Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: self care


by Leave a comment

Comfort and joy.

I never imagined the seeds that were planted would produce the same yield. I don’t think they did either. There were so many of us. In so many places. Certainly all those grandchildren and great grandchildren would have differences. But from that beautiful farm, Rueben and Elsie, with the faith of spring, they sprinkled us with love and knowledge — so much, that we could do nothing but grow. 

As I was drinking my coffee amid the glorious shelves of the bookstores, surrounded by magazines and truth and fiction, I took a sip and smiled, because it occurred to me, this was my “root-beer float.” Amid all the chaos of those nine children, those 27 grandchildren, Grandma Elsie found the time for “self care.” She would probably cringe at the words, but it was her treat — her root-beer float. An oasis in all of the uncertainty of land and weather that is a farm. That is a family. Of course she offered one to me, to anyone, but the seed, I see now, was not the root-beer, but the time. The time for that bit of joy that goes straight to your heart, brings you the comfort and joy that is supposed to last through the year, throughout your life. 

And so I take it, the time, to enjoy my coffee, my books, my magazines. And you can call it whatever you want, but I know one thing for sure, it is not time wasted. With each sip taken, each word read, I know, “something will grow from all of this, and it will be me.” 

Shop Now!


by 4 Comments

Tools.

I was always pretty certain that Monday would come. It surprised me, this wild abandonment that some of the other children had on Friday afternoon’s bus. How easily they jumped on the green pleather seats and flung every care out the rectangular windows — betting that Saturday would last forever, or somehow Sunday would come to the rescue. 

I suppose a bit of me envied it. But not enough to not finish my homework on Friday afternoon. And it wasn’t like someone was forcing me. I felt no pressure from my mother or friends. I had found my own way of setting myself free. Once the work was done, I could enjoy my Saturday. Take away Sunday’s panic. I didn’t have the words for it then, but it was definitely self care. 

All of the routines that I had made for myself in Minneapolis flew out the bus window when I moved to France. Practices and solutions all needed to be changed. Modified. Easily sending me into a frenzied Sunday on any day of the week. “But this is how I used to do it… But why can’t I…” It takes me a minute to give up the argument, but when I do, I can usually find a new solution. 

As with most things, I was given the tools long ago. I just have to remember to use them. And I want to keep learning. Changing. Growing. Keep giving to myself, in my own peculiar way, the ability to feel Saturday’s wind in my hair, Sunday’s “there, there…” and all the possibility that Monday can bring. 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Beyond pumped.

My brother had already left home by the time I was in the fifth grade, but there was a part of me still trying to get his attention. 

They passed out the forms at Washington Elementary to sign up for the Punt, Pass and Kick competition. I can’t say that I was a football fan, but I folded up the paper and put it in the pocket of my no-brand jeans. I had no real intention of asking my mother to sign it. That would be admitting something to her that I wasn’t ready to admit to myself. 

I found his old football in the garage. What it had gathered in dust, it had lost in air. I licked the needle of the pump for my bicycle tires (I don’t know why, but I had seen him do that) and tried to squeeze it into the ball. I placed the small kickstand under my feet and I pumped and pumped and pumped some more! The needle popped out. The ball was still deflated. And I was on my way to be. 

Ever hopeful, I decided to still give it a try. I couldn’t quite reach the regulation laces with my fingers. I cocked back my elbow and gave more of a push than a throw. It didn’t spiral. It tumbled. I had no tee to attempt an actual kick of the ball, so I decided to punt (no pun intended). I tossed the ball slightly in the air and swung desperately with my right foot. It felt like a brick as I hit my shin against the flattened leather. I tore the sign-up sheet into tiny bits and through them in the burning barrel by the driveway. 

It’s a difficult lesson, one that I’m still learning. People can only love you for who you are. You can’t force it. Or even win it. You just have to be yourself. And that’s still no guarantee that they will love you. But if they do, love you for who you are, how glorious! How beyond punt, pass and kick fantastic! 

And never is it more true, than with yourself. The thing is, there’s no permission slip for that. You have to find your own way to selfcare, to self love. 

A few summers ago, here in France, my brother-in-law found an old American football. With his son, he was playing catch in our backyard. He threw it to me. Without thinking, I placed my long fingers on the laces, and threw a perfect spiral back to him. “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked in surprise. I smiled and said, “I guess I just found a way.” 

I am loved.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Take care.

It has been extremely warm here. 100 degrees for a few days. (And I love it.) But yesterday, the temperature dropped (please forgive me, my Minnesota friends) to 86. And I have to admit, I felt a little cool. Now, that may sound crazy, and it might well be, but it doesn’t make it any less true.  

I suppose that’s the way it is with all feelings. And I am a “feeler”! But I really wouldn’t have it any other way. Not that I could change it, even if I wanted to.

You feel what you feel. Never in the history of mankind has anyone ever stopped feeling something because someone said, “Don’t feel like that.”  Now, of course, some are misguided, and have arisen from misunderstanding, poor interpretation, or simple fatigue, but still feelings. And the only way that I have found to get through them, past them, is to feel them. Really feel them, and then let them go. A few tears? Sure. A few extra laps in the pool? Yes. More paint on the canvas? Of course. A table set for celebration when it’s only a Tuesday? Why not? 

I know what works for me. And you know what works for you. And amid the “craziness” of it all, we pause and tell each other, “Take care.” As simple as that sounds, it may be the only truth to follow. The truth of our own self care. And we are given the tools – right from birth I think. I recognized mine early. Painting and words and creating, creating, creating. 

What works for me, may not work for you, but you get to decide. You get to decide what comforts  you. What fulfills you. You get to set the bar for yourself. Others’ successes do not hurt you. Be happy for them. Others’ failures do not lift you. They may not even feel they’ve failed. (Oh, feelings!) They get to decide that for themselves – we all do!

The sun is up, and I can feel it coming through the crack of the open window. I smile and whisper, “Take care,” – to my heart, my brain…and to YOU!

Shop Now!