Flowers from Hope House

Stephan and I dropped by Hope House today to see if the neighbor was in.

We need to talk to him about the sewer easement, but he wasn't home.

It wasn't a wasted trip, though. I showed Stephan where the TARDIS is 

going to be placed at the edge of the back garden. I stood on the front porch

to see if I can see the signpost for "Northern Pike" from there, . . almost.

Then, I wickedly picked a bouquet of flowers from the yard. If this were a 

fairy tale, my punishment would be to have to live at Hope House and never

return to Pitcairn again. This is a punishment I'm willing to risk.

I gave Mommy the flowers, and she loves them. I think she loves them just 

as much as Beauty loved the stolen rose from the Beast's garden.

I'm sewing and crotcheting curtains for the kitchen

at Hope House. I try to finish a whole row of stitching 

before I check my phone again to see if any contractors

have gotten back to us with bids. I'm having limited

success with this attempt to keep my sanity and to not

check my email every ten seconds. I find there is a 

strong urge to pretty much just constantly hit "refresh"

and hit "refresh" and hit "refresh" on the email instead

of living life and taking care of responsibilities.

I've been practicing patience for a very long time,

but clearly I'm not a proficient yet. 

On the plus side, Mom just loves my work on these curtains.

Her eyes shine when she holds them and looks at all my 

tiny stitches (you know, the ones she taught me to take), and 

all my rows of crotchet (these Grandma Bailey taught me).

Life is full of small rewards for simple tasks.

And, a further plus, I got a second job to help pay

the mortgage at Hope House in the event that the 

house in Pitcairn doesn't sell. (Maybe it will pay for 

a basic kitchen from Ikea as well? I'm full of dreams.)

Mom inspecting my stitchery.

She approves.

Hope House

I think we might buy a house for Mommy. 

This house.

A woman named Hope owned it for more than fifty years,

and we are so hopeful to get to live there for the next fifty.

(Hopefully, many of those years with Mommy!)
So, this was a house for Hope, and is a house for hope.
Hope House is the proper name.
(Special thanks to Jeanie, the bestower of the name.)