on hope

Hope used to mean a happy future. Or healthy kids. Or cross-my-fingers wishes. When I was a girl, hope was Grandma’s JC Penny’s catalog before Christmas with carefully circled themed bedspreads and Barbie clothes. It was a lost calico cat on a hot summer day that I knew if it would just come home again, all would be right with the world.

Hope was a wall-hook on which I hung imaginary wedding veils and baby blankets, like wishful thinking for my future. Never for my now…

To finish reading this post, please visit (in)courage.