Jodi Hills

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


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Pardon my paddling.

It was the gym teacher at Central Junior High who put us through the rigorous exercises — making us into ducks she said. Somehow she saw the difference between our regular teenage faces and our confusion and explained that a duck looks calm and cool on the surface of the water, but is paddling like crazy underneath. Still no change in our faces. So what we want, she continued, is to work so hard now, paddle like crazy, so when we’re in the actual game it comes easily, looks so graceful and simple, because we did all the hard work. We nodded slightly, and waddled around the gym.

Now I can’t say we often carried the information of one class to another, but on this instance, 50 minutes later, in math class, it was Mr. Farley who said, “be sure to show your work.” I stared at the scribblings on the blackboard and thought, “so don’t be a duck.” 

The middlings of junior high were terribly confusing. All these choices and transformations. I pondered as I walked beside Lake Agnes on the way home. And there they were, waddling along, as if they knew all the answers. 

Yesterday in my bird sketchbook, I decided to paint a duck. I hesitated for a moment, going through another saying, “If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…it’s probably a duck.” Brush in hand, I laughed because I thought, “Is it a bird though?” Oh, my ever paddling brain was in full view. 

It’s hard to know when to show all the work. When to just be quiet and do the job. Of course I get confused. We all do. But sometimes I think, the real victory is just to stay afloat. I may not always get it right, please pardon my paddling, but this duck can swim!


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Waddler.

We’ve never had a duck in our yard before. It was a delightful surprise when I went to open the shutters. Perhaps even more surprising, “canard,” was the word that popped into my head (french for duck).

That is the very thing that keeps me coming back to the page, the canvas, the morning shutter — this belief in the unexpected. This hope that I’ll see something new. Create something new. Feel something waddle across my heart. 

And it’s never been about shock. Shock is simple. Anyone can severely rattle and create a response. But to find the beauty in the simple. To see the spectacular in life’s gentle and daily offerings, this, I think, is the extraordinary. 

It may not sound like much, but for me it was a sign of learning. A sign of growth. And without that, what am I in this for? Sure it may be at a waddler’s pace, but I am learning continuously about life. And this is hope. This is joy! 

Je suis un canard!


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Duck, Duck…

Never had we been so divided. I was only in grade school, but rules had already been made. Followed. Lived. It was when I went to visit a cousin that everything changed. We went to the playground. Lots of children were there. Enough to play a game. We decided on “Duck, Duck…” (A group of players sits in a circle, facing inward, while another player, who is “it”, walks around tapping or pointing to each player in turn, calling each a “duck” until finally calling one a “gray duck”, which designates the chosen player as the chaser. The chaser then stands and tries to tag the chasee (it), while the chasee tries to return to and sit where the chaser had been sitting before.) Much to my surprise and horror, the player who walked around the group first did not call out “gray duck,” but goose! Goose! I was appalled!  The game was “Duck, Duck…Gray Duck. For me, for everyone in my school, it had always been Gray Duck. How could it possibly be goose??? I stopped the game. Goose??? What is this Goose?? They had never heard of gray duck. We defended our sides, for a matter of minutes. Turns out the game was exactly the same, no matter what we called the person who was “it.” We continued to play in the sun. 

I feel like the lesson is pretty obvious. I just wish we all could see it, today, as adults. All the time we waste, arguing over nothing, fighting over nothing, when all we really want is to spend another day chasing under the sun. I reach out my sweaty hand of youth — Come play.