Jodi Hills

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


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Big deal.

Yesterday morning I was romanticizing the beauty of hotel bedrooms. I’m not sure why. The person who does the filing in my brain must have pulled out that particular file and the images were so inviting, I sprung into action. I pulled the sheets off of our bed, the pillowcases and duvet cover, putting them in the laundry. Found a new set of sheets, and stretched them over the bed. They were ironed, (yes, I do iron our bedding) but still needed the smoothing of my hand, if only for the welcoming. I dressed the pillows. Filled the duvet cover. Found a new throw blanket to style. Even though the cover was ironed, it’s time in the cupboard was apparently not that easy, so I got the iron and steamed it back to its origin. So clean and fresh, I lit the candles on the bedside tables in celebration. The sun shone directly on this hoteled bed and for one brief moment, I thought, yes! But the sun said, wait… look at the windows. Oh, that sun can see everything. This beautiful bed deserved clean windows, so I got the Windex and paper towel and squeegee and went to work. Round and round each pane. The inside and outside. Of course, in doing this, yesterday’s vacuumed floor was not spackled with dust, so I got out the new vacuum and followed it’s headlight until the floor was once again clean.


Today, it will show a bit of rumpling, and I will fight the good fight with smoothing hands. But tomorrow it will show a little more, and a little more the day after that. And that’s ok. Because yesterday, for a brief moment it was perfect, when my husband eased himself under the covers and said, “It feels like a brand new bed!”


We think life is made up of a few grandiose events, but really, it’s a million little moments. The everyday things. The clean sheets. The croissants for breakfast. The hopes that shine through the windows with each morning sun. These are the moments! I want to respect them, work for them, enjoy them, live them!


Here comes another! Don’t miss it! Each little thing is a pretty big deal!


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Stringing joy.

My office smells like the cinema this morning. I began stringing popcorn for the Christmas tree we have yet to purchase. I usually don’t start decorating until the day after Thanksgiving, but technically, I thought, this wasn’t really decorating, it was just pre-decorating. Truth be told, I also started hot gluing the strings on the pine cones from our yard. Still, only the “pre” stage.


I love Christmas! I mean, I really love it! And I want to be patient. And stringing popcorn, what an exercise in patience! I have a memory of popcorn being one big chunk of white fluff at the top that you could easily slide the needle through — but not our popcorn. Our popcorn pops with a flurry, in some sort of neurotic burst that makes the accessible part – almost inaccessible. But I love the look. The smell. The challenge of it all. So I strung, bit by bit, through the tears of watching Love Actually for the 15th time.


I will never apologize for feeling. I want to feel everything! And when there is joy – I will do my best to elongate it! Stretch it out, string it along, kernel by neurotic kernel. You don’t need my permission, but I will offer it anyway, wrap it in colorful, scent-filled words, telling you to do it – find what you love and do it! This day and every day – ’tis the season.


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Good morning, Fern!

We got a new plant for our library. She is a fern. I named her Fern. (Everything doesn’t have to be hard to be delightful.) She sits beside the antique typewriter we got from Dominique’s mom. So in my head, Fern works in this office from the 1950’s. Every morning, when I open the shutters, let the sun in, I say in my most boisterous, yet cheerful, of voices — “Good morning, Fern! Take a letter.” I hope you’re laughing. It makes me laugh every day. I’m smiling as I type this.

It really takes so little. Today, (well, and every day) find something that tickles your heart from the inside. I’m old enough to know about the Reader’s Digest magazine. They had a section in there called “Laughter is the best medicine.” I was probably six when I started reading them. I didn’t always understand, but I knew I liked to laugh, so I hopscotched through the words and found myself laughing just the same. I guess I had already started making a choice to find the good. And it is a choice.

So fling those curtains, those shutters, those hearts wide open. Greet the day. And find the good — it’s out there! Good morning, Fern!!!