Jodi Hills

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


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To build.

I like to watch decorating videos on youtube. I viewed a lovely tour of a woman’s home. The next day, in my feed, another video popped up. I recognized her home in the thumbnail. This, however, was not more about her home, but it was another woman watching the same video I watched and giving her opinion. I didn’t need to see much of it before quitting. By “critiquing”, she meant she was just going to say everything she didn’t like about this woman’s home. Why would I want to see that? But even worse, the next day, (and I’m not kidding), in my feed there was a video of a woman critiquing the woman as she critiqued the very first video.

I have always been one who believed in the builders, the makers — of anything. I like the process. The courage in the attempt. The guts to then show how and what you made. (I just had a very vivid flashback to junior and senior high math! I get it now. It IS about the work.) Anyone can get to the answer. Anyone can buy the completed product. Critique the completed product.

And perhaps I, we, are just using the wrong word here – critique. Because of course, there is always room for “a detailed analysis and assessment of something” (as the dictionary defines critique.) A qualified evaluation that will help us learn and grow. But this is not what these videos were. “I don’t like it” is not really all that helpful.

And it occurs to me, I might be doing the same thing here… ugh… so gathering in my own advice, I will continue to celebrate the makers, those who attempt! Bravo to those who try. I can see it as I type it — “bravo” and “brave” are really just one letter apart – one tiny line. So bravo to the brave who dare cross it! Today, even if it’s just the day itself, let’s make something great!


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The sun isn’t lost.

On the box it said four to five weeks. But yesterday, just two weeks in, this one tulip made its entrance. Popping up to say hello. Telling the others, “It’s not so bad at all, once you make it through the dirt. In fact, it’s lovely. Blue sky. This glorious light. Come on up!”  

Change can be so difficult. And we don’t always get to be prepared before we’re asked to grow. Struggling through lessons of muddy soil. Life will get you dirty. No doubt about that. But then the sun. That glorious sun. Always there, smiling, even when we try to take credit, saying, “Look what I did! I found the sun!”  

Now that’s not to say you can’t be proud of yourself when you get through. That’s a big deal! And you should be happy about that. And perhaps the best way to celebrate is to show the others that it can be done. Bring them along. Because you never know which role you will be in. Some days you will be the strong one, popping up early, other days you will be deep, deep in the soil. Be gentle when you lead. Gentle when you follow. We’re all just trying to get to the sun.


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Picture this.

By the end of the day, I am tired — which is a good thing. It’s a lot to keep one’s house in order. I don’t mean making sure there are no dishes in the sink (Well, of course I mean that too. I hate dirty dishes in the sink) but I mean the bigger picture. The bigger picture for me is working at my craft, painting, writing; learning (oh boy, I have so much to learn, not the least of which, French, and the toughest one, learning each day to be a better human); attending to the needs of those closest to me, which often includes just listening, caring, loving. My big picture might seem small, but it seems to fill my day. I can’t understand how people have the time to police the actions, thoughts, beliefs of others. It seems to me we all have enough to do to keep ourselves in order. How little exists in the life of a person who tries to control someone else?

Now I’m not saying we turn a blind eye to the events around the world. No. Absolutely not. (This for me falls under the being a better human category.) We stand up for what we believe in. But, in my humble, and maybe naive mind, I don’t think standing means knocking down the so-called others. But for one, aren’t we all others?

Being a human. This is something. Overwhelming at times for sure. But when my big picture gets way too big, I try to simply look around. Is there love? Yes. Is there hope? Sure! Is there joy? And how! Is the sink clear? You bet! (or that’s betcha for my Minnesota friends) I grab the nearest sketchbook and paint a pear. I call my mother. I kiss my husband. I take a walk in the sun. More than enough to fill my heart, to fill my day.


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Sprigs of green.

I received this tiny flower for May Day and I put it in the bathroom. It’s only been 48 hours, but I don’t know how I will ever live without it. I thought I loved this shelf before, but now… I will forever want something green. Something growing. Something alive. 

They say that about love. “When you know, you know…” But the problem with that is, you only know what you are taught. And until someone loves you, shows you what real love is, how can you possibly know? And I’m not just talking about romantic love — I mean all of it – the “thy neighbor”, fellow man, global, empathetic, understanding, forgiving, curious, ever kind, evergreen sort of love. Because that’s what love is. Love doesn’t make mistakes. Humans do. And we fail all the time. I fail all the time. But I have been blessed to see what real love is, maybe only glimpses, and maybe that’s all the human eye and heart can handle of this beauty, but what I’ve seen makes me want to try. Makes me want to do better. Like Maya Angelou said, “When you know better, you do better.” Oh! To be better!  

Today I give thanks for all those who have shown me, taught me about real love — all those sprigs of green that have lit up my heart. I wish it for everyone — a love forever growing, forever green.


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Full bloom.

I know we could have purchased tulips, but they brought these to us, from Amsterdam. Native tulip bulbs. Spectacular. We dug little rows in the ground with the tiny rake and shovel from our greenhouse. Of course I was smiling, not just because of the gifted tulips, but because I had been here before, in the spring of kindness.

I was five when I saw it wrapped in the garage. Easter morning. Not chocolate, or a bunny of any kind, but a tiny set of garden tools, just my size. In the brightest of colors. A green shovel. A red hoe and a yellow rake. Colors so shiny, they were spring itself. They were bright and simple. 

Not all the days to follow would be like this. Something in my heart told me to hang on. Something in my heart told me that this is what would carry me — moments of kindness. The shiny moments of people who care, and dare to show it.

We placed the bulbs in the ground. Four to five weeks it said on the box from Holland – that’s how long it would take. I laughed to myself, knowing, in my heart, they were already in full bloom — the spring of kindness.


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Worth a second look.

The first time we went to Lafayette, a few years ago, we didn’t really like the city. To be fair, we didn’t really see it. We lost a tire (we found it, as it rolled past our moving rental car) and spent the afternoon at the gas station. By the time it was finished, we asked the station attendant, where was the city center. He seemed baffled and said, “I think we’re in it.”  Banking this as truth, we drove on. 

Just before arriving in Lafayette this year, I asked Dominique, “Have we been here before?” We relived the runaway tire story and laughed. We both decided, “Not really.” In the daylight this time, we could see all the signage urging us to try the boudin balls. We love trying local food. Winding our way through the barriers set up for the Mardis Gras parade, we stumbled upon a small restaurant that said, “still open.” We ordered the pride of Lafayette – the boudin – not really in a ball, but more of a sausage – and it was delicious. We started to really see Lafayette. We went to an antique shop. They had real antiques, not Chinese remakes. We browsed slowly, thoughtfully, wishing we had more room in our suitcases. We visited with the owner. He was delighted we were visiting from France. We praised his store. Offered our apologies for not being able to buy anything because of the travel. He went into the back room. Came back with little packets. “I want you to have these.” They were flower seeds. Almost weightless, but for the meaning. “Plant them when you get back, then you will have a part of us there.”

Lafayette in the light of day. In the light of the people. Beautiful. We really saw it. 

It is springtime now in the south of France. Soon we will plant these flower seeds, and get a second look (or third) at Lafayette. And I suppose that is what spring is all about – giving us a second look, another chance. Another chance to see the beauty that this world holds. The weight of this! The importance! I don’t want to miss a thing!


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She could see something beautiful.

We were looking for the post office in Laurel, Mississippi. Full of construction, google was getting confused, and so were we. At a stop light, we beeped the horn gently to get the attention of the woman next to us. We asked if she knew where the post office was. She started pointing, and you could see the calculations working in her brain, trying to maneuver through the construction… “Oh, just follow me,” she said. “I’m not in a hurry. I’ll show you.” And she did.

Google has taken us around the world. Gotten us out the deepest woods, literally, and onto the right road. More than useful. And we are grateful. But there is something about the kindness of strangers. No electronic device can compete with it. Google is efficient, but it doesn’t make me want to be a better person. This woman did that. Dominique and I talked about it, and we both felt it — inspired by this simple kindness.

We were impressed by Laurel. The storefronts. The stores. The local food. The coffee shop. The energy in the air. It was alive. We didn’t see the stars of the HGTV show, but I think we saw the true stars of the town. The people behind the counter at Pearl’s Diner — proud of the food, the line out the door. The young lady who made the coffee at Lee’s Coffee and Tea — so full of smiles – we wanted whatever she was drinking – whatever she was making. The Cincinnati man, visiting just after retirement, eager to see everything in town, eager to learn about where we live in France.

People. I guess it always comes to that. When they show you who they are, as Maya Angelou says, “believe them.” And we do. This is what I want to share with you — the best of us — “Follow me, I’m not in a hurry. I’ll show you.’


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A little more hope in the air.


During our last trip to the US, I went to Oncology with my mom. Because of Covid (it seems I start way too many sentences like that), I couldn’t go into the doctor’s office with her. I said it was fine, but those pesky tears in my eyes thought differently. So I did like my grandfather always told me – focus on someone else. People filled the room, all waiting… all hoping… and as I told you in a post at that time, I took a piece of paper out of the drawer, and wrote, “If you see this, I’m wishing you a good day.” So simple. But it kept my tears at bay, and put a little more hope into the air.


This year, as we were leaving Oncology, the head receptionist, told me to wait. She slipped a note into my hand. It read, “I did see the note. It made my day better. If you see this, I’m thanking you and wishing you a good day too.”


Connections. I’m not sure there is anything better. Whether we connect here on social media, or in real life, I can feel it — I am blessed by it — I am grateful for it! So if you see this, I’m wishing you a good day!


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Baby Dragons.

At Washington Elementary, if it was warm enough for normal school attendance, it was warm enough to play outside. Even on the coldest of winter days, we bundled, which really ate into our recess time, and played with the vigor of youth!

On our playground, front and center, was a grand set of “monkey bars.” We didn’t question it then, but these monkey bars had a giant head of a dragon. And on this dragon we would climb and jump, secure that if we fell, we would be safe in our winter’s bundle. Sometimes, someone lost a bit of their tongue on a dare – just like in the Christmas movie – when dared to stick their tongue on the frozen bars. But mostly we ran. We jumped. We climbed. Huffing and puffing in the winter cold, like baby dragons. So thrilled by the sight of our own breath! We were alive!

Yesterday, two friends made the two hour drive from Minneapolis in the bitter cold (below zero), just to see me for 10 minutes and get signed copies of my newest book. They even brought presents! My mom watched in delight from the upstairs window. (No COVID spreading here.) My friends and I laughed and danced around in the cold. Hugging and laughing like baby dragons. And it is was as thrilling as it was on the playground so many years ago, to see my own laughter — as it hung in the air — proof that joy could be found on any day — in any temperature! What a glorious feeling to be alive!!!


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Of being carried.

I was watching something on netflix. I don’t even remember the movie. But an image I’ve seen a million times, on the screen, in real life, a young child being carried. And it struck me so – I wish I could remember that – that feeling of being lifted. Of being carried. Of being relaxed. Feet dangling. At ease. Held up. I have no memory of this. I’m not sure most people do.

I went to bed after the movie. Still a bit anxious from the news of the day. He knew that. I explained thoughts in fragments. Puzzles of emotions. He has a way of brushing the tear, not from my eye, no, he lets it fall to the bottom of my chin, and then catches it. Telling me it’s ok to feel. Allowing me to feel. And he’ll be there. He is there. And I know it. I release the air that worry tries to trap in my lungs, and I breathe. And breathe again. And I sleep. Feet dangling. I do remember.