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 Soup Kitchen Volunteers Earlier this week, I had the privilege of assembling meals at the Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen.
As a first-time volunteer, I didn’t know what to expect.
I am assigned to Line 1, Vegetables. I accept a paper hat, a plastic apron and gloves and get in position between the Black Bean server and the Mashed Potato server. Line 1 faces a mirror image Line 2.
The first position in each line, Trays, grabs a beige plastic tray with built-in compartments from a stack that is being constantly replenished.
Bread adds two pieces of bread with a dab of grape jelly smeared on each. Then Dessert fishes exactly four strawberries from a watery gray bin for the small top compartment. Then the beige tray moves to Black Beans, Mixed Vegetables (me), Mashed Potatoes, Salisbury Steak, Gravy, Utensils and Drink.
The soup kitchen guest does not get to walk with a tray in front of the metal bins of food and customize his or her meal. Each guest receives a pre-assembled tray at the end of each line.
Two runners work between the two lines replenishing the metal bins of food as needed.
As the beige trays rush down the assembly line, I notice how haphazardly the grape jelly is applied; some pieces of bread lack the moistening smear of grape jelly entirely. Strawberries range from firm to a little soft to mushy.
Each tray gets what it gets: luck of the draw, or luck of each guest’s place in line.
 Food Tray Approximation Black Beans and I must share a tray compartment. Since the black beans are watery, it doesn’t matter if the mixed vegetables land on top. Still, I try to land the mixed vegetables away from the Black Beans; at the same time, I want to drain as much of the water from the pea, carrot and green been ensemble as possible.
The beige trays already hold a bit of water from Dessert (strawberries).
Continue reading Soup’s On! – New York’s Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen
 The Berlin Stories: The Last of Mr. Norris and Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
A lot went on in Berlin between World War I and World War II.
After Erik Larsen’s In the Garden of Beasts piqued my interest, I read Christopher Isherwood’s The Berlin Stories, a two-novel package of The Last of Mr Norris and Goodbye to Berlin.
The Broadway play and movie Cabaret are loosely based on Goodbye to Berlin.
Like Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the male protagonists’ homosexuality is only hinted at by the author, though it helps the reader’s understanding to be aware of it. The Hollywood productions of both Breakfast and Cabaret turn the heroes straight as an arrow.
The heroes in both novels, William Bradshaw and Christopher Isherwood, are one and the same. Fraulein Schroeder, my favorite character, turns up as the landlady in both novels. In Goodbye to Berlin, Isherwood is not mentioned by name at first. But Frl Schroeder calls out, “Herr Issyvoo, Herr Issyvoo!” Later, he introduces himself as Mr. Isherwood.
Not sure why I find this so funny, but I do.
People think Germans could not have realized what the horrifying outcome of the Nazi regime. But these novels, published before WWII, show the shadow of Fascism spreading across Berlin and the fear the more intellectual citizens felt.
Frl. Schroeder represents the non-intellectual German. Isherwood says of her,
“Already she is adapting herself, as she will adapt herself to every new regime… If anybody were to remind her that, at the elections last November, she voted communist, she would probably deny it hotly and in perfect good faith. She is merely acclimatizing herself. . . Thousands of people like Frl. Schroeder are acclimatizing themselves. After all, whatever government is in power, they are doomed to live in this town.”
The 1935 Goodbye to Mr Norris is more of a fun romp with some foreshadowing of the Nazi takeover toward the end. 1939′s Goodbye to Berlin is more weighted with the political battle between the Communists and the Nazis and the growing atrocities that compel Isherwood to leave Berlin.
Isherwood writes beautifully and I can’t wait to read the rest of his books.I still hear “Herr Issyvoo!” in my head.
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 Yankee (Pre-Season) A scruffy mop of a dog came to Animal Haven early last summer. She arrived from a puppy mill where dogs are over-bred, neglected and abused. Like most puppy mill dogs, Abagail was fearful and cowering.
I picked her up from the shelter on the hottest day of the year. I flagged down a gypsy cab and we took a bumpy ride from SoHo to Battery Park City. I heard small noises of unhappiness coming from the dog carrier.
The next day, Gene and I drove the shaved, pink-skinned girl from New York to her new home in Maryland with my parents. I sat in the backseat with our dog Shadow, and Abagail rode in her crate in the front.
Dad gave Abagail her new name, Yankee Poodle, appropriate for a poodle from New York. Since then, Mom and Dad concluded she’s not a poodle, but a Bichon Frise and I suspect she didn’t originate from New York. So what’s in a name?
 Staying in the Batting Cage The Second Inning
Over the next couple days, the bewildered Yankee Poodle would not come out of her crate. I did get her outside for a walk, but she could only walk in circles.
We discovered she loved chicken.
When Gene and I returned to Maryland in December, we found that Yankee had started the long road to recovery. She relished the parade of food and the soft quilts and how my mother spoiled her. Still, she was happiest in her crate.
Yankee put on some weight and she ate like a beast. My mom doesn’t call her Yankee, just “My Baby.” And Yankee is her baby.
Though Yankee wanted to badly, she didn’t leave the platform at the foot of the staircase. She danced at the edge when she was excited. But just when I thought she would step off, she pulled back.
Rounding The Bases
 Look at Yankee Now By February, Yankee weighed 26 pounds and had found her bark.
I suggested to my mom that she should probably not gain any more weight. Mom said she has gotten picky with her food. That’s what happens when a dog is no longer starving.
Yankee walks in a straight line and we discovered she loves massages.
My parents and Yankee are a perfect match. They have all the love and patience she needs.
The day after St Patrick’s Day may be a little foggy to some, but I remember March 18, 1989 vividly. Every year on that date, I think about that Saturday morning in Milwaukee when Max Adonnis was shot and killed at Giovanni’s, the restaurant where I worked.
 What Really Matters: Searching for Wisdom in America by Tony Schwartz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I have owned this book for many years and have read this book many times; it’s one of the few books I reread when I need a lift. I can open it to any page and start reading. As a result, my paperback copy is looking pretty mangy.
What Really Matters introduced me to people that I went on to read more about, especially Ram Dass and Ken Wilber. I enjoyed the chapter on Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain because I owned Betty Edward’s book and had already worked through her drawing exercises. Schwartz’s drawing chapter, though novel, is not one I go back to.
What Really Matters, published in 1995, predates all the how-to-find-happiness theories that are flooding the bookstores and Internet now. But this old book feels more authentic than a slapped-together manifesto full of tips and tricks.
I am disappointed that Tony Schwartz has created a new career as a “do-better-at-your-job” motivational speaker. The few clips I’ve watched of him lecturing seem more schlubby than my image of an author who sincerely searched for wisdom as he researched people and paths that purported to have the answers.
Read it; you may find an answer or two.
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