by Sarah Ball

The clock blinked 9:15 on a Saturday morning when my phone rings.

“I’m out running errands and I picked up a couple things for you. Can I stop by?” my friend asks.

I take a quick survey of my house: Rice Krispies stuck to the dining room table, piles of half-sorted paperwork on the counter, folded laundry on the couch, and baby toys rolling underfoot. “Sure!” I say cheerfully. “We’d be glad to see you.” I hang up the phone and yell, “EVERYBODY GET DRESSED...RIGHT NOW!”

I want my home to be a place that is warm and inviting. I want friends and strangers alike to feel welcome and wanted. I want them to enter a house that is clean, but also comfortable. I want to offer my guests tempting goodies served in attractive settings. I want to be hospitable.

So why is it that my phone always rings when I am least prepared? It seems that the Rice Krispies and the dust bunnies and the dirty toilets conspire against me at all the wrong times. Instead of focusing on meaningful conversation, I am thinking, “Oh, please, please, please, don’t ask to use my restroom!”

I decided that it was time to ask for some expert advice. Not from Martha Stewart, or Pottery Barn, or Better Homes & Gardens. Not from an interior designer, or a chef, or a maid service, although I certainly wouldn’t refuse any of those! I wanted the help of women who practice hospitality in the real world. These are women with real children, real budgets, and really busy schedules. Yet each one is a true giver of hospitality. Let me tell you about them.

Dawn lives in a three-story farmhouse in Nebraska, where she cares for her husband, six children, four dogs, twelve chickens, one horse, one pony, ten cats, and one pet rat. In the five years I lived near her, I saw her host a hoe-down, Passover meals, Fourth of July celebrations, elaborate birthday parties, Christmas open houses, and countless dinner parties. She is the only person I know to have ever baked the entire Christmas nativity narrative into fortune cookies, one strip at a time.

Margee and her husband are raising their two teen-agers in the small town of Audubon, Iowa. She works two part-time jobs, one as an administrative assistant and the other as a coordinator between schools and parents of children with disabilities. She is a hostess with an increasingly rare gift - she is a true listener. She knows the people in my life who are dear to me, and she remembers to ask me about them each time we visit.

Kim is the wife of an Army chaplain. She has moved her two children from New York to Korea to South Carolina and back to New York, all in the last five years. In spite of being frequently packed and unpacked, her household is a place of beauty. From the front door to the kitchen to the guest bathroom, every room is decorated with grace and simple elegance. Kim offers her beautiful home to adults and children alike - I’ve seen preschoolers share sandwiches under her elegant dining room table, oblivious to the lace tablecloth and chandelier above them.