Thank you, Mrs. Service ...

When I was faced with coming up with a first post to 365, it wasn't 'where do I start?' that daunted me, but 'where do I stop?' I've been ridiculously blessed in ways big and small, and have many, many people to credit. You cannot appreciate what is, and what will be, without recognizing what has been. But there's one thank you letter that is long overdue. While I don't wish to make a habit of sending thank you notes only to people who are no longer here to read them, there is one person whom I never thanked; something I have long regretted. Thus, my first thank you note is written to my high school art teacher. While I could not send it to her, I was able to find her daughter and send it to her instead, in hopes of impressing upon her how important her mother was to me while she was still with us.

Dear Mrs. Service,

I can still remember how much I looked forward to your Thursday and Friday afternoon classes. I cherished those afternoons in the west wing at NCUHS. I recall you flitting breathlessly around the class, drinking coffee, arranging flowers, or a still life for us, your students. All the while, we listened to chamber music, or talked, or sat quietly, working on our art projects. Your class was a reprieve from the mundane. You didn't have rigid class lectures prepared, but talked about Duchamp or chiaroscuro, and we learned ... about art, composition, line, color, texture, yes -- but also about life. You conducted the duties of your job, opening the eyes of your silly, struggling, young students, with such joy. We couldn't recognize then how your beautiful, if busy, mind was being taken over by fog.

I couldn't understand then how wonderful a gesture it was for you to drive your best students the seven hour trip to Boston for portfolio day. Your generous guidance helped me to prepare a portfolio that revealed the breadth and depth of your classes. I remember how proud of me you were when I was accepted at the Museum School. I also remember, in later years, how unproud you were of me when you felt I was wasting my talent.

I like to think that I have, to some extent, redeemed myself. I paint still, yes, but I followed in your footsteps as a graphic designer. I also take pictures, few of which are 'pretty,' but aim at some something bigger. I think you would approve.

Thank you, Mrs. Service, for taking the time and effort to open my eyes. They are still open.

Rita