Jodi Hills

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


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And stronger I ran.

They tarred over the playground of Washington Elementary. I have the scars on my knees to prove it. 

Back by the swings there were two horizontal poles. I’m guessing they used to hold the planks of wood to form teeter-totters. Maybe they thought the teeter totters were too dangerous, so they removed them. But that didn’t stop us.

I don’t know who thought of it first, but we all did it. If you wrapped one leg over the top of the pole, grabbed it with your arms underneath, forming a circle around the pole, then kicked the other leg from underneath you, you could spin around the pole like a human hula hoop. When it worked, it was glorious. Dizzying. Exhilarating. But when it didn’t…

My sweaty hands slipped from my leg and I landed hard against the pavement — so hard, the very breath that carried me, fled faster than any spinning hoop, fled from my body and flattened me against the tar. No air could get it. I panicked. So panicked I couldn’t even cry out. The weight of it all, against my chest. It seemed too much to bear. It was Shari, or Jan, or maybe even Cindy, one of them said, just wait, it will come back. The air will come back. They gathered around me. The air they breathed found its way to me. We had each other. Even then. And stronger I ran, lifted with the knowledge of having survived. It still carries me. Carries us. Stronger. Together.


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Shine.

At a press conference years ago, Bill Murray was asked if art had ever changed his life.  In fact, it saved his life. He was just starting his career in Chicago, and he claimed, “he wasn’t very good.” After a very unsuccessful performance he began walking.  Just walking the streets of Chicago.  He found himself on the shores of Lake Michigan, and considered the fact that drowning would be pretty simple.  But on those same shores was the Art Institute of Chicago.  He went inside.  In his words, he felt like he was already dead.  He stood in front of one of his favorite paintings  –  The Song of the Lark, by Jules Adolphe Breton, 1884.  He looked at the woman, standing in the field, as the sun was coming up, and thought, “Well, there’s a girl that doesn’t have too many prospects, and yet the sun is still coming up and she has another chance.”  He gathered himself in front of the painting and thought, “I, too, am a person and get another chance every day the sun comes up.” 


My mother did the impossible every day. She warmed me with her own brilliant light, and made me believe it was me who was shining.  There will always be a woman to light your way.  Some will be lucky enough to call her mother.  Others will call her friend, mentor, boss, aunt, and now, even Vice President.  If we are able to walk in the light, it is because someone lit it for us long ago.  And we must do the same. Even when are prospects seem few, we can still be that light for someone.  Today, I ask you to thank those who went before you, and light a path for those coming behind.  The sun is rising. We are rising. What a chance!  What a day!  What a light!!!!

https://www.artic.edu/artworks/94841/the-song-of-the-lark


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W.W.I.D?


I accidentally fell in love with a French man.


Thank God, for accidents, random acts, chance meetings, fate, worlds colliding, (maybe they are all just the chances we take) (whatever you want to call them)! These are the unknown gifts – the risks we take – the dreams we pursue without knowledge or permission. And that is the gift, I suppose, the uncertainty, because maybe if we knew everything involved, we might not do anything.  If I had known how hard it was to actually learn a new language (French) in mid-life (that’s maybe generous), I’m not sure I would have made all the same decisions – and how tragic – I would have missed out on the love of my life!!!  Spoiler alert – I didn’t…I took the leap of love and here I am in France, loving, creating and doing my French lesson every morning before yoga. There is more comfort in love than in certainty.


OK… but still…why is it so hard?  C’mon!!!!  Some days I think I just can’t learn this language — ç’est impossible! 

And then those pesky women of inspiration pop up their heads — 
At age 40, Julia Child became a TV icon on the show The French Chef.  Grandma Moses started painting at age 76. Laura Ingalls Wilder started writing at age 64. And then there’s Iris — Iris Apfel — signed to one of the world’s most prominent modeling agencies, IMG, at age 97.  97!!!!  Iris!  And so I don my imaginary stacks of W.W.I.D. (What would Iris do?) bracelets and sit before my leçon de français, and I try…and I learn…because that’s what strong women do!  We invent, reinvent, we dare, we grow — not confined by our gender, our numbers, or ceilings.  We take our accidents and chances and we make them into something beautiful!  Life is beautiful, at every age! Tout est possible! 

Bonjour, Iris!