NO EGGS EITHER?

     I have a lot of catching up to do! Many things have changed and many have not. Too, it feels as if I see things in greater detail now.
     When I arrived shortly before 10:00, Doug and Crazy had lunch well underway. They were baking frozen pizza—those cardboard pizzas that seem to be an institution there. Doug did put 2 pounds of extra grated cheese on them. That was the entrée. On the side, we served French fries—carbs all around.
     I did visit Lieutenant God last week to ask permission to find and deliver fresh fruits to the shelter. A wary young man, he feigned vague interest and said he'd ask the PR woman to call me. He also said, "Nobody comes in here and asks 'What can I do?'" To which I replied, "I do!"
     My years of experience at this place lead me to conclude that accepting help from "outside" is not something they are wont to do. Still, I'll call later this week to remind him there is NO FRUIT at the shelter—not even canned. I saw no fresh vegetables today, we served no vegetables today, and Doug tells me they no longer have eggs. Hot breakfasts went away with the pre-release prisoner program. A woman came to the counter after lunch to ask Doug if he would make her a boiled egg. Sorry—no can do.
     I think I can afford a couple dozen fresh Walmart eggs for next week... lemme see... that'll cost about $1.25. I've seen the eggcitement before—those folks love boiled eggs. And just wait 'til Easter when the eggs are colored!
     So lunch was gummy but tasty. Dinner was provided by a local church that brings a dish once a month. This month they brought a pasta, meat sauce and cheese casserole that looked delicious. We made up the dinner plates with that, putting a roll and corn on the cob on the side—another yummy plateful of carbs. I did not see the many #10 cans of vegetables that used to be stacked high in the pantry, though Doug said there was plenty of food in the freezer and that Thanksgiving was bountiful… but the mom in me wants to balance those meals.
     Hottie the gatekeeper was there; always a pleasure. Crazy, Doug and I prepared lunch and dinner plus several dozen sack meals. We made PBJs and sacked them with a napkin and a soft drink to put out on the sidewalk for the truly homeless (the street people). Crazy and Doug tell me that only the drinks are taken and that after the bags have been plundered, one can see the sandwiches discarded all along the street and sidewalk. It was this way years ago too.
     We made a dozen meat-sandwich lunches with chips, a snack bar, soft drink and napkin for the people who are working to collect Christmas donations. I forgot to add little packets of mayonnaise and mustard…
     We also made a dozen sacked breakfasts (bagels and cream cheese) with soft drinks. Nutrition is not the center feature of the food program there—not like it was when the government was paying to feed prisoners.
     The little girl was excited to have another can of Play Doh, and the "little" boy declined a gift today, but he was quite happy to see me and very polite.  Late into the lunch period, the girl's mom waddled her short 200 pounds up to the counter and said, "I don't usually do this, but could I have some more?" Of course.
     I saw at least two people today with "meth teeth." Somewhere between when I last worked there and now I have become aware of meth teeth. Observation is a gifting thing.
     Near the end of the lunch hour, a beautiful woman appeared at the counter, posing questions to Hottie who'd come into the kitchen for some fries. This woman is impeccably coiffed and dressed and very well spoken. For the life of me, I cannot imagine why she lives in a shelter, and more than that why she appears so comfortable there? I tried to tell myself she was one of Hottie's peers or a co-worker… but no.
     Anyway, there are eggs to buy and boil for next week, and there is fruit to procure.
     Oh… and rumor has it (rumor is such a fascinating thing) that Mr. A became involved with drug runners and was "probably killed." No one has seen him in a long, long time.

GUESS WHAT?

Nothing ever stays the same! As I almost desperately perused Google this morning for places  to volunteer, I had a sudden urge to call the shelter. Doug was right where I'd left him, and he said, "Come on down! You can serve lunch!"
     I was there within an hour and greeted with a big hug! Then I looked into the kitchen. Crazy was there. I lowered my voice to Doug, "Is he safe?"
     "Oh!, Doug said, "Let me introduce you to our new volunteer; he's sober now!"
     Crazy was indeed changed. We worked together for 2 hours, and I enjoyed every minute. And I gave him ample praise for his remarkable achievement. What a delightful fellow he is now.
     Many, many things have changed. Mr. A (whom I once trusted implicitly) was actually stealing things and committing other crimes. He no longer goes to the shelter.
     The old battered piano has been replaced with one that plays. Doug told me the old one was "broken," as if I never knew.
     The shelter no longer houses pre-release prisoners. According to Doug, the U.S. government decided not to "waste" money on giving prisoners a "halfway" placement. With them went a large government stipend that is sorely missed. Today there are about 37 homeless staying at the shelter, mostly women. We have a little girl, 9, and a little boy 17 (mentally 5)—so those were the only children. The girl wanted a can of red Play Doh, and the boy wanted a box of crayons.
     For lunch, Doug had made a huge pot of rich, creamy potato soup, filled with diced potatoes, butter and a touch of black pepper. It was delicious. On the side, we served chicken nuggets. There were no vegetables, no fruit, no candy.
     Among the many changes, is a new PR person who is never seen. No one is sure how much she actually works, but no articles have been submitted to our local paper (and people need to know that the institution needs funds for the holidays). As for the fruit issue, that too would need to be addressed by the PR person. I would happily visit sundry outlets for fruit donations, but I don't have the credentials. I need to approach Lieutenant God (who is also new there) to see if he can give me permission to proceed. If they need a new PR person, yours truly needs the work!
     There is a new face in the kitchen, a fellow who actually has a real job but just comes there to help; we'll call him Rick. Of course the gatekeeper has changed (another hottie), en plus, there is now a security guard (also gorgeous)! (I'm just looking!!!)
     I do miss those prisoners and their interesting personalities. Most of today's population is quietly poor and missing the basic elements of joie de vivre. We'll have to work on that. 
    Anyway—WELCOME BACK—we've missed us!

SO LONG

Thanks to all who've been reading. I've not recovered from the events of last Sunday, so I'll be taking a long break. To sacrifice my health would be wrong.

In an effort to lift the shelter kitchen out of its present mire,  I've alerted the powers to some of my concerns. Perhaps change will creep into the picture eventually.

Do feel free to take up the mantle where I left off. The homeless will always need smiling faces, and I'm sure yours would be welcome.

VALENTINE'S DAY IS ABOUT LOVE?

       Doug's parking space was empty this morning. I parked beside it and stepped into the bitter cold only to be blasted by the loud speaker, "The dining room is closed this morning. No one will be allowed in there until lunch time."

       Heck, I didn't know the loudspeaker reached the back parking lot!

       Mr. A and Crazy were puttering in the kitchen, and I was soon packing sack lunches with Crazy. We made about 35 of those. Mr. A had concocted a huge pot of chicken/rice soup and was making grilled-cheese sandwiches. Crazy tossed a bag of mini-Snickers bars at me and told me to put two on each pre-release plate. None for the residents, he ordered. However, I had taken a bag of Valentine candies—those wee hearts with words on them, so everyone was covered; and besides, I'll give them Snickers if I want to!

       Crazy was also quite nasty about refusing more coffee to a resident. "We ain't makin' no more coffee today!" It's hostile, it's mean, CRAZY IS A VOLUNTEER, and I get so confused with these behaviors.

       Too, I don't like Mr. A's attitude toward our people. He's nice enough to the pre-release, but when the residents come in, they need to become invisible or expect to be loudly singled out. A nice young man was sitting on the piano bench, pecking a note or two when Mr. A shouted at him, "Don't sit there! Everybody will think that's a place to sit!"

       The boy was confused. He said, "I feel like you're mad at me." I told Mr. A to knock it off, and assured the young man that he was not in trouble and there was no harm in sitting on the bench. But Mr. A had to have the last word, pushing his directives on the fellow in spite of my intervention. There's no excuse for badgering people!

       Earlier, Mr. A caused a very loud noise in the kitchen, nearly taking the life out of me. I turned around to see him and Gatekeeper laughing hysterically, but this old lady was not happy! I complained about my head, my shoulders, arms, chest, heart… I didn't feel well after that!

       Inquiring about the loud bang later, I learned that Mr. A and Gatekeeper were haggling over a candy bar, and in fun Mr. A had declared that "nobody would want it," right before slamming in onto the metal work table. He, too, was surprised at the explosive sound. Sadly, the whole incident just reminds me that maybe I'm not as young as I used to be. Stroke is a word that no longer goes only with pen, breast, luck, or golf.

       The pre-release were again jollier than usual. As I handed one man his plate, welcomed him to lunch, and wished him a happy Valentine's Day, he looked down at the candy hearts and said, "You're thinking about us all week, aren't you?"

       NO ONE could have better said thank you.

       We have a new "Indian," and I suppose he might be the "scary" guy I was warned about last week. Mr. A is quite fond of the fellow, and I found myself taken with his charm. His facial features are exaggerated to the point of homeliness, his head scarf covers most of his pate, his waist-length ponytail is tied off every few inches, the sides of his head are shaved, and his body is covered in tats. But in seconds, those things recede to the background as his smile and warmth unfold.

       Others presented themselves in like manner today. I don't understand why these things occur seemingly in clusters, but I'll never complain.

       We have two new children, but only their mother was at lunch. The boys are 5 and 8, and the younger one is affected by a behavioral disorder. I didn't get a chance to give them toys, but I know their mom needed the break!

       Toward the end of lunch, Mr. A began guarding the remaining sandwiches for folks who'd gone to church, though a number of tall, hungry fellows were asking kindly for another sandwich. (Yes, I slipped a few across the counter, but not without fear.) It never seemed to occur to Mr. A to simply make another half dozen grilled cheeses. He appears to have completely forgotten that he, too, once lived at that shelter, and that he's not too far removed today in his public housing room. Perhaps he is punishing himself through the residents.

      Yes, today's shelter experience had some tough moments, but the difficulties I suffered at the hands of staff were made up for by the residents—as always.

STILL CRAZY

      …after all these years.

       Mr. A was coming out as I was going in. His eyes said it all, but he was kind enough to put some words to it, "I'm gone."

       Oh, dear.

       Crazy ignored me when I stepped into the kitchen with a strong "Good morning!" Doug was preoccupied at the stove and never turned around. I put on my apron and washed my hands. That was one cold kitchen—and only partly because the back door was left wide open.

       For about 10 minutes, I puttered around breaking up chocolate bars and putting candies in a bowl. Crazy yelled, "Miss Joy! Don't nobody want them chocolates!" I ignored him. Finally, I asked Doug for an assignment. He said, "Give me 2 minutes, and I'll show you." Then he took 20 minutes. When he immerged from the cloud of hostility, he apologized, explaining that Mr. A had let him down awfully, having come to work impaired yesterday and having left the place in poor condition last night. He took 10 minutes to get it off his chest, then normalcy and laughter returned to the kitchen.

       Our usual gatekeeper is off today. In her stead was a jolly man about my age who knows me from my Saturday calls for head counts on the children. He was there last evening when I called and still today, having slept over, according to Doug. I've heard many times of gatekeepers sleeping over, I suppose because they have no replacements. Most surprising is how calm and upbeat they are.

       The pre-release were extra giddy today—I've no idea why. Doug says we're getting a new one next week who is known to be scary. It's been a long, long while since we had a scary one.

       The resident group was smaller than usual, and the year-old baby was the only child present. Because it's Football Sunday, a nearby establishment is giving away hotdogs, so a lot of our folks dined there, leaving us with a large amount of food for the "overflow," who will come in tonight when temperatures drop. They'll get leftover cardboard pizza, hot broccoli soup with cheese, and a cot in the hall.

       Doug and I packed 56 sack lunches and 12 breakfast sacks. Miss Lillian is well fixed for tomorrow. Oh, and there are three large boxes full of Hershey's candies (especially Christmas kisses). I don't have the strength to bring home a load to save for them, but I surely wanted to. When the candy well runs dry, it can be a long spell.

       Next week promises to be completely different; they don't come in any other fashion.

THE BUBBLES ARE HERE!

       Wal-Mart has loaded the shelves with all kinds of bubbles (short little bottles, long wand bottles…),  sidewalk chalk, Frisbees, and all manner of sunshine playthings. The large bargain packages make it economical for me to load up, so I have bubbles aplenty.
       Doug and I sacked a bunch of lunches before serving time. He had already made a huge pot of chili and a large bowl of salad. Oddly, Doug suggested (seriously) that I could add a dollop of cranberry sauce to the plates if I wished, but Crazy butted in shouting, "Don't nobody want no cranberry sauce!" I left it alone.
       The high point of prep was finding the huge box of Hershey bars and other candies in the pantry. I was just beginning to think through how I might give everyone some candy without overdoing it, when Mr. A said, "Give one to everybody!"
       "A whole one?" I gasped.
       Yes, a whole one. So I gathered up a little container of candy bars and took them to the serving counter, but putting a whole Hershey bar on every plate rubbed me the wrong way. So I broke the bars into 4 pieces each, as they are scored. Crazy and Mr. A gave me a very hard time about that, but I stood my ground.
       Pretty soon, the big candy box disappeared!!! A cry went out amongst us (I, for one, hadn't grabbed a bar for myself…). Eventually, Doug fessed up to having claimed the box for himself and having put it in his truck. That was that.
       The chili and salad made a wonderful lunch, but no one asked for seconds. The pre-release were of good humor, as were the residents, but both groups were a bit smaller than last week's because the weather has improved.
       Our 7-yr-old has moved away, and I miss his charming little face, but the 10-yr-old remains and announced, "The Toy Lady is here!" This week I'm a lady. He was pleased with his bubble wand, new pencil and glue stick. The 2-yr-old got a stuffed bear, and the 1-yr-old got a blue elephant. It was almost more than his little hands could handle, though it is age-appropriate. To my dismay, I noticed that the child will be a big brother in another 2 or 3 months…

       As I gathered my things to leave, I noticed that the candy box had been returned. Doug said he'd removed it because he didn't think it wise to give every diner a whole bar. "When you give them a whole candy bar, they think they're entitled to the same thing again, and we just don't have it." We were of one accord. I put many bars in my toy sack and brought them home for next week, but I left five times as much behind. After the night gatekeeper gets through with them, they will all be gone. I don't see that gal anymore, but you might remember a large gatekeeper who was a very good eater and a jolly soul to boot. She works night shift now.
       The mood has shifted in the kitchen. Doug is more serious. The music takes a backseat, and is sometimes not CW. Fans which obliterate all other noises (voices included) are left running unnecessarily. Mr. A is just nuts with snapping orders to one and all, and Crazy's sanity comes and goes like the wind. I never know what I'll find in there of a Sunday mornin'. What'd you find?

STATES OF EMERGENCY

      The day before yesterday, I started digging out my car in preparation for today's trek to the shelter. Yesterday, I finished the job. Older and wiser, I've learned that digging the car out of a foot of snow is no more work than clearing a path to the ignition. I let it run for a total of 90 minutes, and the warmth did most of the work. The roads are treacherous, but there weren't too many other nutcases out there, so I had room to breathe.

       Mr. A has been running the kitchen single-handedly for 3 days, and this morning was the first time "the boys" had seen each other since the storm hit. They had a lot of catching up to do! If I didn't know better, I'd think they were a bunch of old women.

       For dinner, they made a huge pot of greens and another of mashed potatoes. Then they breaded dozens of pork chops and deep fried them. So dinner will be tasty. Lunch was another story. Early on, I was assigned the task of sacking 25 PBJ lunches. When I finished, I looked around for lunch preparations. There was one of those cardboard pizzas in the oven… but that's all. Then Crazy handed me a pan full of what looked like hushpuppies (little bitty corndogs). Doug declared the pizza to be "burnt," and told me that the corndogs were lunch. I was to serve them with a bag of chips. Period.

       "And no," he said sternly, "you can't have any fruit!"

       So I rummaged through the mystery box where I found several cans of cranberry sauce. Don't say anything! I just can't stand to see a 3-section plate with an empty section. Crazy yelled from the dining room, "Ain't nobody gonna eat that cranberry sauce, Miss Joy!"

       No matter. When I served up the plates with corndogs, chips, cranberry sauce and little candy canes on the side, they were colorful, and we'd hit an all-time low for nutrition.

       Only one of the little boys was at lunch, and I gave him some bubbles. He refers to me as "The Toy Girl." Imagine that—not the toy lady, the Sunday lady, or ma'am! The little girl got a stuffed bear, and our 1-year-old was there, but I wasn't prepared for him. Next time.

       The Toy Girl smells like the deep fryer, and she's hungry. Think I'll fix myself some lunch and watch the snow melt. Be safe.