Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: cardinal


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A little lift.

It won’t hold any more because of it. Be more secure. Even lighten the load. I suppose it wasn’t at all necessary to add the French scarf to my French bag, but it is beautiful! It feels like a compliment — and we all know (I hope we all know) how good those feel!

My mother was probably the best at it. Giving compliments. She threw them out like Halloween candy through a screen door, never asking, “Who are you supposed to be?” She simply filled my open heart with all the sugar it craved. 

I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s worth repeating (which I guess is the point of all of this — the joyful repeat). She often taught me three things with just four simple words. When getting ready together for a special event, she would walk into my room and say first, “You look good too!”  We had to control our giggles as not to smear our make-up. And in that simple phrase she managed to compliment me, compliment herself (which is vital — you can’t give away what you don’t have), and give us both a reason to laugh.

So I put a scarf on my purse. I tell my friend she looks beautiful. That she smells good! The stranger in line that I like her coat. And I’m not afraid to tell the woman in the next dressing room, “You look good too!”  Because the laughter must be shared. The compliments given freely!  And maybe, just maybe, unlike my purse, it DOES lighten the load, just a little.

On your way up today, don’t forget to give someone a lift. 

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Overcoming beige.

My mother had two red coats. One extremely light winter coat, and another even lighter. She never wanted to be too hot, but she did want to be seen. I have both of those coats now. I love that no matter what I’m wearing, I can throw one on and look pretty good. People don’t see that maybe I still have paint on my pants, or maybe I forgot the belt. Maybe my shirt has lost the ironed crisp. As I rush through the grocery store, post office, or simply down the road — all they see is this beautiful flash of red — and I am strengthened in my mother’s blur. 

These coats mean the world to me, but I was given a gift even more priceless. She first taught me how to make it with nothing at all. From the ever beige of a basement condo, a used car, a small salary, and only enough hope to fill a pocket, she taught me how to live a beautiful life. She taught me that the outer meant nothing, unless the inner was strong. 

We took our dim yellow feathers to the mall frequently. Some might say we left with nothing. But that wouldn’t be true. Even when our hands were empty. No bags in tow, we were filled with joy. “Wouldn’t you rather look good in the outfit, than be able to afford it?” She asked the question often. The answer was always a laughing and resounding yes, as we soared out the revolving doors.

Half of the cardinals are given a red coat at birth. I do not envy them. Love gave me mine, thread by thread, long after I was taught to fly.

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“Go, little Quinnie!”

I had a box of trophies — statues, medals, pins — from my Cardinal days. I don’t think they made it to France. But I’m still surrounded by Cardinals. The ones I paint. The ones that visit my heart from heavenly places. Red and black can still lift me, in so many ways.

She’s almost always in red and black when we see her, surrounded by shouts of “Go, little Quinnie!” — as if the words could somehow jump into her stride and carry her along. Dominique picked up on it right away. Returning back to France, on the days when I’m scurrying about, running to get things done, he’ll say, “Go, little Quinnie!” And I can tell you that it works — they jump straight into my heart’s stride. To be connected still, even from so far away, it will ever lift me.

And that’s what I want for her — not the trophies or ribbons, they will surely get lost along the way — but to be ever lifted!  This is something!  Painting her, I realized in this moment, both of her feet were off the ground. These are the moments, I suppose, that we all want to capture. Isn’t that just like a Cardinal? To be in flight! 

Maybe one day she’ll make it to France. I just want her to know that a little part of her is already here.

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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!

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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.

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Mighty.

I don’t recall ever saying “It’s already Friday.” In grade school, each day lumbered into the next, being held up by spelling tests and times tables, bed times, and “but it’s a school night.” When Friday finally rang its last bell of the week, we raced out the doors, jackets dragging, expectations rising!

Friday nights meant a sporting event. Winter meant basketball. As a grade schooler, to watch the high school boys play was no less extraordinary than a professional team on the television. It was the first time I saw the inside of Jefferson Senior High. The long hallway smelled of popcorn and sugar. Kids my age were racing the terrazzo floors, daring their futures to catch them. The open gym doors wafted the scent of sweat and possibility across from the band room where they practiced our fight song. The wooden bleachers filled. Fathers pointed out sons. Mothers traced the stands for wandering youth. The town came together in red and black, and said, for these few hours, we are the same. We are one. Not divided by neighborhood. Not separated by wealth or religion. We were cardinals. MIGHTY, mighty cardinals – we sang. Together. We won and we lost. As one. 

I don’t remember exactly when the days began speeding, one into the next, when the future accepted our challenge and raced beside and beyond…when we all started to say, “It’s already Friday.” But it happened. Without our collective permission, the halls of Jefferson Senior high got smaller and smaller, and then one day, they simply had to tear it down. 

So why can I still hear the music? A country away? This morning, Glen Miller plays “In the mood” on the radio, and my heart is so happy, because the “halls” are filled and the band is saying, it’s only half-time…there’s so much more to play! Every chance remains. I am a part of something, still — forever. And hope remains…MIGHTY!

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Winning.

I suppose some of the gifts should have been a surprise, but they never were. We grew up with them, these strange and fantastic presents from Grandma Elsie. She was certain that she would be the next Publisher’s Clearing House Winner. Certain enough to clear a path at the front door for an oversized check. But not quite certain enough to stop ordering from the catalog. She imagined with each purchase she got a little bit closer to winning. And she needed gifts after all, what with 27 grand children. So she ordered. I’d like to think it was all random. It’s hard for me to imagine that she saw the red knee length laced panties (bloomers), and thought immediately of me. But that’s what I received for my Christmas present when I was 8 years old.

I had no sinister thoughts at the time. No thoughts of “saloon girls,” or worse… No, I thought they were shorts. Fancy shorts. I kept them folded neatly in my summer drawer.

I was still at my softball game when my mother got home from work. Now, as luck would have it, (so I thought) our town colors were red and black, based on our Cardinal mascot. It was on this very day that I decided to wear my fancy Christmas shorts with my Cardinal t-shirt. The man-made fibers rubbed against my chubby thighs, and caught on the wooden bench of the dugout. I imagine I left a trail of red lace as I rode my bike home from the Dairy Queen field. My disappointment was met with horror on my mother’s face as I dropped my bike in the driveway. I started to cry pink tears. “No,no, no…” she tried to assure me. “It’s fine. You’re beautiful,” she said. I caught my breath, hiccup by hiccup. “Grandma doesn’t know anything about softball,” I said. “No, she doesn’t,” my mother smiled. “How was your game? Did you win?” “No,” I said, but I think we’re getting closer.” I was indeed my grandma’s girl.

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Being a cardinal.

We never imagined ourselves as the toughest. We were birds. We played other schools that were tigers, bears, bison, wolves, eagles even… And when I say we played, we really did play. We had fun. I’m not certain if that’s why everyone joined, but I think so. And we were proud to be cardinals. Lovely red birds who played in the afternoons. No one was ever really threatened or intimidated by us, the cardinal girls, but still in the song we sang on the bus, we deemed ourselves mighty — “We are the cardinals, mighty, mighty cardinals, everywhere we go – oh, people wanna know- oh, who we are – so we tell ‘em… (and repeat).

And I think mighty be the exact right word here. Sure, we competed. We even won sometimes. But there was so much more. We did everything together. Dressed together. Hoped together. Sang together. Won and lost. Even cried sometimes. All together. And those years in school, when hope was really all I had — to do it together, was everything. And maybe only a couple of girls knew my story, but it didn’t matter. I don’t think we needed details. They didn’t seem to. I was part of something, and I, we, knew it was way more important than being the best – it was about wanting the best for each other. Being a part of something bigger than ourselves — I guess that, by my definition is mighty.

We were on the radio yesterday. Telling our story. What a delight! How did we fit together? How did we fit in this town? It felt like red and black joy. I was, again, a dancing cardinal!

It’s human nature I suppose to want to know all the details. But when you are welcomed, just for being you, brought into the colors without judgement, oh, what a feeling! People who will laugh with you. Ride with you. Win and lose with you, and still find a reason to sing — surround yourself with these people — people filled with hope, friendship and love — this is one mighty team! Everywhere I go-oh, I want people to know-oh, Yes, I am a cardinal…

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