Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: cup


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Coiffed and caffeined.

Getting to know each other, she asked me what books I had written. It was my publisher who had referred me to this hair stylist. As I listed them off, she said, twice, “Oh, I have that book!” Both delighted, we began to wander freely in each other’s story. I knew my hair was safe in her hands. 

At any book event that my mom attended, people would say, “Oh, this is so me,” or “You must have written this about me,” or “It’s me!!!” — to which my mom would reply, “Actually it’s about me!” We would all laugh, knowing that everyone was actually right. 

We all want to be seen. We need it to survive. There is the ineffective shortcut of shock, that so many want to rush into, but this is not sustainable, nor fulfilling. No, we need to be seen joyfully, gently, heartfully. With empathy and wonder. Kindness. Slowly.

I saw them on display as I made the coffee this morning at my friend’s house. My cups. My story. Resting next to the Lefse recipe of her mother — her story. I suppose that’s what friendship is, the combining of our stories. Newly coiffed and caffeined, I smile out the window, ready to write a new page. Will you join me?

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From the cup that defied logic.


My mother started drinking coffee at 14. That probably doesn’t sound unusual now to the Starbuck’s generation. But this was not chocolated or whip creamed. Not frapped or frozen. No, this was black coffee. From the stove. Drank from cups that carried the proof of exactly how strong it was. They told her it would stunt her growth. She laughed and grew taller. Maybe it was because her mother kept having babies. Maybe it was just an old wives’ tale. Or maybe it was her sheer will to prove them and the coffee wrong.

Of all the stunt worthy obstacles in front of her, coffee was the least of them. None of the other farm girls loved fashion. And certainly not Grandma Elsie. There was no money for design school. No time for dreaming. But she drank from the cup that defied logic and carried it high within her. She dressed for the life she wanted.

People will always be quick to tell you of all the things that can’t happen, won’t happen, shouldn’t happen… Warning you of the “what if it doesn’t…”. I was joyfully raised by someone who thought, “what if it does!” Raised by someone who urged me to stand tall. Not be afraid to grow. Even when my head raced above the others in grade school pictures she said, put your shoulders back, head up.

We don’t always get to choose our obstacles. But we do make the choice of how to get around, above and through. There are a million things that could stop us. Daily. Today I am as tall as I ever was. As tall as I’ll ever be. But I must decide, day by day, minute by minute to keep growing. I want to be a better artist. A better writer. A better human. I want to believe in the best of me, in the best of all us. To forget about the what if it doesn’t. The best could happen — and what if it does!!!!

(I guess I’ll have another coffee.)