Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: ruffles


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Ballooned.

If I were to play the percentages, the chances of me having a good dream are few and far between. And I remember all of them. The details especially clear in the early morning ones. Yet, 4:30am is too early for me to get up, so this morning, I dared the clarity and went back to sleep. This morning’s reward was worth beyond the years of risk. 

In my dream —-

Dominique and I were visiting the Chicago Art Institute — one of my favorite places on this planet. The security was extra vigilant. Dominique was less patient than usual. He got through before me and was out of sight as I continued the struggle with my passport and the guard. Annoyed and alone, I climbed the large staircase to get a better view. Surely he hadn’t gotten far. I scanned the crowd. Nothing. No one. I turned to the sound of the elevator doors opening beside me. Every breath, every worry, every “every” left my body as I saw my mother standing there with Dominique. She wouldn’t have needed the balloons in her hand to complete the surprise, and she must have thought so too, because she released them instantly and grabbed me in her arms. I can feel her still. The same hug with skinned knees at five. The same hug on a Tuesday morning before a test at school. The same hug as boyfriends disappointed. As on weekend visits. As birthdays passed. As Christmases held. As springs promised. As love continued. Continues. I was held in the folds of her ruffled white blouse. And I was saved. The balloons kept rising.   —-

Would I chance every bad dream for another moment. Of course. I do. I will. Because the love never dies. It lifts. It carries. And leads me. To books. To the page. To the canvas. To the path. To the living. To all the love around me, ballooned, and ever rising. 

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Where the ruffles meet.

She said she liked my blouse. My heart beamed. Right there in the Walgreens in Sedona. I didn’t know this woman behind the counter. I will never see her again. It doesn’t make me a better person. I didn’t make the blouse. It wasn’t even really mine. Well, it is now, but it was my mother’s. She deserves the compliment. She picked it out. Looked in the mirror. Saw the ruffles frame her face. She added the small hook and eye where the ruffles meet so they would lay perfectly. And they did. Now they do on me. 

So that’s what she gave to me, this woman at the Walgreens, a trip back to the dressing room with my mother. Getting ready for an event in my apartment. She gave to me, in my mother’s voice, “You look good too.” She gave to me the after-giggle. With just a few words, she gave me all of this. 

I mention it only because we need to know it. Know how easily we can brighten a person’s day. With just the smallest of efforts, just a few tiny words, like a small hook and eye, we can bring us together, to the joyful place, where the ruffles meet.

Never underestimate the power of a compliment.

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In the beautiful folds.

They say that paper has a memory. Meaning, if you fold it, the crease remains. Perhaps the same is true of the heart. 

The limb I found myself wobbling upon yesterday was a bit more unstable than usual, so I gathered in my heart and took it to the paper. It always welcomes me. And even with all of its security, it still challenges me. Dares me to create. To learn. To grow. To find the beauty even in this moment of uncertainty.  

I didn’t plan the portrait, I just started to paint. As she came to life, I knew what she needed to wear. My mother would have loved this ruffled blouse. How it gently gathered around the neck and framed the face. She was the queen of white ruffles, my mother. Such a delicate beauty. 

And there it was — found — the uncertain beauty of the moment. 

My heart is not broken. But it will be forever creased. Remembering and saving all the love. And it is here, in the beautiful folds, that I have the courage to move from limb to limb. To dare the lift of love, ruffle my feathers from heart to face, and let myself fly.

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