Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

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Bon vivant.

As the song begins, “many’s the time,” so I too, have listened.  It’s Paul Simon.  Touching every bit of my American core, my core that now finds itself in France.  Lead by love, sure and true, I am supposed to be here, I know.  But knowing, and being at ease, are not always the same thing.  I remember when I first came here, even listening to the radio was difficult.  I felt sometimes like I was drowning in the words I didn’t understand.  They rolled and waved all around me, and I had nothing to hang on to.  My heart thrashed.  So listening to a recording, a recording of American Tune, again, and repeat, my heart would float.  Still in these unchartered waters, the words I recognized, and I was safe.

IMG_8125Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home.
He was giving me permission.  I didn’t have to be all “bon vivant” (one who lives well.)  What a restful phrase.  It was ok.  And my head stayed above water.
This morning, with seven year old Margaux, I walked around our pool.  A spider was thrashing.  I gave Margaux the net and we saved him.  And another.  And another.  We saved over 20 spiders, and she yelled in victory each time, “vivant!”  Yes, indeed, I thought, “vivant!”  (and not just the spiders).  We were all “all right.”  We were connecting.  We were in this together.  Yes, I was still far away, but I was home.