Jodi Hills

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

Category Archives: listen


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Sur la table.

It’s instinct now. I suppose I’ve done it for years, but for some reason I noticed it this morning. When making something on the stove, like this morning’s coffee, I have to tilt my head down and to the left. It’s no surprise that I’m taller than the last French generation, and the hood over the stove is a good reminder.

But I don’t really think about it. My head just seems to know, and makes the adjustment. Maybe it doesn’t sound like much, but what a marvelous creation — this brain!

This brain that worked for years and years processing one language. A brain that knew the signals and prompts. That navigated the grids and grins of one culture, now being asked to learn it all again, (and bend over a little if you don’t mind.) Even in the face of tears, and fears, and the I don’t want tos and the I cants, somehow it keeps going. Marvelous! And maybe it’s the heart that tells it so. Who can be sure who’s leading. That heart that got more than knocked by a kitchen corner and still keeps beating. So pained by love, still knowing there is nothing better. The heart that only smells the coffee brewing and looks forward to the day.

I mention it, not as a reminder of the struggle, but a reminder to give thanks. To take a moment and tell this brain, this heart — thanks for getting me here. For making the adjustments when life knocks us around.

I sit at the morning table. My cup is full.

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All overmixed paint turns to brown.

You can see it in a painting. In a poem. When it’s just trying too hard. Overworked. Exhausted. It sucks the beauty right out of it.

I called her Grandma Lois. We weren’t related, but for the love of painting. She was hovering in her eighties. Still brush in hand. I offered my youth. She offered her experience. Our palettes combined. She told me the hardest thing for her had always been learning when to stop. To look at what she had painted and say, this is good – what I’ve created – it’s enough. To learn, and create again — that was the real beauty, she said. We smiled. Painted. Connected.

On canvas, I have learned this. It’s harder in real life. There are some people with whom you think, if I just tried a little harder, maybe if I was just a little brighter, better — if I was just more beautiful, inside and out, maybe they would see me. All overmixed paint turns to brown. Some people just won’t see you. And you have to walk away. Step aside and say, what I offered, it was enough.

Surround yourself with those who can see it. Can see you. In the purest, most simple strokes. Wow – to sit in that beauty – that beauty of being. Knowing your all, their all, is more than enough. Not gasping, just breathing. This, I think, is the art of loving, of living. This is good. This is beautiful.

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Tap. Tap. Tap.

I don’t know enough about it – (if anyone really does) – the laws of attraction, but things happen that make me curious…

I wrote a post featuring the painting of the woodpecker just a few days ago. The day that followed, I was sitting at my desk, like I do every day, the window open, and I heard this “tap, tap, tap…”  I kept typing, and again, “tap, tap, tap…”  I stopped and looked out the window. Dominique wasn’t in the yard. It was almost silent. I waited. Moments. And there it was again. This time I was able to follow the noise, in the tree. And there it was. Just as I had painted. We have a lot of birds. We have a lot of what we call “pic vert,” similar to the bird I painted, but different coloring – green, and they normally pick at the ground, not in the trees.  Did I attract this bird? Is this the law of attraction? Or did I just open my eyes and start seeing? I don’t have the answer for this… but either way I like it. 

Whether I attract positive things, or just start seeing them, it is something positive – and I want that. I want that for me, for all of us. I remember someone saying once (don’t judge me, but I think it was Oprah, and she probably wasn’t the first), that we have to pay attention, the signs often come softly, they aren’t going to be belted out with a choir! You have to really listen. 

I don’t know how many “taps” I have missed through the years, but I want to get better. Pay attention. See the signs. Find the beauty. And I suppose to hear them, I need to quiet the sometimes din (noisy clamor) of my brain. Not the easiest task, but I’m working on it. Quietly. 

I’ll whisper the last few words – I wish you a quiet day of beauty. It’s out there. Listen for the taps.

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