TATTOOS & TEETH

       I almost entitled this report "When Cook is Happy," because Doug was whistling his lips off all morning. I don't believe I've ever heard him whistle before.

       For my first hour there, I just listened, as Doug shared the week's events. Miss Lillian was at the top of the charts. The story goes that she hurt her back while shopping in a super store. Says she fell. Says she's suing. Doesn't matter; she'll not be taking one of his paid workdays any longer. Dean was appointed to fill in, and we know he's good at food prep. Sadly, he does not follow orders, so Doug's menu was partially ignored, and balanced meals were not served. Still meals were served, and Doug got some time off.

       Someone went to the food pantry and brought in a box of goodies last week, so everyone got gum on their plate. I was afraid we might never see goodies again. We had no small children, but when it comes to a pack of gum, everyone is a kid.

      The new director begins in a few days. Everyone's excited and wary, as there are the usual rumors that things will be shaken up. Personally, I don't see that happening. The place has hobbled along for so long, allowing the Bureau of Prisons (one person) to call the important shots… I just don't see why the new guy would mess with the status quo—especially since it might effect the shelter's income. Money is always the bottom line.

       For lunch, Doug was making cream of broccoli soup served with chicken salad and fruit. The chicken salad is always the same "death in a tub" utterly divine pre-made stuff, and Doug's soup is a masterpiece that he whips up in minutes. The recipe is this: steam the broccoli until it's almost mushy. Use milk and potato pearls (not flakes) for the base. When the mixture's consistency is a creamy soup, add some salt and pepper and serve with grated cheese on top. Then have another helping.

      Shortly before lunchtime, Doug and Gatekeeper had a discussion about a tiny fellow who was sitting out front under a tree. Some folks from a church had brought the man there and asked the shelter to give him a bed. (That's not how it works.) Gatekeeper explained to them that he couldn't simply give the man a bed and, furthermore, none was available. He said he could not let the man come in for a meal because the man had no shoes, but he did offer to give the man a sack lunch. The church folks chose to take the man to a fast-food place instead, but then returned him to the shelter. I've no idea what went down then.

       Of the pre-release only about five guys showed up. Most of them are on pass today because it's Fathers Day. We were lulled into thinking the remainder of the lunch crowd would be light… until we let the homeless in, and they put us in fast-forward.

       Near the end of that group's lunch period, the wee fellow in question came in and cautiously approached the counter. "I'm in bed 28," he said meekly. Doug peered around to see if he was wearing shoes, and he was. He's as pitiable a specimen of humanity as you'll ever see, but quite engaging, and smiling his way through. In his arms were clutched a few necessities: a toothbrush and some other toiletries that he'd been given. He juggled his things and his lunch, making several trips to the counter. I found him a plastic bag for his things, and his face lit up with delight! A plastic bag…

       The man engaged Doug in some conversation about his feet (demonstrating injuries) and his hand (awfully red and swollen). Doug gave him appropriate sympathy. Later, Doug and I mused about the fellow's condition which gives the appearance of being high, but the more closely I studied him, the more I was thinking perhaps some brain damage is involved. He's covered in tattoos (the "prisoner earmark" teardrop in the corner of one eye), and as toothless as he can be.

       "Why would a person not get a set of dentures in lieu of all those tattoos," I asked Doug. Quite simply, he explained, because in prison tats are free.

NOTHIN' BUT CHANGE…

       Surely this shelter sees more change than most places or situations. The plupart of what I have to report today is scuttlebutt… but it's making Doug crazy, and I do get some of the brunt of that. He began with a typical hissy fit, but this time he wasn't stressed about getting the work done. He was flat-out angry because Miss Lillian had just called to tell him she hurt her back and couldn't come in on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday…

       Yesterday, she came in and did a bunch of work and said she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't her day to come in, but as the worm turned, she was only setting Doug up for the fall. "So, is she not feeling well, or did she hurt her back?" he grumped. Either way, we're not buying it, and he was feeling left high and dry. After about an hour, the boy pulled himself together. As he ruminated over the situation, he contrived a plan to enlist Dean to fill in. Dean, you may recall, always loved the kitchen anyway, so things will work out, but I would not work Doug's job for 9 bucks an hour—it's just criminal.

       The big, big director of the institution is leaving, and will be replaced in a week or two. Doug is looking forward to the new fellow who seems to have better ideas for the shelter. The old director has moved out of his house, and reports got back to Doug that the place was too nasty for human occupancy. Just shows to go you: a person can dress up mighty fine and walk tall, while living in filth. Sigh.

       Last night's gatekeeper handed out 22 sack lunches, but only accounted for 7, so we had to make up the difference today. That rankled Doug's nerves. Oh, and the Crazy One who didn't eat ham or turkey (if we were watching) and who questioned the contents of her Twinkie is back. She didn't come to lunch, and I was disappointed.

       Our 1-year-old has left, but the two teens are still there, and now we have a mom with toddlers, ages 2 and 3 year. The little girl is quite beautiful and pleasant. The boy cried for most of lunchtime. I noticed folks trying to comfort him. Babies shouldn't have to live in such places.

       My French trainer donated about 40 pounds of canned goods for the shelter, so Doug asked me to make soup. I could have made soup 2 or 3 times! I filled a huge pot with vegetables, beef, sausage, chicken, tomato sauce, and mystery ingredients, and a smaller pot with just chicken and rice soup for those who won't touch beef or pork. And you won't believe this, but a good-looking young man came to the counter late (among the homeless) and turned down everything we had! NO MEAT! He's a vegetarian. Period. "Don't you want some fruit cocktail?" I asked. No, he didn't. When he realized that he had just shot himself in the foot, he took the fruit and a roll. This is nothing but "control." These people find themselves without control of their lives; but, what they eat, they can control because our "government policies" dictate that we honor every person's "beliefs." This has nothing to do with religion.

       One of today's pre-release took the chicken soup when I was honest, "There might be a tiny bit of beef in the vegetable soup."

       "Oh, that would be very bad!" he said.

       Really? Why? Would he swell up like a toad? Turn into a prince? Go to Hell? Yes, I'm tired, and I'm ranting. It is what it is.

       Mr. Huggy has been given the position of "head social worker." He was only a volunteer; he has no degree; he... well, he did "save" that one pretty woman a few years back, so she could swindle him out of his cash. I mean, he's inept, and this is a homeless shelter! So now Huggy is too wrapped up in his position to go to the town's food bank and pick up supplies from there, meaning we have no goodies. Nothin'.

       At least Doug picked himself up and will sally forth—good man that he is. I did offer to come in and help him this week, but he didn't want to impose.

       We have a volunteer's sign-in sheet listing the date, name, and hours worked. For weeks now, there have been only two of us: the gal who came at Christmas and swore she was dedicating her Saturdays to the place forever (and followed through), and me.

       The Christians won't come to the door if Miss Lillian is there; they just drop the breads on the back porch. I'm telling you: it's a sad state of affairs. God help those who are obliged to take a bed there.

EASY BREEZY JUNE 1

      It's cloudy here today. The back door was open and a chilly breeze was blowing through the kitchen when I arrived. Doug had pizza on baking sheets. Fries and fruit were planned for the sides. There were 45 sack lunches in the fridge and a box full of PBJs already made. Eventually, he decided that I could make up 12 breakfast sacks (bagel, jelly, plastic knife, two granola bars, and a soda). Beyond that, there was little for me to do before serving time. I did find a large storage tub of goodies with melted candies in the bottom. All the gum packages were sticky, so I clean it—and them.

      As for the pizza, it was the good kind, but still there's never enough product on it, so I got some shredded mozzarella, and we piled it on. The pre-release got pizza, fries and fruit, with gum and a candy car. About 5 minutes before we were ready to serve, an enormous fellow came to the counter to take one of the two plates I had set forth. "We're not ready," I told him. He eyed the food and argued a bit. I stood my ground. He told Doug that there was a new boss in the kitchen. "No," I said, "Mom's here."

       Eventually, I had enough plates on the counter and I called Gatekeeper to announce lunch. They were all in good spirits and ate heartily.

       Before calling in the homeless, we hid what was left of the pizza and fries in the warming oven, and we put more than a dozen plates of leftover spaghetti and meatball dinners on the counter. When those had all been taken, we began serving out the remaining pizza and fries. Eyes were rolling all around the dining room. Folks began coming to the counter for "seconds," specifically pizza and fries. Many of their spaghetti dinners were simply abandoned.

       The bitty baby and her mom have moved out. The 1-yr-old was at lunch, as was her 9-yr-old cousin and the two teens. They each got something special. I went into the cooler to get some cheese and turkey for the baby. It took a minute or two. When I opened the door to step out, poor Doug was standing there and gasped, "Oh, Miss Joy, you scared me! I've looked all over for you!" Nice to be missed.

       When the flurry was over, and all the diners had left, a wispy little blonde came to the kitchen and introduced herself as our new community-service "volunteer." Seems she tried her hand (the one and only time…) at shoplifting, but not being able to pull it off, she had waved to the security cameras to come and get her. They did. She's about 21 and quite full of herself—spoke of the many world religions which convinced her that there isn't any "right" one, and how she'd spent all last year traveling the U.S. "Why not Europe?" I asked. Too expensive… all of her relatives live in the U.S. As for working off her service hours, she'd first signed up for the animal shelter, but when she discovered that service meant poop scooping, she asked for reassignment. Kids.

       Doug put the child to work sacking up all those PBJs. She was happily occupied when I left.

       Nothing to do about MY time at the shelter today but smile :)

POTPOURRI ON WHEELS

      Doug was at his post, filling baking sheets with pizza when I arrived. First, he apologized for "being an ass today," in spite of having only said hello. He wanted to get a jump on anything unseemly that I might see in his behavior, as he had taken yesterday off to bury a loved one, and Miss Lillian had left the place in ruins. Needless to say, Doug's attitude was in a knot; but, after sweeping up a load of spilled coffee grounds and other trash, he threw those pans of pizza in the ovens and settled down.

       "I ain't givin' them nothin' but pizza and fries today," he announced. No amount of whining on my end would sway him to give "my children" some fruit. Furthermore, Lillian had left him practically bereft of sack lunches, then she'd had the nerve to leave a note about their distribution (all must be accounted for), and she had signed it "Staff."

       The head cook and bottle washer was not happy with any of that, but I made him 32 sack lunches, and by the time I left, we'd fed everyone and he had dinner in the oven. His brain had already gone home to watch the race (don't know anything about no races, but it's a big one).

       As always, I poked around in the pantry for goodies, and I found about a dozen packages of cupcake decorations—little cars from the Disney movie, "Cars." Those candies are very hard, but that's what makes them stand up to being set in frosting, and they're awfully cute! I took them from their packages and added them to the bag of tiny packs of gum for additions to each plate.

       So each plate had two pieces of pizza, fries, gum, and a candy car. I feel the need to say here that today's pizza was the worst we've ever served. The bread didn't rise, so it was gummy, and instead of a tomato-based sauce, there was something white and seemingly nonexistent on top. If there was cheese, I missed it. That menu was nothing but baked starch with deep-fried starch on the side.

       About 15 minutes before the pre-release were called in, Doug made an announcement for one fellow to come to the dining room. That was the man who shies away from the crowd. Doug wanted to let him eat his lunch alone and in peace. Humanity is alive.

       Our teen sisters were there, our 9-year-old, her 1-year-old cousin, and the 6-month old. Doug swears the little ones come to lunch only on Sundays… and well, they're in school, so I think he's being harsh on them. Anyway, I didn't feel like making sure each kid got the same thing today, so I let the three older girls draw numbers, 1, 2, and 3. According to the number they drew, they were allowed to choose from a selection that included a paddle ball, Play-doh, and bubbles. All got gum and Christmas candy canes filled with Hershey's kisses. I had a toy for the 1-year-old, but I skipped over the infant. In fact, all I saw of her was her stroller. Her mother was there, of course, and I watched to see if she would be trying to take food out, but she didn't. She does have a sense of entitlement that precedes her.

       Oh, that tall young Chinese fellow… I've been digging. It's reported that he's from Beijing via New York. It's also said that he came to our shelter from prison, but he is not one of our "pre-release." The report on WHY he was in prison is sketchy, and I came away with the notion that he had moved something illegal from one state to another. His English is so very limited that I must imagine he was used. I took him a can of sardines and a tiny can of anchovies, but today I learned that he doesn't want the anchovies. There was another fellow, however, who snatched them eagerly.

       I did make a special plate for the 1-year-old, with cheese and turkey. Doug was verbally thrashing me for coddling the folks, though he's got a deadpan sense of humor that always catches me off guard, and I know he's got a soft spot for the kids. I pretended to be appalled at his attitude.

       That's about it. I was hanging around after the last diner left and suddenly realized that nothing hurt! This is BIG! I've been seeing a trainer at the gym for 3 weeks, and he's been telling me that we're working to strengthen my body core. Today, I left the shelter pain free for the first time in more than 4 years, so it appears that my trainer is worth his weight in gold—pure, French gold…

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.