Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: Halloween


by Leave a comment

Saving Provence.

I always rationed out my Halloween Candy. Counting each day. Indulging in a piece or two. Doing the math. The goal was to make it last until Thanksgiving. I imagined that each piece was a link in the joy chain. Even on the days when I limped along with my least favorite candy, like a circus peanut or a Jolly Rancher, I was keeping the sweetness alive. 

Most of you celebrated your Thanksgiving yesterday. Here in France, of course, it is not a holiday. No days off. So the tradition that I dragged along with me won’t be celebrated until Saturday. As I read the posts of you already walking off your gratitude, I could let it get me down, but I choose to think of it as the luxury of keeping my chain alive. I give thanks again, and check the turkey parts thawing in the refrigerator.

I suppose it’s what I’m doing with everything, trying to keep the chain alive, with a painting of a niece, a grandma, a brother-in-law, a cousin. What if somehow we could all connect? In this most unlikely of scenarios, (and aren’t they all) we could come together and find the joy. 

Of course I have my days, my moments, limping through the “circus peanuts” of life. But even the worst days connect me to a chance of something better. So I give thanks. And wait. Today is going to be delicious.

Saving Provence.
Shop Now!


by 2 Comments

Answering Frank.

It still surprises me the amount of candy one could receive just by donning an old pair of sweatpants and a paper sack from Olson’s Supermarket over your head. Even if we would have had the money, I’m not sure it would have occurred to us to buy a costume. Surely better results could not have been achieved with a store-bought mask. Nor could it have been used as a backup sack when your premier trick or treating bag, also a sack from Olson’s, became filled, or the handles ripped off. Because the women of VanDyke road, and just beyond by the cemetery, would indeed fill your bag. Homemade popcorn balls. Carmeled apples. Full-size Hershey bars. Cookies. We said “Trick or Treat” with full confidence. We were only “treated.” 

It would be hard to imagine now, I suppose. But it was real. Mrs.Vacek, beyond grandma old, opened her door, and walked us past the linoleum porch to sit at the kitchen table. Frank, her husband, perhaps only feigning affection, still managed to sit at the table, head in hand, and asked us one by one, not the standard question of “who are you supposed to be,” but he asked, “Who do you belong to?” “Oh, Frank,” Mrs. Vacek would say, knowing full well who we were. “The green house, on Van Dyke road,” I would reply. (Not completely comprehending, although we had walked far in the early setting sun, we were still on Van Dyke road.) Each of us responded with the like — the yellow house, the white house… Because we belonged here – in this neighborhood, in these houses, on this road. A real community, that was the real treat, I guess. We belonged.

It’s what I wish for you. For all. On this, and every day, that you have an easy answer to Frank’s question. Happy Halloween!

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

All saints and sinners.

We certainly never bought costumes. To invest in something, just to get free candy, that didn’t make any sense, my mother explained. So each year, we dressed as a shabbier version of ourselves. Maybe it was all a test. To go throughout our neighborhood. Knock on each door. Stand there, presenting the worst version of ourselves, hands reaching out, while they guessed who you were. They always knew. We knew everyone. Even in the early darkness of late October, we knew. We knew by the laughter. The screams. How fast we ran. How slow. We were one. All saints and sinners. And even with all this knowledge, we still asked the question, “Trick or Treat?” Because on this one night of the year, perhaps the only night, we were certain of the answer. We were certain of the sound the candy made as it dropped to the bottom of our paper sack.

France has made attempts at Halloween. The retailers put out a little bit of candy. We’ve even carved a pumpkin or two, never on the 31st, but the closest day of the weekend. But it’s never really caught on. It doesn’t have the history.

I brought back a sack of Halloween candy from the US. I gave it to the kids after explaining they had to say “Trick or Treat?” I didn’t know how to tell them that it was about so much more. It was neighborhoods and trust. Swinging open doors. It was the presentation of ourselves at our worst, and the acceptance given freely, joyfully (ourselves at our best.)

Of course they loved the candy. And somewhere in the sugar rush, past the open doors of our salon — open to a yard that became an afternoon baseball field, played with rules disguised as fun, I hope they felt it, this spirit of acceptance, this spirit of freedom, of joy! I believe they did. So this will be our tradition. This knowing. This certainty. Any day of the year.

Shop Now!