Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: frank sinatra


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The B side.

We had only a couple of 45s. If you don’t know what a 45 is, it was a small record album that played two songs, the hit on the A side and the less popular (or completely unknown) song on the B side. Both were by Frank Sinatra. We played them on a giant piece of furniture with a turntable. I suppose it was funny to have two small records and this giant stereo console, but that’s what we had. We bought the 45s at Carlson’s music center for 99 cents each, and my mother got the stereo console in the divorce in exchange for the waffle iron. 

On dark Sunday afternoons, we laid on the floor, 4 feet apart, each with a head by a speaker. We played them over and over. I didn’t want to play the B sides. It seemed like that’s what we were living. “One day,” she said as we waited out the Sunday, “days will be full, and faster than we can imagine. And life will be great!” Now, as I try to capture the blur that passed, the blur of laughter and tears, the music of life, I know she was so right. 

Today, in France, a small number of the old men still wear hats. How elegant, I think. How very Frank. They hold a bit of time, and carry it, slowly, softly. And I breathe in the songs of Sunday, giving thanks for every B side, every mother’s promise, every hope carried in and out of tune, 45 rotations per minute.

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My way.

They said I was “painfully shy” – my grade school teachers. But I wasn’t hiding. I was listening. There was a voice inside that I needed to hear. It was whispering, but I knew it was important. And I couldn’t hear it in the chaos — the running and screaming of youth. So yes, I was quiet. But none of it was painful, not for me.

We all learn and grow in our own ways. The only “right way” is the one you choose for yourself. 

I grew into my voice. My life. My way. I hope I still am, growing. Listening. Watching. And as Frank Sinatra sang at our breakfast table this morning, “not in a shy way…”  “Oh no, no not me,” I AM doing it my way. We smiled and listened, and ate the bread I made with my own hands.

The only thing I really fear is wasting time. And maybe the only way we can waste our time is by trying to live someone else’s life. Trying to live in the chaos of other standards. 

I can feel it when I’m “off.” I’m pretty sure we all can. And it’s usually when the voices of others try to take over the voice that lives within me. But I have found the ways to make it stronger, louder, more clear — with words and paint, and homemade bread. With breakfast conversation and music and love. With the smell of cut wood and grass stained shoes. With an unchartered path, and a hand to hold. This is the song that I’m living. The song that has always lived within. My way.

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Delicious

Our favorite croissants are from Picard. They are what you would call the classic croissant. I know in today’s world everything is made to be bigger, grander — you have to add more – color it, fill it, top it — but these are (I almost said “just” here, but there is nothing “just” about it) perfectly simple, and so very delicious.

While eating our croissants, and discussing the best croissants, we listen to the radio – “Jazz radio, Jazz and Soul” (say it quickly, with a French accent.) In the last week, they have been joyfully heavy on the Ella — Ella Fitzgerald. “This is a good song.” “Who is it?” Young Ella. Middle aged Ella. Old Ella. Each fabulous. No one like her. I recall watching a video of her with Frank Sinatra. He was at the top of his game, Chairman of the Board as they say. She walked onto his show singing. And you could see it – almost feel it – the absolute respect he had for her. It was palpable. And the beautiful thing is, there was nothing but her voice. It wasn’t about what she was wearing, who she was involved with, no, it was only that beautiful voice. Nothing else required. No need to color it, fill it, or top it, she was perfectly delicious.

This is what I want in my life. Not more, just better. I want quality. I want to go deeper. Feel it. Savor it.

Through the years, people have asked me about how I began my art business. What advice can you give? The answers have never changed. Always these two. ONE — pay attention — it’s not going to be the Tabernacle choir belting out the answers, but maybe just a gentle hum. And TWO — surround yourself with the best people you can find. People, not necessarily with the same talents or interests — but certainly people who ARE interested — interested in being better, better at their craft and better humans. Kinder humans. If you can do these two things, your life may not be perfect, but it will be perfectly delicious.

My day begins with croissants and Ella. The bar has been lifted. I am going to be better.

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Sing.

I went for a walk this morning.  The sky was mostly gray. The ground wet from last night’s rain. I listened to a few podcasts for inspiration. The words were good, but they didn’t really leap into my heart.  So I kept walking. Looking. Turning corners, passing trees. And then the prettiest little bird flew directly in my path, landing in the tree that guards our garage. The most elegant mix of blues and yellows. I know that bird. I have painted that bird.  It was, in fact, the first bird I painted in France.  The first bird I heard in France. With a song, so delicate, so lovely, saying, “Every day she decides to be happy, and sings.”  


I was visiting with my mother on the phone yesterday. Remember when I told you that I know my grandmother’s handwriting, and how important that is? Well, maybe even more importantly, I know my mother’s laugh. It starts almost as a little chuckle and grows into the most delightful giggle. In this laugh she is young, and possible and cancer free, and she sings. She sings a song so beautiful, that when I start to laugh with her, it becomes a dance.  Because it was just yesterday when she felt the breezes from Lakeside Ballroom, dreamed of Frank Sinatra, gave her heart, smelled the youth of her children, broke her heart, and trusted her heart again…It was just today when the wind brushed her skirt, and she hoped and twirled like a little girl.

What a gift she gives me with her song. What a gift we all have been given – another day!  Another day!!!!  Be happy!  Sing it out loud!