WHO'S THERE?

      The first thing I knew about today's experience at the shelter was that Doug wasn't there—mine was the only car in the back lot. Mr. A. was just opening the back door to take out some trash as I topped the steps. He was so cheerful! Helpful Guy was in there too… He had cleaned the dining room and eventually washed some dishes and made coffee. Boy, did I keep an eagle eye on him today! I left my purse in the car and kept my keys in my pocket. At one point, Helpful went into our pantry and just stood there, gazing at the shelf where I've always kept my purse…

       I gave Mr. A. another big stuffed bear, and we left it in plain sight, to see if it would disappear like the last one. Things always disappear at the same time as Helpful, though, and he was there when I left—so I won't know the bear story until next week.

       Doug was missing in action; i.e., "he'll be here in a little while." I was there 2-1/2 hours, and Doug never came, so whatever he was doing was known only to him and Mr. A. He wasn't on the job.

       Mr. A. was plowing through the making of two meals. He put those cardboard pizzas in the oven for lunch, but he sprinkled sausage, bacon and extra cheese on them, and I was impressed. He made French fries to go with the pizzas, and I opened two #10 cans of fruit. Lunch.

       For dinner, Mr. A. deep-fried chicken breasts. When the warming oven was full of those, he whipped up a huge pot of mashed potatoes. Then he began to sauté fresh baby asparagus. Honey! That stuff was awesome. Some dear soul donated a whole case of it, and Mr. A. was aiming to prepare it all (or I would have borrowed one of those little bundles…).

       Our little girl was there, and she chose a delightful stuffed seal to go with her "car cup" of gum and her St. Patrick's Day Beanie Baby. I know; I spoil her. And about the child: Helpful was complaining bitterly that the child's mother lets her sit smack in front of the big television, and the child "wears glasses!" So he thought the mother was not parenting properly. If I had to guess, I'd bet the child is doing whatever she can to "escape" this place that she must call "home."

       Mr. A. and I put together nearly 50 sack lunches before serving time, and overall I stayed too busy to do a lot of bonding with the residents. It did seem as if we had an unusual number of grumpy folks, though; especially the very pregnant one.

       Rumor has it that the shelter might sell their property and buy elsewhere, creating separate housing for pre-release and homeless. Mr. A. is hoping for an opportunity to become the paid cook at the homeless unit. Of course, rumor is just that.

DON'T LOOK NOW, BUT…

       Part of the draw of the shelter kitchen is its constant change. While "the soup, chicken salad, and fruit" sound repetitive, change is the only constant. Today's kitchen staff was back to "the new normal," with Doug, Mr. A., Helpful Guy, and me. BOB refused to come in because he and Helpful clash (see? it's not just me), and we had no other "volunteers." Helpful read his paper in the dining room when he wasn't washing dishes. He didn't even hang over my work at the serving counter. Mr. A. was dragging, said he'd been up in the night with bad leg cramps, and went home long before we served lunch. Doug was dragging a bit too, and all because while winter is God's way of reminding us that we are not always in charge of comfort, daylight savings time is something we do to ourselves. The pangs of this change reached deep into the shelter today.

       FMI (For My Information), Doug says we cannot speak of Miss Lillian in front of Helpful because he tells her everything. Good to know. Also, Doug turned in his vacation request last week, but "somebody" took it off the prison honcho's desk before she could see it and gave it back to him saying, "You'll have to get Miss Lillian's OK on this."

       Of course, that sent Doug into a small rage: What full-time manager asks a part-time worker to approve his vacation? That's okay. Doug will resubmit it next week, handing it directly to Mdm. Prisonworks. Love watching these mini-soaps unfold.

       Both lunch groups were unhappy with the time change, and many were late. We served 16 pre-release and 14 homeless residents, tho there are probably 50-some people living there. I know that because near the end of the second lunch period, the fire alarm went off. No one moved. They wanted to eat, they couldn't smell or see fire, and it was difficult for them to hear Doug and me say, "Get OUT!" Our voracious eater (the smartly dressed fellow with brain damage) was seriously going after the food, even as I said, "I'll save it for you! And you can have more!" But he would not leave until he felt he'd scarfed up as much as he could.

       In the end, I was the last one out the back door. I didn't grab my purse or anything because, after all, the entire human contents of the building would be outside with me, thankfully, on a warm sunny day. We filled the sidewalk across the street. The coughers and hackers too… What a motley bunch, some in their pajama bottoms and many sporting myriad tats.

       It was at least 10 minutes before we heard sirens, but eventually, two mid-sized fire trucks rolled up, and eight or 10 firemen alighted and sauntered into the building wearing full gear to include oxygen tanks on their backs, with their hands clutching axe-like implements. I do love a uniform… but I swear one of those firefighters looked no more than 18… Grandsons are 18; not firefighters…

       Doug and Gatekeeper stayed close to the firefighters, leading them to the bathroom where too much steam had set off the alarm… and eventually bringing me the report. About 20 minutes later, the all-clear was given, and everyone returned to the building. Oh, and you should know, while we were outside, Gatekeeper passed a clipboard around the group of pre-release for each to sign.

       Our little girl is not well. She was well enough to stand outside with her mother, and I saw a pink fuzzy pig dangling from her hand. Later, she came to the dining room, and I gave her a new bear. Good times.

       During the hoopla, Helpful Guy disappeared. Doug tidied the kitchen while I served the latecomers. Then I went to the back to get my things. My purse was where I'd left it… but… the zipper was closed all the way. I had left the zipper open about 3 inches because I couldn't get a good grip on it earlier, and it was hurting my hands to try, so I just left it like that. Also, I had placed my car keys on top of my wallet (in my purse), so I was alarmed to find the zipper closed. Then I found the car keys under my wallet. Oh, sigh. Nothing to do but look, so I looked. GONE were the two 20s I'd received at my last stop late yesterday when I checked out at Wal-Mart. The ones were there, but those 20s are history.

       I began to moan to Doug, and we tried to piece together the puzzle. Naturally, we both want to blame Helpful. Doug says that while the man's efforts with serving breakfast on weekdays are appreciated, otherwise he's "as useless at tits on a bullfrog." We don't like him. He has an odd sense of entitlement that we don't have—and he was simply gone, after the alarm. Doug said, "He just left!" And I said, "I guess so; he's got money!" Then Doug remembered that the firemen had been in the kitchen too… looking all around… This is not how we want to think of our firemen. I just cannot go there. I reminded Doug that he and I had both been very busy making lunch and dinner and serving lunch, while Helpful had many opportunities to step into the back.

       We talked about setting a trap next week… but I think I'd rather just lock my purse in the car and keep my keys on me. No need to throw more money at the problem.

       So that was today's version of "feeding the homeless."

       Next month, I'll have been there five years, and it's been an awesome experience that I would not change. Also next month, I get to dye 5 or 6 dozen eggs for Easter Sunday. Those never fail to make a huge hit… as if the purple ones were grape flavored, pinks strawberry… Everyone is a child when it comes to dyed eggs. Me too.

WHAT A CROWD!

      Surprisingly, the crowd was in the kitchen! Mr. A. and the young woman working off service hours were making sack lunches. Helpful Guy was… um… well, when he wasn't trying to tell me "how" to set the plates on the serving shelf, he was reading a newspaper in the dining room. At least he was not in my face. Doug says he had a talk with him, to wit: "We need to be polite when Miss Joy's here."

       Around 11, another fellow came to work there, and I must assume he, too, is working off service hours, either as a public debt or to help pay his public housing rent. He was upscale and mature, compared to most.

       When you consider that three people are nearly too many in that kitchen, having six was almost a struggle. Doug assigned me to prepare his special potato soup. He gave me instructions and left me with the whisk. It was an arm-breaking task, but the results were so fine!

       We served tuna salad, chicken salad, and fruit on the side. There were only about 30 diners, and one of them told me that "half the people here are in the bed sick." He described it as an upper respiratory illness, but I do see a lot of green gills in there lately. Fruit seems to be the only thing some of them can get down.

       By 12:30 my back was throbbing, and my work there was finished, so I left the other five making a stockpile of sack lunches and PBJs for Doug's needs this week. He was one happy camper, getting a head start on the week. Last week, Doug and Mr. A. prepared some wonderful meals for Miss Lillian to serve out on Monday, but when she got there, she refused to serve them. "I'm not giving them that!" she scowled. I've heard her say that before. Then she made "meatloaf" composed of grounded beef on the bottom, ketchup in the middle, and cheese on top. No muss, no fuss. I think Lillian doesn't want "those people" to think she could prepare anything tasty, lest they ask for it again. Dealing with her provides the rest of the kitchen staff with days of gossip and entertainment.

       The only child at lunch was the young girl, and as promised I shopped for her last week. She was delighted with her new gift. 

       Miss Joy is tired.

This one was hard to part with.

THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO LUNCH

      It's warm today! Most of the ice and snow melted away while I was at the shelter—ice and snow that has clung fiercely to the ground for a week. No love lost!

       My first clue that something was amiss this morning was that mine was the only car in the back parking lot. Mr. A. let me in, cheerful as always, and soon I came to understand that Doug had been there but had left "sick," and wouldn't be back today. I'm thinking Doug needed the day off and just came in to make sure the kitchen was in good hands… and it was.

       Helpful Guy is still there, but to my surprise, his annoying habits were nowhere to be seen—as if somebody'd had a talk with him… He was "normal," and helpful in a good way, tho other than mopping the dining room, taking out the trash, and checking off names, I didn't see him doing anything else—he doesn't work with the food, and that's okay with me!

       Mr. A. had a sack of canned goods ready for me to make soup. It was a very different soup than usual—kind of brownish… But because I know what was in it, I know it was good. We even had a few requests for seconds. On the side, was our customary chicken salad and fruit cocktail. As I prepared my brew I listened to stories of this week's shelter events. Many were said to be sick and wearing masks. The "she-man" (think last year and pink crocs) still has a bed there, but doesn't sleep there and only comes for meals. None among the kitchen folk understands the arrangement. Helpful Guy was trying to connect him/her with a body found in the river some time ago. When the kitchen help start talking, it can go anywhere, and gossip is so captivating! Also, Crusty Old Broad was seen taking the she-man into the kitchen to help serve meals! On top of that, "the inspector" is coming this week, the residents have been extremely slovenly, and Dean (the caretaker) was given no warning.

       I hadn't seen Dean in months, but today he came thru the kitchen twice—just long enough to hear about the upcoming inspection and to grouse loudly about it. I had to give him a Beanie Baby to calm him down.

       The crowd was predicted to be small because the weather is nice, but you know last week it was small and the streets were icy. The pre-release numbered about 13. The homeless residents numbered about 19. To my delight, the little 14-, 12-, or 11-year-old girl was there, and I was ready for her. When I offered this pig across the counter, she squealed with surprise. She jumped up and down, thanked me warmly, and left the counter bouncing. I will make special efforts this week to find something just as appealing for next week.

       Only one person presented with a face mask, and she pulled it down, to talk to me. I asked her to please put it back up. She was so queasy that she could only tolerate the fruit cocktail, but if we had an orange, that would go down even better. We never have oranges… I did find a banana for her later, and she seemed pleased to have something to take back to her room. I hope she took all of her germs too!

       Because there were BBQ plates left from yesterday, we had food to carry over, and the guys assured me it would be served out this afternoon and evening when folks come for a snack.

       I was exhausted when I left, but it's always a good tired, and I hope all of your tired this week is the good kind too.

NINE DEGREES?

       Do we need a protractor or compass to figure this out? No. We need a thermometer, and we need only to set it outside—that is what we awoke to this morning—that and no power.
       I must tell someone why we had no power. Be a pal and listen. There is a high-brow condo complex across the road from where I live. The grounds that border the road have a 35-yr-old row of pines that are gnarled with vines and brush. In my town, LAND belongs to the owners all the way to the pavement of every road. There are no rights-of-way. So when a landowner is negligent, there is no recourse. Case in point: Last night, a fierce wind blew over yet another tree from the fancy property. The tree fell in the road, taking a power line with it. The power company (and more than three police cars came to remedy the situation (with taxpayer dollars), and the negligent property owners are scott free, as usual.
       So I put on thermals, top and bottom, heated my car for 20 minutes, and scurried out early to the shelter kitchen where I knew it would be warm. BOY, was it warm in there! Mr. A. and Helpful Guy were making sack lunches and cleaning. Soon, Doug came in and gave us the weather report—wind chill "minus 20." I knew it was cold!
       Doug had been up all night with a sick child, and by the end of the shift, he too was not well. I just hope he didn't share that bug. He did whip up a fine meal for the residents: scrambled eggs, biscuits, applesauce, and sausage gravy. He gave me permission to make "just one pan" of corned beef hash with poached eggs. That didn't take long, and I spent more than an hour making sack lunches with Mr. A. We made about 50… enough to last 2 days.
       Serving was the most tedious event I've attended at the shelter. The biscuits had to stay in the warming oven; the sausage gravy had to stay in the pot on the stove; and plates could not be made up ahead of time because… some people don't want gravy on their biscuits, and some don't want eggs… the permutations went on forever. On top of that, I was told to give small portions of the eggs.
       The pre-release group was small—maybe 8 people. We have a new gal among them. Doug says she's a kleptomaniac and not to leave anything of value (especially credit cards) where she could get it. I said, "Doug, that's not a kleptomaniac, that's a thief!"
       "Yeah," he said, "and she spent 15 years in prison for it!"
       The resident homeless group was also smaller than any of us expected. I don't know where they went in such bitter cold. However… the "little girl" who is sometimes said to be 14 and whose mother says she's 11, and who is listed on the roster as 12 came to lunch! I grabbed the most delicious stuffed bear in my bag and a big "car cup" of gum and presented them to her excitedly. The child was ecstatic! While she ate, the bear sat by her plate, and the gum was nestled between its arms. Good times.
       I was there more than 3 hours, and SO glad to get out! It was hot, we had too much "help," and tensions run high when Helper Guy is around. He often appears to be jesting, but there's an undertone that makes me awfully uneasy. Doug is going to tell him to find someplace else to go on Sundays; he, too, feels the aggravation.
       Thanks for listening. You faithful readers surely save me a lot of money on therapy!

RUNNIN' NEKKED IN THE FRONT YARD

      We had us a kitchen full of workers today, with Mr. A., Helper Guy, Doug and me. Doug shoved the soup pot at me and indicated that I was to fill it, handing me the key to the pantry. Mr. A. made sack lunches, and Helper Guy followed me down the hall to help me carry the canned goods back to the kitchen. He's quite an amusing fellow, never silent, and quick witted. If I heard one quip about being a white woman today, I heard a dozen. I was clearly outnumbered—and then he started calling me "Mother." We were knee-deep in laughter.

       Having been told that we have a young teen girl there, I took a big, beautiful teddy bear that I've been saving for special. I put it under the serving counter near the cracker box. And I actually saw this child come to the dining room with her mother early in the day, just for water or coffee. Her mother is not rowing with both oars, has been in and out of this shelter numerous times, and drives Doug slap up the wall with inappropriate requests and comments—she wants special. We don't have special, and we are not a full-service café…

       The soup was extra good today! I was going to make use of a can of beets, hiding it in the soup, but Mr. A. tossed it out when my back was turned. Later, as he ate the soup, he carefully picked out all of the chickpeas.

       On the side, we had our death-in-a-tub chicken salad, crackers, and apples that I painstakingly cut up. The canned fruit supply was low.

       The pre-release group numbered maybe a dozen. They ate well and were fairly quiet. It's a gorgeous day, and that kept a lot of folks from coming to lunch—they had better places to be. The resident homeless numbered around 18, but there were no children. Those who came ate very well! I didn't see my "old fellow" with the scruffy beard. The other old man (the one who has "methed himself up" pretty bad was at lunch. He's so battered, and so much younger than I.

       Early in the day, a black fellow came to the kitchen for coffee and announced to Mr. A. that he wasn't taking any food from any WHITE people (speaking of Doug). Mr. A. was most unhappy with the fellow, and spent some time plotting a comeback.

       Then there was the big fuss that filtered from the Gatekeeper all the way back to the kitchen about some squatters who were using our front lawn. Mr. A. and I went out to see, especially to see the "little old lady" among them who was showing out (that's Southern for making a spectacle of herself—among other definitions). To our disappointment, the woman was not around when we got to the front.

       As we neared the end of the 2nd lunch period, Mr. A. reached under the counter for more crackers and came upon the stuffed bear. He grabbed it and held it to his chest. He LOVED it! He wanted it. "Can I have it???" he asked excitedly. Yes, of course. Then he held it out to the last diners and presented his new roommate—no trouble, no needs, no feeding or walking—just lots and lots of love. I guess for him, it's a  puppy—a perfect one.

       My 3 hours were ended, everyone was fed, and I started to disapron when I saw the men making up the dinner plates. I still had lots of energy(!), so I stayed and helped with that. The kitchen phone rang, and I heard Doug saying, "You're kidding! You're kidding!" It was Gatekeeper, calling to announce that the "little old lady" had disrobed from the waist up, and was making quite a stir on the front lawn.

       Oh! And the big cheese got wind that Doug was shopping for other jobs. He got a nice raise last week! I told you they'd wake up someday, and it's so gratifying that they woke up before they lost him.

       See you next time; keep your shirt on.

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…

…the more they stay the same. Doug had a gigantic pot of his potato soup on the stove, and it was full of fresh, diced potatoes! Usually, it's just made from potato powder and milk, but this pot was hearty. To appease me, he asked me to make a little pot of vegetable/chicken soup. We served chicken salad and fruit on the side. For dinner he was making deep-fried breaded chicken breasts, green beans, and rice.

       Mr. A. was busy making sack lunches; "the helpful one" was not there, and we appreciated not having the help. If BOB came today, it would have been after 1:00, and I forgot to tell you I saw Mr. Huggy last week. He's been in hospital with gastrointestinal issues that you don't want to hear about either.
       Because the deep fryer was in use so much, the large overhead fans were running most of the morning, and the rice steamer was too. Either of those is enough to drown out all other noise, so there was little room for light banter.

       Doug said that two of the guys who work there regularly "got into it" one day last week, right there in the kitchen. Thankfully, it was only words, but when Doug tells a story and demonstrates how he stealthily avoided physical contact, it's just plain funny.

       Of our diners, several stood out. Among them were a 72-yr-old man who looks much older  because of meth, a silver-haired short paunchy fellow who is said to have been a mafia head (and looks the part), and a child. I didn't see the child until I was about to leave near 1:00. He was in the dining room with his parents. All were well dressed. They were not there to eat, but to visit. According to Doug, the father is a pre-release but doesn't eat there because "they have money." He has done time because he embezzled money from a bank, and didn't I remember that story? Nope. So they "have money" and don't eat at the shelter.

       The pre-release who brought a friend last week (not allowed?) brought him again today—it's his brother. They've both served time, and the brother has those tattooed tear drops at the corners of his eyes, indicating having served two sentences. Those can also indicate having committed murder or having been raped in prison. These brothers also have a sister  and parents who've served time; I think Doug said it was a family business…

       The scruffy fellow who thinks I'm special was there, but unusually quiet today. And our bottomless pit, the disabled guy who is always so neat and dapper but had a brain tumor… he ate and ate and ate, as always. There's something about his system that allows him to hold vast amounts of food but never gain weight. He's a pleasant one to have around—always cheerful.

       We have a very large woman resident who uses a wheelchair. Doug said they had a fire drill last week, and the woman got out of her chair and ran outside where she began to yell, "help!" Doug asked one of the head honchos if he should help the woman but was told, "only if you want to hurt your back." Sad.

       Late into lunch hour, Gatekeeper brought a young woman to the kitchen to get her started on some community-service hours. Mr. A. put her to work making PBJs. She said it was fun…

       The candy bins (two!) are well fixed, and again I brought home enough to hand out little candies to every diner for the next two or three Sundays. It's apparent that feast and famine can both be depended on to visit the candy bins, so I'm stashing it away.
       today's chuckle: The stove repairman refused to bring the replacment part on Thursday because Miss Lillian was working that day; and that's the way it is.