Today is the final day of Hostfest, and I’m sitting in a corner behind a Viking tent, because I need to plug the laptop in. Last night I thought I was re-charging it as I slept, but apparently I was draining it instead.

Sorry to report that I have no further serious injuries to catalog. I got a sharp smack on the wrist at one point yesterday, but things that don’t leave a mark don’t count at this point. My hand actually feels better today, and a lot of the swelling has gone down. My upper lip is still a little numb, but I rarely smile anyway, so who’s to tell?

I haven’t told you about our host. This year I attained the heart of the Inner Circle in the Viking Age Club, by achieving the honor of being permitted to stay at Grace’s house.

When we come to Minot, we’re always housed with locals, at the expense of the festival (thank you, Festival! Most especially Touchstone Energy, which provides our Viking camp space!). But only the old-timers get to stay with Grace.

Grace is a widow lady who cleans houses for a living. Those who stay with her have to share a single bathroom, and sometimes have to sleep on a couch (though more often Grace takes the couch). She’s flexible beyond all reason, not giving a hoot how early we leave or how late we come in. She’s one of those people who have very little in this world, but whatever they have is yours if you need it.

She’s also a devout Christian of the fundamentalist variety, and not at all bashful about talking about it.

I think most of the members of our club at this point are at least nominal Christians. We lost our heathens back in the time of the Great Viking Schism.

But if anyone in our group ever experiences a profound Christian conversion, I suspect it will have more to do with Grace’s faith active in love than with my sullen (and rare) reasonings.