once upon a time, we lived in Camelot

October has come and gone in the trailer park, my first month back. A highlight: for two weeks in a row, I was reminded of the joy of celebrating birthdays in our home on Thursdays. One was the big 14, which featured a fine display of teenage flirting, and homemade pasta casserole from the birthday boy's faithful mom. The second birthday was number 11 and just happened to coincide with the annual pumpkin carving night. It was beautiful, that night. I stood back and watched a friend talk with a dad who had never been over before, and laughed at the kids as they pulled bowlfuls of goop from their great, orange gourds. My favorite 7 year old in the world personally helped me gut the pumpkin I carved for our household. It featured a carrot and a teddy bear with underwear--a testament to the quirky and ever-funny girls I am once again privileged to live with.

Via an unexpected source, we learned this month that our trailer is over 40 years old, is a model called "the Pacemaker", and is valued at less than $1,000. LESS than $1,000. I see that and laugh my head off, while at the same time taking in the sobering revelation that all around me people are struggling month after month to stay in something that assesses at the value of maybe two rent payments. It's a nasty system. Personally, I think the name is the best part, and rather fitting: We live in something that should naturally have kicked the bucket a good 20 years ago. Also hilarious, by the way, is the model of our original, mold-filled trailer: "the Camelot". No joke.

In the month I have been back, I have been reminded of another thing: I am selfish with my time. Hospitality has to do with so much more than opening our homes. We are called to live hospitable lives that welcome others in, that don't have excessive closing hours which come at the whim of the interior homeowner. This is difficult for me, yet the trailer, as always, calls me back to that place of inner hospitality. May I learn more and more to welcome others in, and may I find again the unexpected joy that comes when life and home and filled with neighbors and love.