I Learn the Art of the Munge.

So. . . Uhm. . .do you have any of those. .  .Uhm. delicious creme filled sponge cakes?

 Trailer parks are a different world. There is an eclectic blend of young poor couples stopping through on their way up. Some middle-aged people with various physical or mental illnesses getting by in housing they can afford. A few immigrants trying to get a foothold and make a better life for themselves and their children. Then there are the criminals, drug addicts and alcoholics or a mixture of several of these in a family. 

Many of our neighbors in those days have gone on to be successful business owners and, restaurateurs. Generally just making good, as they say. Others are still there or so close as to not matter and some are dead. 

When my sister was seven and I was five there was a young couple that lived on the other end of the road from us. They were the most wonderful people, they had lots of little cockapoo puppies that we adored. My sister loved them so much that when they moved they gave us a feisty little cockapoo named Lady for us to keep. She loved that dog so much that she has owned a cockapoo for most of her life and has named many of them 'Lady'. 

Besides having awesome dogs they would invite us over to do arts and crafts projects like making bead necklaces and painting. They also had treats, a rarity at our house and in their living room I had my first Twinkie. I was hooked after my first taste, and every time we went to their house I would have Twinkies on the brain. I would try with all the subtle stratagems that a 5-year-old possesses to steer the conversation toward snaking. Maybe in the direction of Twinkies or just general musing about whether there were any Twinkies in the house. 

Sometimes there were, and life was good, extra good.