HOPPY, HOPPY EASTER

      It really IS all about me… Today was positively the best Sunday I've spent at the shelter. Of the two people around there these days who are less than delightful, only one was present, and he's a pre-release. "Helpful Guy" was nowhere to be found. Dean, Mr. A. and I WERE the kitchen staff, and we make such a fine team.

       I've been collecting stuffed bunnies for weeks, and Dean saved a banana box for me to put the bunnies in today, nestled in a soft yellow blanket. On the front of the box I placed a note: "Everybody needs somebunny." Early comers to the dining room perused the bunnies, drooling over them to no avail. I made them wait until lunchtime.

       Among our homeless is a very pretty middle-aged lady who always brings a bit of sunshine to lunch. Today, she came early to the dining room to spread her Easter things on a table and make up several little gift baggies for her special people. She gave one to me, and to Dean and to Mr. A.  In my plastic bag are 6 candies, a small dab of blue Easter grass, and a plastic egg with 2 candies in it. She used one strand of the grass to tie the bag shut. She was in her element, doing for others, but when she saw the bunny box she homed right in on the biggest, pinkest, fluffiest bunny in the gang. She lifted it out, pressed it to her heart, and wanted it. I had to be fair, "Wait until lunch; if it's still there, it was meant to be yours." She liked that idea.

      Sadly (Miss Joy was majorly pissed!), the other less-than-delightful person at the shelter is a very bad-ass pre-release. He's pretty too, and he struts his bad-ass self around with a mean attitude. His group eats first, and yes, that heathen snatched that big pink bunny, and my sweet lady saw him carry it to the parking lot and drive away with it. Well… the rest of today was not sullied by Bad-ass—but he certainly had given it his best shot.

       Next year, I'll start collecting earlier—a lot of folks didn't get as many bunnies as they thought they "needed" for their nieces, nephews, and friends, but in the end, there was one little critter left in the box, and Dean claimed it for his grandson.

       We served burritos, chicken nuggets, French fries, soup (Lillian made it; I saved it), little candy bars, and dyed eggs that I took from home. The soup had enough tomato acid to choke a horse, so I put about half of it thru a sieve and returned the vegetables to the pot. Then I added chicken, water, a can of refried beans, and macaroni. Saved.

       The new baby's mom brought him to lunch; the 2-month-old's mom brought him to lunch, and I got to drool my eyes out. Boy, are they precious—little pink feet curled under, all snuggled up on Mom's shoulders… well, sleeping babies are perfect.

       The 12-year-old took a bunny from the box, and later I asked her to find the wheelchair lady (who did not come to lunch) and give her a special candy that I know she likes. Interestingly, the child was delighted to have been asked to perform that favor for me. I heard her telling her mom, as if I'd given her a personal present. Makes you wonder: what are the details of that child's deprivation?

       Near the end of the second lunch period, a tall man came into the dining room and asked the group if he could speak. Everyone became quiet. Then the man explained that while we were all having a wonderful day with our candy and toys, we might be missing the reason for the celebration. He wanted to know if he could have a brief moment of prayer. All heads bowed, and at the end was a unanimous "amen!"

       Then, that sweet lady I like so much got up and hugged the man, and she started to cry. A short while later she brought her still-weeping self to the counter with her food wrapped in napkins and asked me to please save it in the warming oven. "Are you crying happy or sad?" I asked. She said some of both. Mr. A. said she recently lost her son… so I don't know where the "happy tears" could have come from! Bless her heart—and that @$^$#@ MAN took her bunny. You know? Next week I think I'll take that lady the most beautiful toy in my collection. Mr. Nasty, you haven't seen payback time until Miss Joy has dished it out for you!

       Dyed eggs: Everyone was asked, "Would you like an egg?" And then, "What color?" Most didn't care about the color, but those who did would tell you why, "I want blue; I'm a Carolina fan!" Actually, blue was the most favored color. Last year, I let them take the eggs themselves; this year, I doled them out.

       Nearly all the food was consumed, and only one critter and one egg remained after lunch. It doesn't get anymore perfect.
       Then Mr. A., Dean and I made several dozen PBJs sacks and several dozen meat-sandwich lunches. When my body said it was time to go home, I listened; but I didn't want to. I thanked the guys for giving me the most perfect Sunday at the shelter. They'll be there again next week, as Doug's vacation has one more Sunday. Hopefully, we can rock out again. It's all about me; yes, it is.

NO, WAIT:
       I'd finished this blog and was ready to start the rest of my day (whatever that was), but the issue with Bad-ass and the crying lady just wouldn't let go. So I loaded up my two best bunnies (saved for myself… see?). One is weighted and feels like a real 5-pound baby; the other is an expensive infant toy, soft as down, pink as a whisper, and it rattles when you shake it. I returned to the shelter and had Crying Lady called to the kitchen. I handed her the bunnies and told her, "Pardon my French, but the bad-ass who took your bunny didn't know what kind of old lady he was messin' with!"
       She squeezed those toys to her heart, she hugged me, she explained that her son had died only 6 years ago (God forbid I should ever fully understand her pain), and she left the kitchen gleefully. I told her that if Bad-ass looked confused, she could say simply, "Oh, you didn't see these? They were in the bottom of the box." Dean and Mr. A. got a huge kick out of it too. Maybe this old lady will have brought the bad one down a peg.
       The guys sent me home with two boxed dinners of ham, potato salad, beans, and cornbread. Win-win again—all about me :)

BOYS, BASKETBALL, BABIES, & A BULLET

       Mr. A. was busy with dinner prep when I arrived. Doug didn't come in for another hour, so Mr. A. and I made PBJs (enough to use 4 loaves of bread). Then I cut up a pile of donated bananas to add to the #10 can of fruit. When Doug came, he made a big pot of his famous broccoli soup, and we put the chicken salad on the side. Meanwhile, BOB showed up, and our kitchen was bulging with workers. Helpful Guy was NOT there, and Mr. A.'s reason was a wacky one, but I will accept ANY reason for that man to not be there. Mr. A. set his new bear where he could see it all morning, having no fear that it would walk away.
       Those boys were so busy with tonight's chicken and their personal versions of this week's basketball games, that I found myself filling the ice bin, making the coffee, and filling all the plates. I didn't mind, but it was unusual.
       Our new mama came to the dining room mid-morning, and I gave her a musical lamb for the new baby. She is all smiles this week, and I assume postpartum suits her much better than being 9 months pregnant! We still have a 2-month-old with young mother, but I've never seen them. The 12-year-old came to lunch with her mother, and she was pleased with her goodies. It's nice to see her light up each and every week as if her gift is a first and only.
       The pre-release were in high spirits, and except for one (Doug says he's a very bad egg), I enjoyed their company. They ate well too. You'd never know, to watch them, that one of them jumped ship last Wednesday and was found 3 hours later with a bullet in his head. Dead.
       Doug's vacation starts today, so I won't see him again for a couple of weeks. Mr. A., Dean, and BOB will fill in, and probably Helpful… But next week is EASTER, and I'm ready with 4 dozen eggs to color for the occasion. This year, I will NOT allow the pre-release to fill their pockets with colored eggs! I will dole them out, one per diner. Too, I've amassed a large collection of stuffed rabbits, and anyone who wants to adopt one will have that opportunity. Big, burly men can be the softest folks in the group, I've noticed. Today, I gave the 12-year-old a lanyard to put her keys on. It was a freebie from a conference I attended. I had one other lanyard, and one of our men noticed the child's. "Do you have any more of those?" he asked. So I gave him the other one, and was amazed to see how quickly he attached his keys and stuff to his new lanyard. He strutted around the dining room, flashing it, for some time. Sadly, I hadn't any others, and there was demand for more.
       So this was such a fine day at the shelter, and I give Helpful most of the credit for that!
       Get your bunny on; we're plowing ahead toward Easter—my 5th anniversary at a place that feeds the morally impoverished, the physically and mentally poor, and me.

SMALL STUFF

      Lunch at the shelter today was without special event. I am not complaining. Mr. A. was at home and didn't feel well. Helpful Guy (pzzzt) was right there. Doug said Helpful has been TOLD to keep a low profile. My purse remains locked in the car, and the keys in my pocket.

       Just to give you an idea of how Helpful's brain works: around mid-morning our one wheelchair resident motored to the kitchen for some ice. "Can I have some ice for my cup?" she asked.

       Helpful said, "What?"

       "I want some ice for my cup," she repeated.

       "You want what?" he pushed.

       I was THIS CLOSE to snatching him bald! There's no excuse to taunt a sickly, old woman in an electric wheelchair, but that's Helpful's version of a sense of humor…

       We have a two new babies. One is 2 months old, very tiny (according to Doug), and the child of a very young woman. The other was born this week (I served his mother last week), and they will be returning to the shelter tomorrow from hospital. On Doug's advice, I left a musical wind-up plush toy with the wheelchair lady, to give the 2-month-old.

       The 12-year-old girl came to the dining room mid-morning, I assume in hopes of receiving her toy, because she did not come to lunch (no clue why). I gave her the toy, and she told me about school. It was the first time we've had a chance to chat. I like her.

       We had my soup, the death-in-a-tub chicken salad, and fruit for lunch. For dinner, Doug is making BBQ chicken, salad, rolls, and mashed potatoes.

       So we had a good day, all-in-all. Doug will be away on vacation for the next two Sundays. His request was initially denied because Miss Lillian refused to fill in for him, but the shelter managed to make other arrangements when Doug refused to change his schedule. The boy is beginning to man-up to those dweebs. I'm proud of him.

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.