Las Vegas Catholic Worker

Last night was Ming's birthday party.  Some people didn't come who we thought would come, but that was okay.  I baked a chocolate cake.  The middle was fine, but the edges were tough, for some reason, and I had never bought frosting before.  I always made my own frosting.  Frosting from a can is not tasty!  Oh well.  He was honored by the birthday wishes and birthday love.  "You don't have to eat it," I told Ming.  He had a corner piece.

"It's lovely," he said.

We are still in Nevada.  We are in Las Vegas for a few more days.  This morning we served the hungry with Las Vegas Catholic Worker.  I am still trying to figure out whether I'm a Catholic Worker.  The name is unfortunate because you don't have to be Catholic.  They are anarchists, my favorite.

Today we were lucky because someone was doing handprints.  J said, "If you haven't done a handprint yet, come over here."  He painted our left hands, which felt good.  Ming did purple, and I did yellow.  Then we pressed our painted hands against the fence, wrote our names and the date in permanent marker, but we put the date as yesterday.  This is on a wooden fence outside Las Vegas Catholic Worker.

We helped stir huge pots of breakfast stew, which we couldn't eat because it has ham in it, then served at the serving site.  I drank some pretend lemonade and ate a croissant which mysteriously emerged from the bread bucket.  (I have served bread before and never once saw a croissant.)  We drank cold tea too.

Then we headed back to help dishwash.  I dipped the pots and utensils in sanitizing water after they had been washed and rinsed.  Ming dried.  "Am I neglecting you?" I asked because he was on the end, and I seemed to be handing the pots and utensils to the other workers instead of him.  He assured me that he was not feeling neglected.