Welcome to House on Hope Street

Welcome to my new blog, House on Hope Street. Let me tell you the story of this charming street sign, standing askew and catty-corner from my front porch. I would sit on my wicker chair and look out across the street, and often my gaze would fall upon this sign. Simply stated and a bit worn from its vintage, the word HOPE worked on me one summer. I had a nasty commute, would get home beat and uninspired, and had quit looking forward to weekends. One day I looked at that sign as I would most days and it was just as if one of the 90-year old bricks fell off my chimney and hit me on the head: I was missing HOPE. Whatever it is that puts a glimmer in your eye in anticipation of something new or fun or precious or better. Whatever it is that puts a spring in your step, oh, about halfway through Thursdays. Whatever inner inspiration that scurries your mind in planning, creating and what-iff-ing until you fall asleep at night. I was sitting on my patio chair waiting for all that to come back to me, and all along it was taunting me from across the street.
I made a vow to myself to be more intentional about planning, doing, seeing, visiting, sharing. Being more purposeful about meeting joy half-way. Being artful, learning and doing. I turned my life around, for better or worse, looking at this sign, all while sitting on the porch of my little House on Hope Street.