WHERE THINGS DISAPPEAR

      That shelter kitchen is not a safe place to put anything you treasure, no matter how easy it is for you to believe surely no one would take this! Yes, someone would take "this"—would, can, does and did—as we learned again today. Yesterday, I went by the shelter on other business, and I left two containers of bubbles for the teens. Mr. A. "hid" them in the pantry, so he could give them to the kids later. Later became this morning, and after exciting the kids with the prospect of getting bubbles, those bubbles were nowhere to be found. Three of us searched high and low. Nothing. It just gets a body down after the umpteenth lifting of things that are intended for the less fortunate.

       Yesterday, we learned that our new family "needs everything." This family consists of Boy 14, Girl 16, Grandma 60?, and Great-grandma 86. No mom, no dad. No wonder I thought "Mom" looked shop worn! So some of us gathered things and shopped yesterday until we had filled some of the family's needs: shampoo, soap, toothbrushes/paste, deodorant, Tylenol, and even a big sack of yarn and knitting needles & crochet hooks for the ancient one. She wanted those. Now she can busy her hands, and it makes my heart warm because I know how important that is for us gals.

       I put together a stash of fun stuff for the teens to enjoy in these hot, idle summer days—PlayDoh, crayons, colored pencils, sketch books, and some gum. For Boy, I had a funky multi-size screwdriver that I hope he enjoys, and a 6-bottle wine box I'd put hinges on, to put his treasures in. Yes, Girl was treated equally, but with different things. Those kids are so innocent and unassuming. I imagine their lives have always been blessed with less…

       Today, I took about 50 mini-skewers of olives/cheeses/cherry tomatoes. I also took a little bottle of olives with anchovies (hoping to see the man from last week). I didn't see him, but I did meet two other fellows who were interested in those olives. They both love olives, but one had never tried them with anchovies, and he was eager to do that. He said he liked them! The other fellow said his ex-wife used to serve those kinds of things… He ate a half dozen. Of those who asked for extra skewers of olives etc., most were tall robust men. Maybe it was the pepper jack cheese that spoke to them.

       There is no news on Miss Lillian, but she's still around. As for Mr. Huggy, on inquiry I learned that he "met a girl and moved away—out of town." Good!

       For lunch we served French fries and corn dogs, all deep-fried. I put my skewer offerings on the side, along with some Hershey's kisses. Yes, there was candy in the bins today—finally. I brought home enough to last another 2 Sundays.

       Meanwhile, I guess I'll be shopping for bubbles again.

DIGGING THROUGH THE TOYS

       Doug informed me last night that there is a new family at the shelter. Grandma is 86, Mom looks much older than she is, Boy is 14, and Girl is 16. The staff is very sad about this family's situation, but they are being cared for: the man who made a pass at Girl was promptly thrown out. I was itching to meet them, and when the doors opened for their group's lunch, Boy was the first one to the counter.
       "You must be Bobby!" I said. Seeing Girl right behind him, I handed him a rubber ball and asked, "Would you like to have this to throw at your sister?" He grinned at his sister. Yes, he would. Everything about the child's countenance says he's a very good kid, not shy, and not rude. More than anything, I want to see that family GONE next weekend. If that's not possible, I'll settle for having the pleasure of lifting their spirits.
       Girl watched closely as I gave Boy the ball… and a pen (with a little pull-out conversions chart)… and a tablet… and a pack of gummies. His eyes grew bigger as his hands filled with loot. Then I had the pleasure of offering Girl a pretty pen and a hard-bound journal (Doug and Mr. A. told me she'd prefer those to a stuffed animal). She was delighted! Now all her hopes and dreams would have a place to go.
       After lunch, Grandma came to the counter asking for a rag to wipe the table. I so did not want that sweet old soul wiping the table. She's 86! She looks older. Her teeth are in bad shape; her hands are gnarled; her nails are discolored and misshapen, but her spirit is calm. She came again to ask if we had another pen. Girl's pen, it was discovered, didn't write, and the child had run outside crying. When a 16-year-old dissolves in tears over a dry pen, this is a pain that runs much deeper than its circumstances indicate. Doug found a pen, and all was well I suppose, but the original pen was prettier; I had saved it from a conference I attended long ago—obviously too long ago. So that was the upshot of my rummaging through the toys last night, looking for things for teenagers.
       Yesterday I prepared fresh vegetables for today's diners: broccoli, cauliflower, grape tomatoes, summer squash, black and green olives, and baby carrots. No one got a lot, but the servings were colorful. One man wanted to discuss olives with me. Here at middle age, he'd never tasted a black olive, and he was surprised, having always assumed they tasted the same as the green ones. I was proud of him for trying them! I told him of some of the things that are stuffed in olives because he wanted to know why some had holes in them and some did not. Maybe next week I'll surprise him with a collection from my store's olive bar! Red, black, green, stuffed with assorted things, and some with pits! Yes, that would be fun.
       

SHORTS IN A WAD

       Yesterday, I got a bee in my bonnet  to make deviled eggs for the shelter. Two dozen eggs—less than four dozen halves. I'm not very good at getting the shells to come off neatly. All afternoon on my feet left me wondering why I ever entertained such an idea, but it was too late to turn back.
       On arriving this morning, I set the deviled-egg carrier on the work table and went to the pantry to put on my apron. By the time I returned, Mr. A. and Doug had sampled the fare. They tried to put the lid back on so I wouldn't notice, but they failed.
       Doug put me to work on a pot of soup that he'd started on Thursday. He said it needed to be "saved," just as I've been saving the new-nasty chicken salad. WHY am I always assigned a pot of soup that is mostly tomatoes? That stuff could pour itself, it's so strongly acidic. So I spent a long time literally spooning out more than a cup of chopped tomatoes… probably should have syphoned off some of the juice. Added two cans of chicken broth, a can of corn, a can of pintos, and 2/3 can of refried beans. Near serving time, I added a cup of elbow macaroni. I never did give it the taste test. Sometimes you just know the stuff isn't going to cut muster, and you can only hope the diners will slurp it up along with the sides, so their meal blends well.
       Mr. A. spent 2 hours bagging donated donuts. Doug taste-tested every variety. For a skinny rascal, he can pack away the donuts and never get busted. His favorites are "cream-filled" with birthday cake frosting. Talk about decadent!
       During the donut-bagging time, one of our pre-release wandered into the dining room and mentioned to Mr. A. that Doug's food is awful, and that she's so happy on those few days when Miss Lillian is there. You may recall that Mr. A. will NOT volunteer in that kitchen alongside Lillian… there is no love lost between those two… and Doug is the professional cook there. So Mr. A. let his guard down and wound himself into three or four knots over the comment. If he said it once, he said it a dozen times, "I HATE PEOPLE WHO AREN'T APPRECIATIVE!"
       I tried to explain that the woman's brain doesn't work like his, or that she was just looking to stir up trouble, or any number of silly things, BUT to waste his time and energy THAT ANGRY over a comment from a prisoner was not good. Mr. A. was not hearing me. In the end, and after more than 2 hours, he stepped onto the back porch, lit a cigarette, and seemed to let the matter go.
       You see, Mr. A. has been in circumstances wherein he found himself in need and greatly appreciative, so it's especially hard (impossible even) for him to accept other behaviors.
       We had no children today unless we count the 40-some diners from all walks of life and from all levels of dependence and independence. I looked out over the crowd of homeless residents and made note that some were well-kempt, others not so much; some were of good humor, others with flat affects; some wiped tables and emptied trash in a robotic fashion, others had more pep in their step.
       Everyone enjoyed the deviled eggs! I had put gourmet olives stuffed with garlic cloves on top of six or eight of the eggs, and it was interesting to see who wanted those. Most folks did not want an olive. Those who wanted an olive were excited to see that it was stuffed with garlic (special). It's these little things that I see from time to time that tell me our homeless have not always been homeless, nor have they even lived with less—they've been around.
       I left Mr. A. in better humor than he'd had earlier. When I say his shorts were in a wad, there is no exaggeration! The man was furious. He was livid. He was fit to be tied. I wonder if he realizes that having a stroke or a heart attack over a prisoner's comment isn't worth it.

SAD DAY IN MUDVILLE

       Mr. A., Doug and I were the whole crew today except for an hour that BOB spent with us. We had about 8 pre-release and about 20 resident homeless, so that made for an easy morning. On my way to the shelter, I zipped through the window at McDonald's and bought a ham biscuit, because I'd slept too late to eat at home. This McDonald's keeps open a "pay" window and a "pick-up" window. I'm not used to that. I paid and drove away. On arriving at the shelter, of course, I realized I didn't have any breakfast. Mr. A. gave me a freshly fried, chicken breast. Worked like a charm :)
       For lunch, we were serving the new nasty chicken salad—two whole tubs of it. Now that I know what to do with it, I rinsed both tubs of salad in a sieve until the water ran clear. Then I added a large chopped onion. Mr. A. wouldn't let me chop the onion because he said I would cry like last time, and he didn't want to see that…
       From the spice cabinet I ferreted out a bottle of parmesan/feta cheese blend, celery seeds, garlic powder, black pepper, and season-all for salt. We had no mayo, so I used ranch dressing and sour cream (we had a whole case of newly expired sour cream…). In the end, the salad was a hit. BOB's tester fork dipped into the bowl several times. On the side we had chips, crackers and little candy bars.

       The guys made barbecued chicken breasts, rice, and sundry green vegetables for dinner.
       Doug scrubbed out the drink container they fill with sodas and ice in the afternoons and evenings. Generally, he places it adjacent a floor drain and pulls the plug there. Not today. "Doug," I asked, "why is the container peeing on the floor and not in a drain?"
      He was nonplussed, "It'll get there," he said of the water and the drain. Sure enough, a little broom work, and the water was all gone.

        My 12-year-old was there today, but her first greeting was, "This is my last Sunday." She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then closed them. I gave her a plastic box with a handle, once filled with sidewalk chalk, now filled with all sorts of goodies. At least she'll have a few distractions—wherever Mom drags her. Mom is at the very top of the staff's sh-- list for having told the child, "I wish I'd kept your sister, and not you!"
       One sentence has brought a shelter full of people mighty low. I was SO ready to bring the child home and start that long, wrenching journey through the teens years all over again. I did leave an email address for the child, in case she finds herself abandoned… God forbid.

ANOTHER "HOLIDAY" MEAL

       Just Doug, Mr. A. and I were there this morning, and with what little we had to do, we actually got in one another's way at times.
       To celebrate this holiday weekend, Doug had 100 greasy hotdogs boiling, that many buns, a huge pot of thick chili (I could NOT smell that stuff—it looked like chili, but if it had any flavor I'll never know). I was assigned to chop two large onions, and before it was over I'd shed a lot of tears. We served prefab potato salad on the side, giving it out generously as this was its expiration date. Some of the buns had already expired by virtue of having molded. Those were tossed, of course.
       Mr. A. spent literally hours bagging gooey doughnuts. I didn't help him for very long, as the sticky, sugary, frostings and chocolate kept gumming up my gloves. I don't know how Mr. A. tolerated the task, but he seemed to enjoy it. There were hundreds of doughnuts (and doughnut holes) to bag for sack lunches. Too, they'll be served out at snack times.
       We had no children today, and if there was an interesting resident, I don't recall them.
       The high point of the morning for me was discovering Doug and Mr. A. on the floor of the dishwashing side of the kitchen. Doug was excitedly retrieving a BOX from far underneath a counter. It had been shoved well out of sight by you-know-who. This was so enlightening! So here's the skinny:
       Miss Lillian doesn't like to bag sticky doughnuts for sack lunches. She prefers to drop Twinkies in the bags—no muss, no fuss. Doug had not seen any Twinkies (or cookies) all week—until today. OUT he crawled from under that counter, just bursting with delight, and with Lillian's huge stash of Twinkies! I was instructed to SERVE every one of those Twinkies for lunch. Any leftovers would be handed out for afternoon snacks. Oh, they are an interesting bunch!
       That was every bit as good as fireworks.
       

WHOLE LOT OF NOTHIN'

      Doug, Mr. A, and I were the whole crew there today. To top that off, we had a smaller crowd to feed than usual, and Doug had planned a meal that was practically effortless. I offered to go home, but he insisted that he needed me.

       We made up some sack lunches and some PBJ sacks. We put a bowl of fruit cocktail in the fridge to cool. When lunchtime approached, Doug threw come chicken patties and homefries in the deep fryer. We had some nice warm buns for the patties. Lunch was as "no brainer" as they come.

       I'd love to have some interesting tales about our residents, but there was none. The new baby's mom was readmitted last week, but soon left again and on her own. The t'ween wasn't there, and I surely missed her, as I had a whole box of special things for her.

       Crying Lady is back from hospital, having survived her heart attack. She was complaining of a hangover this morning. To tell you the truth, I think I understand where she's coming from.

       If you remember her, "Crusty Old Broad" who is a head gatekeeper/social worker was narced out for relieving us of our candy delivery. All I found were a few chocolate eggs—but enough for everyone to have one when added to the bag I saved last week. Where does a fat lady get off taking all the candies, and why did she leave all the dark-chocolate Hershey candy bars? If it were me, I'd take those first!

      So it was a quiet, almost boring day at the shelter, and that was a good thing for the residents. More outstanding were the folks plying the streets nearby. In winter, I see only bundled men heavily laden with their earthly goods, but now that spring is here, those fellows are sharing the sidewalks with tourists who also have backpacks and sometimes walking sticks. Were it not for financial privilege, we couldn't tell the difference.

JUST ANOTHER SUNDAY FOR MOST

       What would we do without change? Mr. A. didn't come today because he had some paying work elsewhere. Helpful came, and I'm sure Doug asked him to because, as he told me, he had "no help." Because I'm there only about 3 hours, I can see why Doug would want help for the whole day. Still, Helpful did a lot of nothing while I was there, and he was polite. As Doug said, when I was leaving, "At least Motor Mouth behaved himself today."

       I found 3 sacks of Hershey's kisses in the candy bin. I served out two of them and brought the other one home for safeguarding. Doug said he'd stash away any other such candies, should they come in.

       As for lunch, it appeared that they didn't need me at all. Doug said we were having "the new nasty chicken salad," fruit cocktail, potato soup, and pizza for lunch. For dinner, he made huge pans of chicken wings—some hot, some BBQ—we're talking TWO bottles of hot sauce!

       He told Helpful to make the potato soup, and some potatoes had already been cut up and boiled. Helpful has never cooked anything there, so it was interesting to observe his efforts. Doug helped him put a large pot of water on to boil. Lighting the burner was the first part of the lesson. Then he told Helpful to put some salt and pepper in the water. Helpful opened the lid to the pepper can on the "pour" side, and poured it in. The water was black! Then Helpful disappeared.

       Doug remarked that it was interesting how people just disappear in the middle of a job. Eventually, Doug added his own ingredients to the black water, even though I begged him to pour off at least half of that water and replace it. Not happening.

       Naturally, Doug finished the soup, and to my utter amazement, it was THE most delicious potato soup he's ever made!

       One of our newborns, his siblings, and his mother were thrown out this week. Mom was caught stealing. I don't think a little bit of money will get them very far, and the child is only a month into the business of life.

       My little girl got a teddy bear and some gummies. Her face just lights up SO, as if she didn't have another stuffed animal to her name! What a joy she is. I hope she and her mom get a place of their own soon; no tweenager needs to be living in a shelter.

       Today, it seemed that an unusually large amount of handsome fellows among our group are missing teeth. They look so cleaned-up, intelligent and competent—until they smile.

       About Death-In-A-Tub: It really is gone forever. The burpy stuff seems to be the only choice for pre-fab chicken salad. While it has 5 fewer grams of fat, the savings is lost on the palate. Just for kicks, I suggested to Doug that I might be able to rework the burpy stuff. I poured the whole tub of it into a sieve and ran cold water over it until the water ran clear. Then I put the mixture in a large bowl and added one chopped onion, mayonnaise, about 1/2 cup grated parmesan, garlic powder, black pepper, and two small cans of chicken. Doug and I both thought it was greatly improved. It wasn't "Death," but it was palatable.

       BOB arrived around mid-morning, so we had plenty of hands. Toward the end of the last group's mealtime, Doug noticed a young man eating in the dining room and said, "He's not supposed to be in here!" Then he grabbed the phone and called Gatekeeper, "What's HE doing in here?" Then the young man headed for the door, but Doug sent Helpful to bring him back, "Five!" they shouted. They call him Five (I don't know why).

       Five came toward the counter. "He looks hungry," I said to Doug.

       "Son," Doug said, "Eat some food," and he handed him a large plateful. THAT is the Doug I love so much. His convincing harsh head-master attitude is pure genius, but the real Doug is a pushover. The only times I've seen that fellow truly angry were when street folks had defecated behind the dumpsters, and then I'd bet he's more angry at their circumstances than their desperation.

       Happy Mother's Day!