Jodi Hills

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

Category Archives: bird


by Leave a comment

Nothing but bath mats.



I wanted to ask him what I was supposed to do now. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He should know. Him with all the answers. The plans to each season. I kept watching him. Silent. Taking in all of my mother’s broken words. My heart screamed into my unopened mouth — say something!!!! I knew he had liked my father. I knew it wasn’t only my mom and I that felt the break. There isn’t just one crack when a family splits. But he was the shoulders — my grandfather, her father, this farmer that stood beside the kitchen table. He was the master of dirt. Changing it into green and gold. Why wasn’t he changing this?

I kept staring out the window. He said a few things to my mother. I don’t know that she felt better, no, better would take time. But I could see relief. Relief of weight. Of story. Some words aren’t meant to be carried.

I was still waiting. Waiting for my “few.” His worked hand cupped over most of my shoulder and part of my back. He leaned in. “It’s not it,” he whispered, “you get to decide.” My heart was not yet even green, but I knew better would come, in my season.

Stepping out of the shower yesterday in Mississippi, I reached for the stack of towels I had asked for from the maid in the hall on my return from the gym. The top towel — a bath mat. I threw it on the floor and got out. Second towel. Third. Bath mats. She had given me nothing but bath mats. Cold and trying to wrap in the impossibly small cloth, I started to laugh. I ran to my iPad and wrote down the words, “Nothing but bath mats.” I decided it was going to be a great day.

We don’t always get to chose the words we are given, but make no mistake, we decide the story.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Unlaced.

My first and only question to the clerk at Iverson’s shoes was, “Are they fast?” He assured me that they were, but encouraged me to race to the front window of the store. He neglected to time me, but still, these felt faster than last year’s pair. He put my old pair in the box. My mother paid. I wore my new bumper tennies home. Not certain if I was racing them, or they were racing me.

I don’t know what we did with the box, but I assume they didn’t come with directions. I was left to my own devices. I decided it was completely up to me, what these beautiful shoes could or couldn’t do. Testing if they could pedal faster, I took my banana seat bike from the garage and set out for Lake Latoka. It was hard to gauge on the gravel of Van Dyke Road, but when I hit the paved hill by Lord’s house, I began to really move! They were faster! On the long stretch toward the lake, my knees blurred into the blue of my new shoes. I had never gone so fast. Perhaps in my eagerness to give them a spin, I had neglected to tie the laces sufficiently. In a scramble of laces and chain and heel hitting the tiny spikes of the pedal, my right shoe flew off my foot into the air. For a brief second, my heart in my throat, my legs in the air, the pedals still spinning, my shoe beside my head, it felt — no, I was sure — I was flying! That’s the thing about magic, no one can ever prepare you.

Time moves faster than last year. I have the final pair of Van shoes my mother bought. I don’t know if she asked, but they turned out to be fast. They sit beside me now. Unlaced. Almost brand new. I was unprepared for this as well, but heart in my throat, I know she is flying.

I can’t be sure if I’m carrying the magic, or it’s carrying me, probably a little of both. The pedals keep turning — what a ride! My heart keeps believing — What a ride!

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Here to stay is the new bird.



There are many theories to the lyrics in Winter Wonderland — “Gone away is the bluebird. Here to stay is the new bird.” Sometimes the most likely answer is true. It’s the one I choose — that bluebirds migrate away, but some arrive, like the cardinal (the new bird.)

Some of the other teams mocked us for our mascot – the Alexandria Cardinals. Them being cougars, bears and wolves — surely they assumed themselves to be tougher. But I knew something different. I knew what it meant to be strong. To stay when the weather got bad, when times were tough. To dare the longest of nights, and still greet the morning with hope. My mother was a new bird — a cardinal. A pure and beautiful symbol of the very strength we wore proudly on our uniforms. And to see it, even when the others didn’t, well, that just made it even more special. It made me, all of us, stronger. And so we sang our fight song proudly, “We are the cardinals, mighty, mighty cardinals…”

Wearing my vintage cardinal t-shirt, typing the words while the Christmas songs go through my head, I do miss my mom! But just as promised, she is here to stay — the new bird. I smile knowing the strength I too carry, easily underestimated I suppose, sometimes even by myself, but strength I wear proudly, carry with me. Hope, just like the cardinal is mighty!

Shop Now!


by 1 Comment


Snow birds.



In the winter of my Minnesota seventh grade, I took my first airplane ride to Cocoa Beach, Florida. I didn’t know what a snowbird was, and I must admit there was a small part of me that hoped they would be donned in feathers. I spotted them immediately at the gate, my grandpa still in overalls and my grandma in a flowered dress, only missing the apron.

I heard the ocean before I saw it. The sound was as big as the sight. I stood in the sand, paralyzed by one thought — that it all was real. It had taken 6 years for Mrs. Bergstrom’s globe to come to life. But there it was! All the blue that she had passed around to us. The blue that we spun with our hopeful fingers. It was right there in front of me. I turned back to my grandparent’s. They shook their heads. I took off my shoes. My pants. And ran into my first dream come true.

It didn’t take long for my lavender winter skin to turn a bright red. I slept soundly on their condo floor.

They took me to all the attractions. Cape Canaveral, the dog track, the outlet mall, and the 4:30pm dinner special. We didn’t go to the “happiest place on earth,” but to be honest, I couldn’t imagine being happier. I basked in the unexpected warmth of winter sun, and their full attention.

Returning to Central Junior High, all smiles, and one less layer of skin, all the other seventh graders, knowing I went to Florida, asked how I liked Disney World. We didn’t go, I said, to their utter shock and dismay. I had no photos. I didn’t own a camera. I had no souvenirs of Mickey or Minnie. “So what did you see?” “Snowbirds,” I said. “They’re real?” “Yes,” I smiled. It was all real. And I had everything. Still do.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Shopping small.

If Herberger’s was ever low on pantyhose, there was a distinct possibility that my mom just restocked her drawers.

She was always prepared. Had she been a scout, and they offered a fashion badge, her sash would have been decorated immediately. Eagle status. Not only did she have the right pair for every outfit, and any future outfit, she kept them in pristine condition. After wearing and washing, she folded them back into their original packaging and filed them neatly, easily visible by color, into her pantyhose drawer. On days when the world just didn’t make sense, I, we, could look to that drawer and find hope.

Sure, it may sound silly. And it probably was. But so what. It brought her joy. It brings me joy. Still. When I see the advertisements to “Shop Small,” this holiday season, I think of her drawer. I think of all the little things she gave to me.

I think we can all get caught up in the “it has to be bigger, grander, more expensive,” to mean something. But, I suppose, it’s always the little things. With gifts. In life. In love. It’s the small things that we will carry. That will fill us for our entire lives.

I bought a pair of green pantyhose two days ago. They match perfectly with my green dress. I wore them yesterday, with all of my mother’s pride. And I saved the packaging. My heart is filled with small mercies.

Shop Now!


by 1 Comment

Lighter than joy.

It’s ironic, I suppose, that she was singing, “If I could turn back time…” — this Cher hologram or avatar (or holographic avatar, I don’t know…) in my dream early this morning. We were shopping in a large department store. Tired of her following, her singing, or both, Dominique grabbed her imaginary face and kissed it. “That should keep her quiet,” he said. But it only seemed to make her angry. Maybe not so much, Cher, but the Roomba-like machine that was giving her life. It began following us around the store. Sirens blaring. We couldn’t escape. It’s hard to stop the passing of time.

Sometimes I think of how strange it would be to try and explain this all to my grandmother. I don’t mean the dream, but the iPad that I’m typing on. The phones that follow us everywhere. The cameras and clocks attached that are always with us. At the farm, the only thing that told time was the bird that popped out hourly from the coo-coo clock in the living room. And oh how she would have guffawed at the notion of taking her picture while she baked in kitchen. If Paul Harvey was on, it was noon — we didn’t need a clock in her car. She knew everyone in town. This was her social network.

Obviously I love technology. I use it daily. I’m not sure I could find my way without GPS. But I don’t think that in moving forward, we have to leave everything behind. Human contact will forever be the all. The everything.

We are going to go to the mall today. Even the Apple Store. And I’m excited. My grandma never wanted to go to the mall. But oh how my mother did! And OH the times we had. Because times do change. And that can be beautiful! Today, I will go with Dominique. And the experience will be new. We are forever changing. Time, no matter what Cher sings, cannot be turned back. But it can be carried with us. Nothing is lighter than joy. Keep it close beside you. Within you, as we all make our way.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Social studies.

We never had a lack of things to judge each other by, and Central Junior High made sure that we never ran out. Of course there was the usual hierarchy of those in advanced courses. The grading system. The hands raised in class. The sulking heads in the back of the room. But then they sent us to gym class. They timed us around tracks and arm-flexed hangs. They measured and weighed us. Tested us through units of gymnastics and every ball game. With no self-esteem to spare, they sent us to the pool once a week. It would have been enough to be on display in our one piece suits and skin-capped heads in front of the other 20 or so girls, but the pool was adjacent to the lunch room, separated only by glass windows. Like the theatre view in an operating room, the 9th grade boys eating cafeteria pizza had a thirty minute view. We longed for the “eyes on your own paper” rule of law.

I suppose the greatest gift was the lack of time. The allotted 5 minutes to shower, dress, and speed walk (no running allowed) with wet hair flinging down the halls, to math, or English, or Social studies, didn’t allow much time for scrutiny. It’s only as I’m typing this that I realize there was really no need for the social studies class, we were living it, from beginning to ending bell.

I only mention it, because I use the skill they gave us, almost daily. I can get trapped in the moment of self-awareness. How do I look? How do I appear? Am I being judged? But really, nothing has changed since junior high. I don’t have the time to worry about what everyone else is doing…so certainly others don’t either. (And if you do have the time for judgement, maybe it’s time to switch course. Quickly. Down another hallway.)

There is so much to learn. I hope I continue. I’m sure I stumble on my way to daily social studies. But then I see you, my friends, my fellows, my human contacts, all trying to make our way, and I smile.




Shop Now!


by 3 Comments

Summer fingers. Forever friends.

I recently bought a new ring. It was still in the heat of summer, so my fingers carried a bit of extra fluid. I carefully measured my summer finger to get the right size, but by the time the ring arrived, the cooler air had slimmed my fingers down significantly. It spins round and round. I suppose with everything, it’s hard to get the perfect fit for all occasions.

I have been blessed though. This I know for sure. I have a few friends that I know will always be there, through any situation. It’s easy to find your summer friends — when everyone is running with the bounce of bare legs, lit perfectly under a bright yellow sun. The heart swells with youth. And all acquaintances gather. But the ones that remain in the fallings of autumn, in the bareness of winter, these are your true friends. Those who will spin round and round with you, in your smallest of times.

I look at the new green stone. From the front of my hand. From the back. It reminds me of how lucky I am. To have such friends. And I don’t wish anything away. Every season brings growth. Reveals the truth of friendship. True love will always gather in.

Shop Now!


by 2 Comments

Look up.

A jolt rushes through my body like lightning. Straight up through my back and out the top of my head. It takes only a millisecond for my brain to realize that the tip of my shoe has hit a rock mid-step on the gravel path. Not enough to fall, but enough to be grateful to still be standing. It’s funny how we always look back to see the culprit. Like it matters which rock. But I do. And I won’t remember it. I probably won’t even remember the feeling. 

You’d think growing up on a gravel road, that I would be accustomed to it all. Wearing the scars on knees and elbows and knuckles. But I can still get tripped up from time to time. Yet I don’t stop. I’m out there. Daily. Twice daily. Because I love it. Still.

I imagine it’s the same with the heart. If mine had stopped wandering the gravel every time it got bruised or scraped, I would be stuck. Alone. But thankfully, the beat that carries me is skinned-knee tough, and it keeps choosing love. I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They say when walking or running, you need to always look ahead — that you’ll fall a lot more if you’re focused on what’s beneath you, if you’re looking down. Always good advice, I suppose, for everything. Today, I will forget my near fall, and feel the open path in front of me. Sometimes, you just have to look up!

Shop Now!


by 1 Comment

The Cardinal beat.

We were never asked the question when we were young — “How do you identify?” I smile now, thinking about it, because I probably would have answered — “A cardinal.”

I didn’t see it for the blessing that it was at the time — maybe that’s the way with all blessings — but despite time and distance, it has stayed with me, this feeling of belonging, being, and I remain a cardinal.

Even on the teams we didn’t play for, we still came together in our red and black. Sometimes on the field. Sometimes in the band. Sometimes in the bleachers. Forever donned in our mascot, the Alexandria Cardinals. Because no matter what we were, hoods, geeks, nerds, jocks, preppies, we were always cardinals. We stomped and clapped to the Cardinal beat. Competed. Learned. Fought. Made up. Grew. Fell. Got up. Together.

I put on my second-hand Cardinal T-shirt yesterday. Wondering why it couldn’t all be this simple. Weren’t we, aren’t we, all a part of something bigger? I’d like to think so. Maybe the red and black is never all that black and white. But it is something to be connected. To be a part of the bigger picture. I want that. For all of us. For this world. We could come together. And identify as one.

Shop Now!