And then, always on my way home on Route 40, there's a place I think of as the "Hope House." It's a rowhouse like many row houses — arguably exactly like the one next to it in almost all respects. But the difference is, someone painstakingly painted it red and white, all over, in patterns and stripes. It's a visual exclamation point as I drive by, and no matter what kind of day I have had, it never fails to fill me with hope. I trust it does the same for its occupants. Thank you, Hope House, for the reminder to stay positive.