Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: dreamers


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We’re Open!

The announcer said, “Today on the podcast, Beth Stelling…” Suddenly my French feet were on a Chicago sidewalk, entering the coffee shop on the corner. I called her Bethy then. She was so young. Fresh faced and hopeful, even after spending half the night at a comedy club. She made my vanilla latte extra-hot like I liked it, like the Chicago winter demanded. We were all going to be something. Comedians. Writers. Artists. Actors. We sat in front of laptops and sketchbooks and scripts.  I scratched out her portrait in charcoal. The men, uniformed in blue, on their fifteen minute break from the construction site across the street were plotting over their coffees. Just as it should have been, all dreams were being caffeinated. 

It has been years since I held one of her flyers in my hand. Since I walked into the coffee shop the morning after it had been vandalized, just a hole where the door used to be, with a sign on the broken window that read, “Well, we’re open…” We always found a way to laugh. And here she was, on one of the best podcasts in the nation. I was so happy! Happy for her! Happy that she is doing so well! Bravo, Bethy! Beth! 

I only mention it because it feels good to be happy for someone. To celebrate the joy of others. What if we all did that today? Whether we are talking about our candidates, our religion, our jobs, our families, towns, work…what if we found the joy, the pure joy in others, and in ourselves?!!! As the song says, “you may say I’m a dreamer…” and I am. Proudly. Still caffeinated with hope, with the possibility, that we all could be that something worth believing in! I tape the sign on my heart and mind, “Well, we’re open!”

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A dip in the magic.

My mother wasn’t one to swim, but she made sure that I learned. And right along with it she taught me how to take a DIP — how to access the Dream In my Pocket. “You never know when you’re going to need it,” she explained. So before anything ended, we made sure our pockets were filled. Before making a return trip home, a new trip would be planned. After an event, we’d plan our outfits for the next one. And one of the most important, in the last pages of a current book we would add to our “To Be Read” pile. 

I finished “Killers of the flower moon” yesterday. Within hours, I went to my TBR. I had purchased these two books about a week ago. I chose Paul Auster’s “The New York Trilogy,” because he had recently passed. I had only planned on getting this one, but on my way to the counter I saw the book, “The Details,” by Kira Josefsson. I had just listened to a podcast about it on my morning walk, so I grabbed that book too. They both waited patiently by my bed.

I was tired last evening. I had taken my actual first dip in our pool. This summer’s dream was officially out of pocket!  The water that may have been splashed onto the lawn was replaced with smiles.

Getting ready for bed, I randomly grabbed the top book, “The Details.” I wasn’t even six pages in, when the magic outshined the lamp clipped onto the pages. The character in the book began talking about her love for reading, specifically for her love of the author Paul Auster. My heart giggled. She went on, her favorite book was “The New York Trilogy.” You just can’t make this stuff up! 

I’ve always trusted the readers, and the dreamers. My mother gave me that. Perhaps these pockets were filled from heaven. I don’t know, but I slept in the knowledge that I was still surrounded by magic. And I will take a luxurious dip in all of it, every chance I get!!!

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Further.

As the extreme heat continues in southern France, I can hear her voice. “Just sit quietly,” Mrs. Erickson said, pulling down the long black shades of our third grade classroom windows. Returning from the heat of recess under a sun that grew stronger bouncing off the black paved playground. A sun that said, “Come on, it’s almost summer, just stay, play a little longer!” But she rang the bell and we dragged our feet inside Washington Elementary. Sticky thighs against the wood seats, we wriggled and squirmed. We could barely sit, and quietly seemed impossible. “Just relax,” she urged. “Lay your heads down on your desk.” We placed our sweat-slicked hair on arms folded across desktops. The whispering began. Heads bobbing with playground secrets that needed to be released.

“Shhhhhhhh…” she said from the front of the class. “Think of the water,” she said. Living in the land of 10,000 lakes, it was fairly easy to bring to mind your favorite lake. Our heart rates slowed as she described the waveless water. The calm of the blue. The coolness, first on tippy toes. Then ankles and shins. Cooler still on thighs. We smiled flat cheeked on our desks. “Will you go further?” she asked. We shook our faces. “Whoop!” she exclaimed, “Up to your waist!”

Completely distracted now from the heat, as our ever-coiffed, nyloned and dressed teacher had “whooped” just for us. “Go all the way under,” she said. For me it was Lake Latoka. I held my breath and went down, down, down. It was so cool. “Look at everything,” she said. “The fish, the rocks…” And we did. For ten minutes we swam from the calmness of our desks.

She led us slowly back to shore. Lifted our heads. And then, no pun intended, dove into the math lesson of the day.

Whenever I think of my favorite teachers, I think of the question, “Will you go further?” Because that’s what they did for us. Daily. Took us beyond the lessons, into the living. It’s a question I continue to ask. In love, and trust, and hope, and forgiveness, in curiousity, creativity and knowledge — I want to go further! I want us all to go further.

If you want it too — maybe you can join me — all together now — Whoop!

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