Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: vespa


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Romancing the stone.

In Rome we rode a white Vespa. I thought it was so romantic. Until the cobblestones. And even with that bumpy knowledge, only the romance remains. 

I don’t know who’s in charge, but I’m sure they work together, the heart and the brain. Because it’s the same with the gravel road I grew up on. All those pebbles in knees. All that elbowed skin left behind. The ever present rock in shoe. And still, what I carry is the freedom of the breeze. The lifting from the neighborhood. The launch on foot and bicycle from all that gravel. 

Maybe once again I’m just romancing the stone. So maybe my heart is in charge after all, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If it were different, I’m not certain I’d walk the steep gravel each day here in France. And oh, I’ve fallen here too. I have the additional scars to prove it. But my heart’s memory is so strong — remember the view it says, the two foxes yesterday, the flowers, the birds, the butterflies and sweet jasmine’s scent. The repeat of freedom’s breeze gives youth to my legs and they scoot as if the mountains were Van Dyke Road. And I am without worry. Without time. 

If I have any advice at all, whatever challenge or opportunity lies ahead, by whatever name it is called, ride the Vespa. 

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The journey.

We were never big on souvenirs. I’m still not. It was and always will be about the experience. 

Whenever we’d visit a new place in Chicago, or New York or somewhere in between, my mom would say, “I can’t wait to read about this later.”  What she meant was the excitement of having been somewhere, knowing the place, and having it mentioned unexpectedly in the next book, feeling the connection…being able to nod one’s head and heart in full agreement of “I’ve been there.” 

And isn’t it the same with living? We look to those who have survived what we’re going through. As a comfort, a connection. Or for that boost of encouragement, a proof of what can be done.  We are the stories. The words on a page. Meant to be shared. We are the souvenirs. The precious gifts to remember. To pass along.

The morning sun turns the page…and so it begins.

What if I believed in the journey? Enjoyed it even…


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Flinging towards faith.

I’m not proud to admit that there were several years in my youth that I thought it was the leaning Tower of Pizza.

I was driving on this leg of the trip when we arrived in Pisa, Italy. I thought (and still do) that the French drive crazy, but it was raised to a new level in Italy. The last round-a-bout before the city was packed, but not packed at a standstill, packed at a blazing speed. Dominique told me you just have to go – just fly through it. But I’m from Minnesota – we wave people in. There would be no waving. No thinking. Just doing. I held my breath and double dutched my way into the flow and was flung out through the first exit. Sometimes you just have to trust. 

Some of the most frequent questions I have been asked through the years — How did you know you could become an artist? How did you know you could make it? Weren’t you scared? The truth is, the scariest part was thinking about it. Once I started doing it – I was just doing it. There was no time to be afraid. There was work to be done. And I loved doing it! It was, is, my heart’s truth, and I trust in it.

It has continued to be the case for most things in my life — the worrying is always worse than the doing. Oh, I know, because I can get myself caught up in the worrying, especially in the wee hours. But the doing has always saved me. The living in the light of day. The flinging myself into the mix, the moment, and trusting that I have been given everything I need. 

Through the round-a-bout, onto the main street of the city, I could see it. The most beautiful tower. It was real. Through all of the chaos, it stood strong, a little crooked, but strong. I’d like to think I, we, can do the same.  

I watch the sun come up, and fling myself toward the faith.

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