Week 2: The Frivolity of Hope.

The girl who bottled hope was once a young girl - innocent and new and quite the opposite of the wise and weathered woman who answered the door to face the old man in need of her gift.

As a little girl, her favorite memories are of the times she played in the kitchen, watching as her mother stood in the very same spot on the very same floor in the very same house that she now lives. Her mother stood much like her - leaning heavily on her left foot as though it were attempting to become part of the floor, pressing out her right hip to one side for balance, staring at the pot full of hope whimsically -- almost always completely lost in deep thought.

But today her mother was acting strange, and she wore a sad expression as she toiled and boiled. The girl who bottled hope had no idea what this meant, her mother was usually brimming with joy and smiling constantly being that she was bearer of hope and good will.

"Mémere, what is it that bothers you today?" the little girl asked with wide indigo eyes.

"Well my darling, it seems that someone has taken advantage of the gift that I have given them" her mother began, looking back into her daughter's shining youthful eyes with her own worn out tearful eyes.

"The bottles that I give out are meant for the people who need them the most, as there is only so much that I can make in one harvest. And you know how I sometimes have to turn away people who come for hope but do not really need it?"

"Yes, mémere, I remember" replied the little girl, bobbing her head up and down happily because she knew the answer. "I remember the ones who ask you over and over, and how you have to tell them to go away, again and again and again until they finally leave you alone" the memories of these moments bring a glimpse of a frown to her tiny lips.

"Exactly my darling, those are the people I speak of. But there is something worse that can happen. Yesterday, a man came to see me and I could sense with my gift that he truly needed hope. He has never been to see me before and I did not know him, but I decided that - even though I have many orders of hope to fulfill, I would give him some anyway" replied her mother, letting out a huge sigh and sinking deeper into the floor boards, left foot planted even more firmly against the ancient wood.

"But what about the people who were counting on their hope?" asks the little girl, who begins to nibble the corner of her bottom lip, something she does when she is really concentrating on something that interests her.

"You see, that is the problem, I had to tell Mrs. Lillipi from the next village that she would have to do without her share of hope this year, and that is a terribly sad thing to do"

"But mémere, Mrs. Lillipi needs her hope very badly, and she has come to you for years!"
the frown has now completely taken over the little girls face, furrowing her brow and crinkling her nose.

"Yes, love, this is true. But Mrs. Lillipi has gone without before, and knows how to make do. What really upsets me is the man who came to see me" her mother says, pausing to stir the thick stew with the special spoon.

"The hope was not for him, it was for someone else who has already had their share. This person thought they deserved more, so they hired him to come to me and try to get some more" with this revelation, her mother releases the handle of the spoon and plods heavily across the kitchen, plopping herself down on the chair by the watching window.

"Come, love, sit on my lap" she attempts to smile at her daughter. The corners of her mouth are turned up out of duty but her eyes remain sad, dull, listless.

Hopping across the cozy kitchen to follow her mother, the little girl grasps the curvy arms of the chair to climb up on to her mother's lap, easing herself into the apron spread across her mother's legs. As she rests her head against her mother's soft body, she tucks her delicate little girl feet underneath her, nuzzling them just so, and tries to wrap her dainty arms around her mother. Maybe if she squeezes her tightly, she can help make her mother's sorrow all better as she waits for the rest of the story.

"The gift that we have is special, and does not come without consequences" her mother begins. "You know what consequences are, right?"

"Yes, mémere, yes!" she nods ardently.

"Well, every morsel of hope that I give out to help someone else, takes a piece of my own hope in the world, a piece of myself. When the person truly needs the hope that I give them, only a very tiny piece is taken, and I hardly notice the piece of me that is missing. But, when I make a mistake and give out hope to the wrong person, it is as though a very big part of me has been taken away and that part can never return" her mother explains "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do mémere, but what happens then?" the little girl unwraps her arms from around her mother and snuggles in closer.

"That's the problem, even with my keen intuition, I have made many mistakes over the years, and each mistake chips away such a large piece of me. There is only so much of me to give and so much hope to share. A few more mistakes, and I may have nothing left to give" her mother pauses to look out the watching window, then continues in a softer voice, holding her daughter tightly while she explains:

"With great power comes great responsibility, and I fear that one day I will not have the ability to fulfill my responsibilities" her eyes move and affix themselves firmly on the floor. The little girl is very worried about her mother. "You are so young and innocent, but I have to tell you this story because one day you will have this responsibility"

"I know mémere, I want it! I can't wait to give people hope!"

Her mothers face darkens and she looks back at her daughter's deep innocent eyes.
"One day love, you will understand. You are young now and have not had enough experience to completely understand. But I will still teach you as much as I can while I am here, because you will need to know this, to serve the world, and to survive"

Gazing up at her mother, the little girl cannot understand why she seems so sad. If only she could make it all better, if only her mother could just forget this sad story, she thinks, then they could go back to their usual routine of playful stirring and aimless chattering. And then she wonders...

"But mémere! What happens when there is no more of you left?"