Years ago, on Friday mornings, I worked with other volunteers serving a hot breakfast to homeless folks. The church hosting the breakfast referred to these people as “Clients,” a term I thought that seemed to take the very heart out of the whole experience.

These clients were a community that as a friend pointed out, “have community” and this rubbed off on everyone around them. Although I lived worlds apart in a nice, warm house, I felt a kinship with these people. As volunteer work goes, I’d return home feeling as filled up as perhaps some of the homeless after their second helping.

There was Jim, always jolly and first in line, wearing a cowboy hat and a broad grin. Elmer, who looked like one of the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz, whispered when he spoke. He had his own way of saying thank you by retrieving a white plastic spoon from his pocket and performing a magic trick. Rebecca with sad eyes and a blonde braid running down her back never did anything more than just nod and smile kindly. Jason had as soothing a voice as any radio announcer.

Sometimes, remarkable things would happen. Like the morning Newton walked in. Newton was a bald headed man who stood about 6-feet tall. His hands were so huge that the plate he held looked more like a cup saucer. As I was just about to pile some pancakes on it, he leaned in with his broad shoulders and started singing this jingle ….

“I never had it so good before …I never had it so-ooo good.”

Then, he leaned in closer and whispered, “Listen to this.”

“I NEVER HAD IT SO GOOD BEFORE...I NEVER HAD IT SO-OOO GOOD!”

The supervisor, who wore a microphone on his belt, now handed the mic over to Newton, who, as it turned out, wasn’t the least bit bashful. He stood in the center of our crowd, singing a song in his heart — one right after another. Newton’s little jingle remains in my heart today — both his song and his smile is what I remember most.

Years later, I’d opened a church bulletin and the bold print that caught my eye immediately was, The Gathering. I liked the word not only because of the warmth and inclusiveness it invoked, but because the sound of, “gather” just sounded good to me.

The article explained that The Gathering was a day of activities centered around “seniors with memory loss,” which in turn caused me to chuckle about my own condition, middle aged with memory loss. It also said that the group was looking for “a storyteller.” This tweaked my interest so I picked up the telephone and called.

Now, for one day out of each month, I step away from cell phones, computers and the daily deluge of duties and enter into a circle of elders who remind me that what it’s really all about is being in the moment. Being in their presence requires one to simply be present and in our culture of calendars, hurry and agendas, it’s a doozie of a gift.

In the course of our day, we paint, sing, sometimes dance, tell jokes. We have lunch then top it off with a round or two (at least) of Bingo.

But the best part is the spontaneous stuff that happens in between. The great goo of The Gathering are the elders themselves. Turns out, I’m not the storyteller at all. They are, and boy do they have some to tell — real, rich, long life stories full of humor and wisdom.

Once Thelma looked at me and said, “Katie, you’re a pretty girl, how old are you?” I answered, “Well now, Thelma, I want you to look into my face and just guess.”

After a closer study of the area around my lips and eyeballs, she concluded, “Sixty.” I must have looked a little deflated that she’d given me 10 extra years.

“Well?” she said, lifting her shoulders, “You asked me!”

Whether with homeless friends or those with Alzheimer’s — one thing sure to occur is connection. While visiting over breakfast, I felt compelled to apologize to Ray for my bad breath.

“I was running a little late this morning so I didn’t brush my teeth,” I explained. Ray came back with the kindest of tone.

"Well, that’s all right,” he said, “You’re in the right company.” Indeed.

These folks aren’t just special — they’re fun. They share in a willingness to be vulnerable, speak truth, show joy and sadness and they can be in the moment better than anyone I know.

Volunteer work is like dancing. It’s just good for the soul.