Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: people


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Shadow a pear.

She was so popular. We used that word a lot in high school. I guess you can add it to the list of things we said and did without any real knowledge or permission. Even typing it now, I question the meaning. We said it like it was a good thing. Something to be desired. But why really? I looked up the definition. It gave a little of the what, but not much in the form of why or explanation. 

I’m questioning it because I recently found out how little she thought she fit in. How could it be? She even wore the official uniform of fitting in each Friday night as she led the team in cheers. 

I suppose we never really know. We can get so consumed with thinking of ourselves as the lone pear in a gathering of apples, that we forget we are in a constant rotation in position and place. And it’s funny, because it’s actually quite appealing. I can honestly say I like her so much more because of it, this one time pear. It’s what brings us together. 

These differences that we’re so afraid of, so determined to hide or shake, they really are what connect us after all. Maybe if we just spent a little more time being grateful for even having a place at this glorious table, this life, we could all be a little more gentle with each other, even ourselves. 

Just a thought, as I shadow a pear on the wall. 

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I handed him my business card, the one with my grandfather on it. Is that Rueben? It’s hard to explain the joy I received with those three words. He knew my grandfather. Remembered his name. Said it out loud. Such a small thing I suppose, but oh, how those small things can swell with pride, and connection. Oh, how they can jump through those tiny cracks in your heart and completely fill them. My grandfather had 27 grandchildren, fifty-some great grandchildren. And on. It was hard to stand out in that crowd. To hold that farmer’s hand for more than a few minutes. But yesterday, in this Caribou, with this Dave’s recognition, I was holding it all in my hand, holding once again this overalled man’s hand, my mother’s father’s hand in mine, and we were all connected.


I have told you before, we called it “the farm.” (My grandfather’s place) “The” – as if it were the only one. And for us, it was. Yesterday, after Caribou, we went to the bank. I had met the teller once before a year ago. I asked to make a deposit. He said, “Aren’t you the artist?” The artist. “Yes,” I said, heart swelling still and again.


To see each other. To give each other the greatest gift of all. “The gift.” May we all be forever generous.

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