Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: Daytons


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Beyond the Oval Room.

Living in France, I hear it all the time, “Oh, that doesn’t translate…” Knowing how that makes me feel, I try not to use anything similar, for example – “If you know, you know…” 

When she handed me the Dayton’s bag, I was knee-buckling happy. Dominique looked confused when I asked him to take my photo with it. “I need to send it to my friends!”  “Will they know what Daytons is?” I laughed out loud. Of course they would know. IYKYK! But I couldn’t leave it with that. I can’t leave it with that. Dayton’s deserves the translation. 

I’m reminded of the song, To Sir with Love, as she sang, “How do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume? It isn’t easy, but I’ll try.” And I did grow up there. Right beside my mom. And not just “up.” I grew in confidence. In wonder. In joy. And so did she. We applied the make-up at the counter and found our smiles. We dressed in curtain flung rooms and felt worthy of life beyond the three-way mirror. We Cinderella-ed our feet in the shoe department, and stood tall. We received the compliments easily, and bounced them onward. 

We knew the workers by name. Pauline was the first to take us into the Oval Room, like we belonged. We believed her. And so we did. 

Dayton’s saw us through broken hearts. Broken bones. Birthdays. Holidays. Wounded egos. Proms and weddings. Job interviews and first dates. Frozen Sunday afternoons. And sweltering suns. Always constant. Always bright. So how do you thank someone for that? The only way I know is to tell the story. Keep it alive. Translate the words, and feelings, again and again.

I placed the bag on my heart-wearing sleeve, and stepped out into the sun. The feeling was pure joy – OHIHYK! (Oh, how I hope you know!)


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How it should be.

It was at the State Theatre in Minneapolis that I first heard the Indigo Girls. Dayton’s used to put on an extreme fashion show each year for charity. Oh, just saying Dayton’s does something to my heart.) The theatre was dark and suddenly they blasted the intro for Fugitive by the Indigo girls, and the first model stepped out. It was a mixture of clothes and music, and city and night, art and diversity, and they sang, “Remember this as how it should be.” Oh, how I wanted to remember. 

My mother and I loved Dayton’s. Saturday mornings. Always before lunch. Trying on clothes at our thinnest. No need for food. We were fueled. Hands gently touching racks. Filling dressing rooms. Mirrors admired. Compliments given. Hearts full. Then with hands bagged it was off to lunch. To sip at the wine, and pull out each item, tell the story, live it with laughter and praise, and before I knew the words to the song I thought, “Remember this as how it should be.”

I was mowing the lawn yesterday. Listening to a podcast. They were interviewing the Indigo Girls. I couldn’t hear every word over the hum of the motor, but my heart… I can’t tell you what the models were wearing that beautiful evening, but I can recreate the feeling of hope and desire and pure excitement for a life recognized. I don’t recall every garment tried on or purchased with my mother, but as I sit here in my new Saturday morning, my heart is filled with laughter and praise. 

I suppose that’s the way it is for everything. And that’s how it should be — the experience. Today we plan to go visit a vineyard. I know I will forget the wine. Probably even the place. But the time…my heart is already singing.

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