Jodi Hills

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



“You sneeze just like Grandma Elsie,” my mother often told me. It always made me happy.  Maybe that sounds silly, but it is true. I suppose it’s because it wasn’t something I had to work for. It was a connection I just had. Still do. A gift to this day. A reminder of this unconditional love. I received it from my grandmother. From my mother.

There is a fatigue that comes from wanting people to like you. To love you. And it’s not always a given. Being related is not a guarantee. Some people just don’t. Won’t.  

I don’t recall ever having to try with my grandma. From the days of being plopped in a chair, I can remember just watching her. Fascinated by this ever whirling plump that stopped randomly to poke my belly, or kiss my cheek. (And I was a momma’s girl from day one. The thought of being plopped anywhere other than her lap was terrifying.) But here, in my grandma’s kitchen, seeing the ease with which my mother passed me off to her, I trusted that I would be more than ok. And I was. 

I don’t edit my daily blogs. (Maybe that’s easy to tell.) I don’t plan them in advance. I let the memory come. And simply tell you the story. I hope you can see the love in that. Because I’m not sure that love can be dazzled out of anyone. Nor can trust be forced. When it’s real, it just comes. Naturally. 

Mowing the lawn yesterday, the dust filled the air. Filled my nose. I sneezed again and again above the sound of the motor, beneath the blue of heaven’s smile. 

Love remains. Plopped in the comfort of my heart.