Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: tools


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To love your tools.

He was always doing the “walk back” from the field. In need of a certain tool. Not because he forgot, but because of a new situation. And selfishly, I must say, I loved those times. I didn’t wish him any problems — and I knew that’s why he had to walk back from the field to the shed, to the barn, to the house, but selfishly, I also knew he would be a captive audience. 

It’s no surprise I still feel the same. It’s why I fall in love with a pencil. It is my wrench in an open field of pages. It can start my day, or finish it. When not in my hand, I know exactly where it is. In any situation, any walk back of the day, I can get to it. Hold it. Let it help me to become again. 

There were no cell phones. Nothing but wide open spaces and my two steps to his one. It’s possible he was merely thinking about the task at hand, but he seemed like such a good listener, which made me want to talk all the more. Jumping over cow pies, I told him everything I knew for sure, and asked him everything I didn’t. The latter outweighed the former. 

I was certain my grandpa knew everything. And this was confirmed by how he never looked for a tool, but walked directly to it. He wasn’t the kind to say it, (not that he could get a word in) but I knew he loved those tools. He took care of them. Respected them. In my head, this is why they always worked for him. 

Is it a lot to say about a pencil? Maybe. But at this moment, it’s what I know for sure, and it’s enough, to run along beside you, to tell you, we have everything we need.

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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. 

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Tools.


It isn’t often. It’s only happened a couple of times in 10 years, but it’s been enough to keep me humble. To keep me aware. I respect my electric saw. It cuts the angles to make the frames to enclose the paintings.

The first time it occurred, it terrified me. I can’t say why it happened. Maybe a flaw in the wood, or an extra strength… I don’t know. I always check for nails or screws in my reclaimed wood. I wear goggles. Take the usual precautions. But something snapped. And I mean cracked with the most vengeful noise and a piece of wood shot across the studio. Like a gun or canon went off! It took me several days to go back to it. To be calm enough to try again. But I did. And the fear slipped into knowledge. It became an additional tool. It happened again the other day. Less terrifying, but I knew enough to step away. To think it through, and return with a clear head.

I hope I’m smart enough to do the same in my relationships. I hope we all are. Gathering in the fear, the surprise, the anger even, and turning it into knowledge. To know when it’s time to engage, and when it’s time to step away. We are given all the tools. Right from the start — I guess we just have to keep learning how to use them.

Trust is a big one. I will admit that it has been a hard one for me to re-learn. Taken away with a bang at a young age, it took me a long time to go back to it. But I have been lucky. The door has been opened and opened again with the kindness of others. And I can’t turn away. There is beauty to be made. Joy to be felt. Love to be loved. Life to be lived. The day begins – my heart is a tool – I’m not afraid to use it.

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