Jodi Hills

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

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Proper nouns.

We learned pretty early on the power of words. We began writing letters to each other during our summer vacations from grade school. Living in the same town, armed with banana seat bikes and endless sunny days, we easily rode to each other’s houses, to the beach, to main street in downtown Alexandria, but still we felt the need to connect. 

This gift that we had been given in the first grade strengthened with each letter written. Straight from the playbook, I wrote thank yous for birthday parties. Recaps of “events” attended and unattended. Who did what, said what, to whom. Wrote in solidarity of mutual enemies — never capitalizing their names because as Mrs. Bergstrom had stated, we capitalize the proper nouns to show their importance. We capitalized our friends’ names. 

It would be easy to say that we had more time then. And as hard as it is for me to admit, we have the same amount of time. Always have. Always will. It’s just how we choose to fill it. I want to get better in my choices. Capitalize on the goodness. Forget the things that aren’t really all that important — the things that don’t deserve my, our, full attention. Focus on the “thank-you”s. The “it’s great to be your friend”s. Knowing that it is worth the repeat. The writing down. The chronicling. How spectacular it is to have support. To have encouragement. To have combined laughter. To have shared experience. To have friends!  

I’m writing to you this morning. Every morning. It’s great to be your Friend! 

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Becoming she.

I often use the word she when making a card. Some have asked, “Who is this she?” “All of us,” I reply, “possibly even me.” I say possibly because I’m not always there yet, but it’s where I want to be, who I want to become. So I “she” myself into being. 

Change is rarely simple. And it can be frightening, this unknown territory. We want to know “what happens when…”; “what happens if…” But we aren’t always given the answers. Rarely even. What we’re given is the light coming through the crack of the door, and a choice — to let fear stop us, or to keep growing. Sometimes it becomes a space to let things go. Sometimes a pathway to move through. And the strongest of us — this she — is not afraid to do either. I am sometimes her. Each time I give her a voice. Write her. Paint her. The doors become a little less frightening. Even welcoming. And I become a little more she. 

It’s what I wish for all of us. To be a little less afraid. A little more open. They’re only doors after all — a passage to possibility — to becoming anything, anyone!

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Because we’re friends.

Schools had many names for it — we called it bombardment — and indeed it was by definition “a continuous attack.” The rules were fairly simple.Two teams separated by the line in the middle of the gym. A ton of red rubber balls — thrown at each other until no one was left standing. I don’t know if it was a lesson in aggression or empathy, or just to work off our excess energy before the afternoon Humanities courses. I loved sports, but I never liked this game. To win, (and I’m not even sure what “winning” was) you had to dish it out a lot harder than you received it. And maybe it’s silly, but I didn’t like the sound of rubber hitting flesh. Especially by my own hand. So I threw it out in the way I wanted to receive it. Was it winning? Not by definition, but I could sit next to the girl in the following class and know it wasn’t me that left the “Voit” mark on her thigh. 

It’s time for me to make new greeting cards. In today’s world of speed and technology, I like being a part of the act of kindness that still takes a slow hand. A card picked. A message written. An envelope addressed. A stamp adhered. Sealed. Posted. Sent. And when creating the messages on the cards, I think of not only what I’d like to say, but what I’d like to hear. (I hope I remember that in my daily conversations.) Before the new card is even printed, I have sent it in my heart and mind, many times. 

This one came easily — this “…because we’re friends.” And I know I’ve been blessed with the kindness of friendship — a bombardment really. Wishing the same for all, this is what I’m throwing out there — this friendship, as we walk the hallway on our way to Humanities. 

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