Jodi Hills

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


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Opened.

For years, I thought that the Horton family from Days of our Lives lived exclusively in the large television cabinet in my grandparent’s living room. It was the only place I saw them. Grandma Elsie seemed to know them intimately, calling each by name. Wrapped in the coil cord, talking about them on the party telephone line for hours while cooking in the kitchen. And why wouldn’t it be possible? There were countless people who dropped by that farm house. Sat at the table. I thought we were all related. I didn’t differentiate between blood connections, neighbors and soap opera characters. Often stories of real happenings were more extravagant than those taking place in Horton’s Salem. 

When we gathered for Christmas, there were the usual suspects — all the cousins I summered with in golden fields — but I found the additions the most interesting. Ruby, married to Mac who secretly worked in the CIA, (but then how did we know?). Several Loies. Aunt Kay’s newest husband. Did they all live in the television too? And how did they get here? Certainly there was magic in the air. All under the glow of large multi-color bulbs on the Christmas tree. Sure there were packages, ribbons, bows, but so much more was being opened. Arms and stories and magic.

I guess they are still my favorite gifts — love’s surprises that show up and are ever welcomed home. Finding me still, a lifetime and country away. The magic, if we truly believe, never ends. 


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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.