There’s a tradition within the working kitchen — “Yes, Chef!” It acknowledges the task at hand and signifies the willingness to follow through. It’s what I say to the fluttering of my white-hatted heart, daily.
I wasn’t feeling that well yesterday afternoon. But I was mid-paint, (a bird in the hand) and hadn’t I promised the page? Hadn’t I said to the other birds, today we welcome another? Yes. But most importantly, hadn’t I told myself that I could do it?
I have no contract with my daily blog, nor my sketchbook. But I do have a commitment to my very core, to be who I am. To make something of the gift of the day. To wing myself above the obstacle and keep becoming.
So when I say yes to the morning and the song in the trees and the keyboard and the brush, I am saying yes to myself. Yes to the chef, the boss of my being, that I am willing. I am able.
The sun feathers day’s light through the window. My fingers wiggle, wings too, already hearing my heart’s yes.
It seemed my feet were telling my heart that we came out here for a reason. Which my heart passed along to my brain that we should just enjoy this day walking in Aix. And my brain, always the most pragmatic of the three, simplified it down to YES. So it was decided that on this Wednesday, I was going to simply say yes to everything.
We neared the Press stand. Do you want a magazine, he asked me. Yes, I said, without hesitation, and found my favorite, Flow. I paid and cupped the affirmative in my left hand and kept walking. We moved over to the sunny side of the street, because what feels more agreeable than light…and we neared the chocolatier. Do you want a chocolate, he asked. Yes, I said and opened the door. I asked for the first one, and then the owner began asking me. Do you want the coconut? Yes. Salted caramel? Yes. Pistachio? Yes. Two of each? Yes. Would you like to try a sample? Yes! Was it the best marzipan covered chocolate I ever had? YES! I cupped the sachet of delights beside my magazine.
We walked through the bookstore and took a right. There it was, an Aesop store. I didn’t realize we had one in Aix. I paused in front of the window. There was a hand cream spout mounted to the exterior. I put it on my right hand. The scent celebrated inside my nose, and joined in on my feet-heart-brain parade, and inside we went. She went through the available samples to which I answered yes, yes, and yes. Smell this. Yes. Try this. Yes. Shall I perfume your scarf. Yes! And will you purchase this? Yes? Shall I scent your bag? YES.
With my heart, hands and brain so full, it’s surprising how lightly I walked to the car. Did I walk, or was I flying?
I can’t say that I can indulge in this way every day, but I can still relish in the positive. Allow myself the joy of yessing — whatever that may be. A nap. A treat. A longer walk. More painting time. Louder music. Softer forgiveness. Loftier dreams. Bigger hopes. More love – so much more love. If I just say yes.
The morning sun is coming through the window. The parade is about to begin.
To be clear, my mind often wandered and wondered. Maybe that’s why when the clues came, they did so in the brightest of reds to get my attention.
Standing on the wood gymnasium floor, not really feeling the need to disappear, after all, what was to notice? My no brand tennis shoes? My misshapen JCPenney gym uniform? My unsettled hair, still damp from the morning shower? And yet, when I wondered, as I mentioned I often did, whether I was lovable or not, whether the blurred red tailgate of my father’s truck had left forever, whether these boys, these near men in our combined gym class once a week, would imagine my hair blown dry and curled, my heels lifted off the ground, whether they could ask me on a date, and love me with no thought of trucks, or tire tracks or leaving of any kind — red was the answer that came racing for me, in the form of a big Cardinal on his gym sweats, holding a red leather ball to be hurled and smack the wonder out of my soon to be reddened face, with the answer NO.
I don’t know when I took back the color. Gave myself a new answer. But I did. It’s funny how the same place you can be lost, is exactly where you can be found.
Would I have done it, if I hadn’t seen my mother do the same? Place her red badge of courage on rubied lips behind her own YES? Behind the yes of worth and joy and love. I’ll never have to wonder about that.
I put out a little bowl of red candies in front of her Christmas photo. She stands in front of giant red-bowed lion and wrapped gift in front of the Art Institute in Chicago. And in this season, I am reminded the greatest gift of all, may be to simply start with yes.
I am no more or less related to Sara, the co-owner of Pascal’s Patisserie than I am to Dominique’s cousin, Bruno, who completes the “co”. I knew the croissants would be good. He’s French, of course. But I was not prepared for Sara – this force of nature that was so welcoming, I was full before we even started to taste.
When you meet your people, you just know. I was reminded of it watching a repeat of Sex in the City while on the treadmill that very morning. It was Charlotte who asked the other girls, “What if we could be each other’s soulmates…” Walking into the bakery yesterday, not two steps into the kitchen, I knew I had found one of mine. Between directing the workers and leading us through the heavenly scents, it felt like I was home.
First she brought us the Dubai croissant — a pistachio filled croissant that made my eyes roll into the back of my head, where I was able to see the part of my brain that said, “pay attention to this woman.” And I did. We double-dutched through a conversation of delight and I blurted out “I need to paint you!” (As I often do when delighted — to which I am mostly met with a backing up so extreme that you can almost hear the beeps.) Not with Sara. She said YES! Even before I asked to take her photo, she was in mid pose! OH, how I love those that lead with yes! She continued to load our plates and our hearts.
I didn’t have the words for it until later that afternoon. We went north to the Mission in Santa Barbara. I looked under the “about” of it, and the first and only sentence was “Old Mission Santa Barbara believes in radical hospitality.” Is it ironic that I would experience both on such a glorious day, or just my good fortune?
And shouldn’t this be our mission? Wouldn’t life be extra delicious. I eat this morning’s croissant that we were so radically and joyfully gifted, and I lead with YES!
When I was a young girl, someone gave me a tiny spoon. I think it represented a state they had visited. Maybe a park. And with that one spoon it was decided, not by me, that I collected them. After a few birthdays, without my knowledge or permission, I indeed had many tiny spoons. Then came a rack. Sone had a wide enough handle to hang on the rack, but most required that I snip apart a paper clip and superglue it to the back. Now I was putting effort into a collection I neither started nor wanted.
One of the first greeting cards I ever made was an image of a woman that read, “I meant no, but it came out yes.” It always got a good laugh. But certainly there was truth behind it. It has taken years, decades…I think I’m better at it, but it takes an effort. It shouldn’t take convincing that you are worth it. Worth your time. Worth your decisions. Worthy of saying yes to what YOU want. I have found that it’s a practice. (Maybe all of living is.) When you can say no to the little things, like if you want dessert or not, if you actually have the time to babysit, if you like the color red…If you can say no to all those little tiny spoons, then you can graduate to the big ones and maybe say yes! If you can say yes to the big decisions…the big choices… then you can actually live a life,maybe not exactly how pictured (who gets that?), but a life close to all the yesses of your heart.
Walking through an antique store yesterday, I saw them — a cup full of tiny spoons. No thanks, I said, and bought the frame that will hold the painting I will choose, I will make, and I will love. My heart smiled — it came out yes!
It was a cathedral I had to fill, my first solo show in France. I laughed as I made one canvas larger than the next, because it had been all I had prayed for — space.
I used to paint in my small apartment’s bathroom in Minneapolis. It was the only place that I could spill and clean. The seating was built in. Small canvases were easy. Large ones I could balance on my legs, the towel bar and the edge of the tub. I guess I hadn’t been all that specific in my prayers. I didn’t know the answer would come with a move to another country, but there I was, in the south of France, covered in paint, love, and “well, this is what you asked for…” so I filled the space with my story. Canvas by canvas.
Perhaps it is the most open I have ever been. And maybe that’s what love gives you — space. And I don’t just mean romantic love (which does help a great deal!) but also love for yourself, love for the chances that life offers, love for the answers that come as a complete surprise.
I have it now, in home and country and studio, but I still pray for it daily, for my heart That I will find the space for all those trying to share their stories, their talents, their imperfections, their lives. May I be open to them all.
When I was young, and still believed that any conflict could be resolved with a “but,” I said things like, “but it’s not fair,” “but she got to do it,” “but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
It took years. On the playing fields. In the gym. On graded papers. During doctor visits. Within goodbyes to homes and family. I butted my way through it all. And nothing changed.
I suppose it was another gift from my mother that got me through. She gave me the gift of “and.” When I was sick of and sorry for myself after another surgery, she shook her head yes, “and we’re going to the mall.” When we would get lost, wandering without GPS or any sense of direction, and I would panic that no one would ever find us, “yes,” she said, “and look, there’s Herbergers!”
When Thanksgivings didn’t gather — “and look, we have bagels!”
When Sundays were too long — “and one day, we’ll have too much happiness to fill our days.”
We didn’t always have the power to make problems disappear, yet we had the magic of “and.” “And we have books. And we have music. And we have each other.”
With that love, we had everything.
The world is still trying to learn what my mother always knew. (I hope we’re still trying to learn.) Daily, I hear on the news the justification of horrors, from people and countries, all under the guise of “but they did this…” What if we looked within. Acknowledged the truth. And responded with kindness. And love. Looked around and said, “And we have all this. We have each other.”
So much to question. And the answer is still, and again, love.
You’ve probably seen it if you watch the Food Network, or Youtube. To test the new students or employees, the head chef asks them to make a French omelette. It sounds simple. I suppose we’ve all thrown eggs in a pan. What could be the big difference, right? I decided to give it a try. I melted the butter in the heating pan. Whisked the eggs with just a pinch of salt. Poured them into the hot skillet. Using a spatula, moved the eggs around, almost in a scramble. Then flattened it out gently. While the top remained a bit wiggly, I gently made the first fold. Then the second. And the third, rolling it onto the plate. Just a glossing of butter on the top, and as we say, “Voilà!”
Almost anyone can tell you a story that is plot driven. Fill it full of noises and sounds. Oooohs and aaaaahs! The big stories! The big events. But for most of us, our lives contain only a few of these. The majority of our stories are Tuesdays and Thursdays. Not holidays. Not the trips of a lifetime, but the ones to the grocery store. This is not sad. Well, I suppose it could be…if you choose not to find the beauty of the ordinary… you know, if you’re just going to throw the eggs in the pan…
But I don’t want to live like that. I want to Voilà even the simplest of tasks. The simplest of days. I want to be in love during the week. Be excited at home. Find the story along the gravel path. Don’t get me wrong, the Eiffel Tower is pretty spectacular. And it still takes my breath away, but I can say with joy, and certainty, so do the eggs in a pan.
Some said it was in the way, my grandparents’ kitchen table. But for me, for my mother, it was something to lean on. The stability we craved.
The legs were at an angle, protruding just a little beyond the table top. You could kick it. Bump into it. Throw groceries, suitcases, all of your worries, on top of it. It was never going to crumble.
It took a while for my mother to get her legs beneath her. But she did. Oh how she did! And not just holding her up, but at that slight angle – that confident stride. Maybe they saw it in her first – the people of Alexandria. “Oh, I saw you walking yesterday.” “I see you out walking all the time.” “Aren’t you that lady that I see walking?” And when she answered yes to them, maybe she started to hear it herself. Yes. See it in herself. Yes, I am that lady.
I suppose we all have to become the stability that we crave. Table by table. Step by step. The sun rises with one question, we rise, and say simply, joyfully — Yes!
Whatever you need, this table is strong. Jodi Hills
It was my first job after college. To say I was green would be an understatement. I had heard once in college the best way to keep the conversation going was to say, “Yes, and…” So that’s what I did, with everything. Even to things that clearly the correct answer would have been no. Like do you know how to work on the computer. Certainly I did not. I didn’t even own one, but yes, I said, and I learned. Quickly. Do you know how to layout a catalog, work with Adobe programs — certainly I did not, but yes, and I learned. They asked me to design the flyer for the company cruise. I remember the tag line, “Oooh weee, Oooh wee baby…” (for those of you who don’t know, that song continues – “won’t you let me take you on a sea cruise?”) The most joyful yes I knew. They asked me if I wanted to go along, be the “Julie” from Love Boat. Yes, I said. You can take someone, they said, a friend, or significant other. I didn’t have a boyfriend, well, not one that I was willing to invest a week in. So I asked my mother. She said yes.
Now to put it in perspective, it was not that long before that we had lived in an apartment where you couldn’t drink the water. It was not that long before that my mother lived on Heath Ice cream bars, because she was just too broken hearted to eat. So to find ourselves at the captain’s table was more than a delightful surprise. We dressed up, made our faces up, our hair up, and our chins up, and sat as if we had always been there – up! Smiles, through course after course, we seemed to get higher and higher. And looking at my mother, I knew this is where she had always belonged. Where I had always seen her, even on dry ground, the dryest ground of a gravel road.
They, he, and she, will all try to tell you no. In their own fear, they will want to keep you down. “No, you can’t! No, you don’t belong here. No.” Just make sure your heart isn’t one of them. Make sure your heart believes in you – gives you the courage to look up – to say YES!
I see my mother at the captain’s table, and think, what a gift she gave herself – and what a gift she gave to me! Over all the negative voices that surrounded her, surrounded me, she said, YES! And I still believe.The sun is coming up – Oooooooh weeeeeeeee, Baby!
