know instinctively by my feelings. Because my feelings have not changed in 4 years, I'm calling it a win.

       All of the residents were upbeat today—just because it's Easter (even using the term without a deeper meaning). They are so hungry for change, for diversion, that simply being able to say, "Happy Easter!" elevates their mood.

       I took 6 dozen boiled and dyed eggs, some little foil-wrapped chocolate eggs, and 4-inch kabobs of cheeses & olives. We added those to Doug's delicious juicy hamburgers and baked beans. We provided heaps of sliced tomatoes and slices of cheese. We now have six or eight pre-release who won't eat beef or pork, so Doug made chicken & fish patties for their buns. Everybody was camping happy.

       The young woman from last week was there, and she is very much a can-do gal. Again, I was happy to let her help fill plates—we fed about 42.

       Doug said Miss Lillian had dropped by unexpectedly on Friday when he had the back door open. "What's this door doing open?" Lillian demanded.

       "I'm throwing boxes out," Doug replied.

       "Well, I need half a ham," she said. "And you need to feed out those hamburgers tomorrow; they're getting freezer burn."

       He cut her a half ham, and she left with her personal Easter meal. By that time, Doug was ready to walk out—forever. The nuances and the not-so-subtle interactions at that institution are enough to drive a normal person around the bend.

       Doug seems quite satisfied to have had one of his 5 days given to Lillian. Lillian, however (though "retired" and now back "part-time") wields a big stick and a lot of ownership there.

       As for the latest brouhaha with the pre-release, someone was caught smoking downstairs last week. Well… it was discovered that someone had been smoking there. No one, of course, would narc out the offender, so the gatekeeper in charge was pondering putting the whole gang on lock-down, but he didn't want the hassle. That issue has been rolled over to tomorrow when the Bureau of Prisons head shrew can take on the decision making.

       Only one child was at lunch, but I left her sister's goodie bag with their mom, and I left goodies for the 9-yr-old and the baby. They are there—just not at lunch.

       Next week we will have the chicken salad that we'd planned for this week… unless Lillian has another top-dog attack. Doug will be away next Saturday, and today's sweet volunteer allowed as how she could not help Lillian out on Saturday—nor will BOB—nor will I. Stepping into that woman's Gospel-screaming kitchen is more like an opportunity to be undone than saved. We do what we can with what we have; the rest we give up to God.

OFF THE CHAIN

       There was nothing on the stove when I arrived in the kitchen. Doug is always bustling about with his dinner preparations, but not today. Today he was chatting with the inmates and taking his time. He did have 3 or 4 turkeys in the oven for Miss Lillian to debone tomorrow, but no dinner prep.

       As for lunch, he said he was going to deep-fry corn dogs, chicken nuggets, and French fries. He had applesauce to serve on the side. He said he and I would make a bunch of PBJs… Then I asked him to take a picture of me in the apron my friend sent from Georgia.

      Pretty soon, a young woman came in (community service hours, I believe). She's just delightful, and Doug put her right to work on the PBJs. In the meantime, I whined about having no soup to make, until Doug took a big pot and set it on the stove with a "good luck" look in his eye.

       Again this week, a benevolent soul visited the mystery box. When the soup pot was filled, it contained 2 cans of beef stew, several cups of corn, cans of peas, spinach and green beans, 2 jars of Ragu, most of a head of cabbage, broccoli, a fistful of rice, and a cup of curly noodles.

       When it was near completion, BOB arrived. BOB is back. He set right to work filling the ice bin and seeing to other needs. Our young woman finished her PBJs and began filling plates to serve the pre-release. She caught on so fast that I found myself with little to do but watch. And that felt pretty good because it clearly demonstrated why I get so worn out from filling 40 plates! I could enjoy "supervising" more often. In fact, she says she'll be back next Sunday!

       The baby girl and her cousin were there, but didn't come to lunch. The baby's mom came for some milk, so I sent their toys back with her. However, we have two new girls(!) who are 14 and 17, and I had prepared age-appropriate goody bags for them. Too, I had saved back enough mini-packs of gum to put one on every plate.

       Interestingly, as the homeless crowd came to the counter, the first young woman to take a meal didn't understand about giving BOB her room number. The guy with the young woman said, "She slept in room #8 last night." Well, that's in the MEN's section, and the poor girl is not registered to stay there. We fed her and ignored the issue. She hung her head and looked awfully frightened and lost. Sad.

       Tall dark handsomes were both at lunch and both upbeat. I slipped a couple of chocolates to the sweet one when he came to mop the dining room. There's a new pre-release that Doug says has been in prison for 26 years. He said the man was trembling one night last week when they had meatloaf, saying he could not remember having had such good food.

       So Doug and BOB got themselves each a bowl of soup, and I did too. Pretty soon, BOB said, "Miss Joy, that soup is off the chain!"

       I don't get out enough… it was a compliment. Even the young volunteer understood. Doug filled a small container with the leftover soup for BOB to take home.

       The Christians arrived, just as the homeless were finishing their meal and vacating the dining room. Doug eagerly told the volunteer what we do with the loaves, and I raced to ask him, jumping up and down, "Can we shoot hoops? Can we, huh?"

       He pulled a burnt loaf out of a sack and threw me a long pass as I dashed out the back door, vaulted it over the porch railing, and watched it drop clean into the gaping maw of the dumpster… looking straight into the windshield of the Christians who had not yet backed out of the driveway…

       We may not see them again… depending on who saw what and how they define "off the chain."

MAKING MAGIC

      Someone donated a box of mostly expired foods last week, but nothing we couldn't use. The scalloped-potatoes mix provided dried potatoes for my soup, and powdered cheese sauce for the mashed potatoes that Doug was making for dinner. You'd be surprised how things can be used, outside of their intended purposes.

       So today I want to share the soup recipe with you. Don't even think about replicating it—you'd fail. But thanks to that little mid-week donation, I was able to begin with the contents of the mystery box. I started with the remaining can of Progresso Recipe Starters Cooking Sauce (3-cheese flavor). Then I added a can of beets. This is where Doug peered into the pot with raised eyebrows and a grimace. Yes, it was ugly.

       The fuchsia beet juice continued to dominate the pot, even after I added a jar of beef gravy, small cans of carrots, corn, green beans, great northerns, mixed vegetables, chicken, beef stew, a #10 can of black eye peas, a jar of Ragu, fresh celery, and a lot of water. After about an hour, the beet juice gave up. I added a fistful of rice and three or four handfuls of curly egg noodles. We made some taste tests and declared it to be good.

       Our diners also declared it good—they cleaned out the pot! We served chicken nuggets, fries and fruit on the side. There were even enough bitty packs of gum to put one on every plate, and I found some chocolate-covered-caramel candies to fill in, should the gum run out. When the tall dark sweet one came to get his drink, I told him that I had looked for the peanut butter cups he'd wanted last week, but I'd found only "these."

       "Oh, I like those too!" he said. Then his buddy said, "Can I have some too?"

       Sweet One grinned and said, "Tell him no."

       They were charming and appreciative, as was most everyone who came to lunch. One new pre-release claims to be a vegetarian, but he ate a full meal and didn't complain. Two others were doubtful about the soup, but when I promised them it contained no pork, they took it.

       Angry Mom and her boys do not live there anymore!

       The little girl and the baby are still there, and I enjoyed pampering them. Doug says the only meal they come for is Sunday lunch, so the kids will have goodies. We agree that those little ones are very happy children, which says all we need to know about their mothers.

       Our Oriental fellow is still there, and his English improves. He was among more than 40 who came to lunch.

       Two high school senior fellows came to do some community service as part of their senior project. Doug let them clean out the walk-in refrigerator and freezer. Then he put them to work making 30 sack lunches. One was tall and very thin, while the other was short and quite plump—Mutt & Jeff. And all three of the guys bonded over the topic of pick-up trucks. I had no idea that Toyota actually made a better chassis during one period than another, or that Ford had so many upsides.

       If the mystery box remains untouched, there will be no soup next week. Even I cannot make soup from beets, evaporated milk, and saurkraut.