And so the end is near . . . .

Soon the school year will be over. It’s cranking up for the wind down. There are only four weeks left. Out of that there are only eighteen and a half days with students.

If you have never taught school you can’t have any idea what the end of school is like for a teacher. Everyone on campus seems distracted and flustered. These coming weeks are full of activities before, during, and after school: the Spring Art Show, the Fine Arts Festival, the Art Educator Town Meeting at the Museum of Fine Arts, Family Picnic (a two day event, one for the lower grades, one for the upper grades), and Awards Ceremonies. In addition to this we have to clean up our rooms, box up all our stuff and prepare so that the custodians can clean them over the summer.

Having just gotten over the joys of standardized testing several of my colleagues have to be ready for the Vanguard Program. This entails daily rehearsals and constant work on costumes and sets. Every now and then someone approaches me for materials. I’ve been able to share the joy of beads and glitter.

The fourth grade is preparing for their annual field trip to San Antonio. This time it will be a multiple day trip to both San Antonio and Austin. They are fundraising right up until the end.

At the moment it feels overwhelming, but all I have to remember is that this too will pass. After fifteen years of teaching in public school I know that this crescendo of activity will climax on the teacher prep day when the entire faculty will be frantically trying to get sign-out sheets filled out so that summer can start. Suddenly all this frenzied motion will be followed by the unnerving inertia of summer.

I have to be careful and not let my dreams of summer and my planning for the trip take over all my time. There are still the day-to-day activities of teaching to be done in addition to the closing out of the school year. Lesson plans, grading, taking roll and overseeing groups of anxious students who are perched on the verge of summer.

The kids know that the year is at its end. The weather is warm and soon the city will be cleaning the pool in the park next to the school. The odor of chlorine will be added to the scent of magnolias, honeysuckle and all the other blossoms. The pool will be glistening brilliant turquoise in anticipation of the coming summer.

Fear and Excitement

Isn’t it strange how we label feelings? I’m thinking about fear and excitement. They can be incredibly similar, even interchangeable.

I remember going to an amusement park and getting in line to ride the roller coaster, watching the cars twist, turn and swoop down the rails. The riders screamed and grimaced, holding tight for dear life. There I stood, waiting to buy my ticket to ride. Since I was going to pay for the experience of being scared out of my skin I called what I was feeling excitement. Every second that I stood in line was another moment that I could change my mind, turn and walk away. There was a certain joy to the excruciating anticipation. Palms already sweaty and heart rate increasing without even being strapped into the seat, I waited impatiently to get to the front of the line.

I think I may have figured out the difference between the two, fear and excitement. When I am in control, or at least think I’m in control, the feeling is excitement. Fear sets in when the choices are no longer in my hands. Standing in line for the roller coaster I am in control. I can watch from the sidelines or be an active participant. I can step out of line whenever I choose. The choice is mine right up to the final moment when I’m belted in and the attendant lowers the metal bar. Even then I call what I feel excitement because I know that the ride will run its course and come to its inevitable end. For a few short moments there is nothing to do about it except hold onto the bar, close my eyes and scream out all the joy and fear of the incredible rush of the ride.

My feelings about my upcoming trip are similar to my feelings about the roller coaster, but there is a subtle difference. I don’t know the track ahead of time and I’m not quite sure how this ride will work.

Now this is where my obsessive nature kicks in. I start to plan. I have hit the bookstores and the internet. I am now the proud owner of the following books: a guide to New Mexico, two guides to Santa Fe, Taos, and Albuquerque, a guide to the Four Corners Region, a guide to Santa Fe, a guide to the hot springs of New Mexico, a guide to the gem trails of New Mexico, a guide to “O’Keeffe Country”, and about three different guides to rock art, ruins, and odd sites throughout the Southwest.

I’ve been making notes and surfing the internet. I have a collaged notebook of information. This is my book of hours, my vade mecum. Every time I stumble on to another interesting site or subject I poke it into my book. The spine is broken and scraps of paper are sticking out in all directions.

In addition to this I have downloaded my notes from the computer onto a 2 gig flash drive so I can carry it all around with me like some modern day amulet, a cyber rosary. I suspend it around my neck and fondle it through out the day, reassuring myself that all my research, all my work is safely here with me. It serves as a reminder that all of this is real. I really am a Fund for Teachers’ fellow. I really am going on a journey this summer. Soon enough I will be on the road.

So, what is it this time?

The baby in this photo is me!

I was born in Hazen, North Dakota. I would have been born in Beulah, but there wasn’t a hospital there, so my folks opted for Hazen. My dad worked the seismic crew and we lived in a trailer. My dad was a doodlebugger. I don’t know what they call them now, or if that lifestyle still exists. We lived all over the central USA, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska, Kansas and Oklahoma, before my dad moved us back home to East Texas.

By this point I had a baby sister and another on the way. I don’t think my mom was up for another winter up on the Canadian border away from family. She may have been daunted at the idea of living in a trailer full of tiny people. At five years old I didn’t know that people lived in houses that didn’t move. I thought that everyone lived like we did. My parents sold the trailer. I was disappointed when I found out that we were going to be more or less stationary from then on.


I have vague memories of landscapes that look nothing like the rolling hills of East Texas or the flat Gulf Coast. Barren, lunar landscapes in shades of ochre, rust, chalk white and sepia rushing past the window of the old black Studebaker that had started to have that oxidized iridescent blue to it. I know that we went to Yellowstone National Park. I’ve seen the black and white photographs where my parents are a happy young couple with a towheaded toddler between them.

Christmas break of 1994 I took a road trip with a friend. We set out from Houston and spent the first night just outside Del Rio near Lake Amistad. From there, we drove on to Big Bend. The next night found us in El Paso and the following day we drove on by way of Albuquerque to Santa Fe. We spent a couple of nights in Santa Fe and then took off early one morning for Page, Arizona. It was an incredibly long drive. Christmas Eve found us standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon in a snowstorm. It was a mad dash back to Houston with a stop in Marathon at the Gage Hotel.

In the summer of 1995 my soon-to-be husband the geologist and I went to Seminole Canyon, Big Bend and Hueco Tanks. He looked at the geology of Texas and I hunted for petroglyphs and pictographs to photograph.

What I learned along the way was how little I know about my own country and how much I have yet to learn.

Somewhere between the trailer and high school I encountered the artwork of Georgia O’Keeffe. In a world full of white male artists out leapt Georgia, with her paintings of flowers and bones and the desolate landscapes reminiscent of my childhood, all set to be a model for what a young woman could do.

I read all I could about her. Perhaps you can understand my joy when I found out that she, too, had taught school. Best of all, she had taught school in Texas.
I continued to collect books about her, view her work whenever possible, even as I started to collect a bouquet of other inspiring women artists over time: Frida Kahlo, Emily Carr, Leonora Carrington, Remedios Varo, Leonor Fini, Eva Hesse, Ana Mendieta, Louise Bourgeous, Louise Nevelson, Clyde Connell, among other strong women of vision.

When I returned from my first Fund for Teachers Fellowship in Europe I begin to plan for the next opportunity. I started rereading my books on O’Keeffe and picking up new ones as fast as I could. By the time I applied for my current fellowship I was the proud owner of thirty books and a video on O’Keeffe. I went through all of them looking for locations and when possible actual addresses. I begin to envision a trip from O’Keeffe’s birthplace in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin to Virginia, Chicago, New York City, Amarillo and Canyon, Texas and finally to Abiquiu and Santa Fe, New Mexico. The O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe opened after my visit there, so it would be a required stop.

In the meantime, a friend of mine from Italy taught me to knit and I begin to be fascinated with fiber arts, not that they hadn’t interested me before, but now I was on a mission. Many of the books I read on knitting mentioned places and people in the Albuquerque/Santa Fe/Taos area. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to go and see and meet them for myself.

I have always been fascinated by archeology, ruins and rock art. On my road trip to Lake Powell and the Grand Canyon I hadn’t gotten to stop at Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde, or Canyon de Chelly. I’ve collected books and information on Southwest rock art, but seeing a friend’s photos of Chaco Canyon made me want to see for myself.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that I could plan a road trip that would include all of my interests and then some. The final inspiration to the trip was when I read an announcement of a six day summer workshop for art teachers with the delightful name of “Folk Art Traditions and Beyond” to be held in Santa Fe and coinciding with the International Folk Art Festival there. It was as though every time I turned around some other new person or place or thing was luring me along the path that would lead to this trip.

So there you have it. I wasn’t able to figure a way to make the entire circuit of Georgia’s life from Wisconsin to Illinois to Virginia, but I came up with a plan to hit on two of the three places that seem to have played the largest part in her adult life. At some point in the future I hope to make it up to Lake George in New York State, but that will have to wait for now. Before the road trip I am going to New York City to document the places that Georgia O’Keeffe lived and worked. If they are still standing I plan to photograph the actual places and, if not, I will document what has replaced them. This summer I will be driving to Northern New Mexico and the Four Corners Region. I have planned stops in Amarillo, Canyon and Palo Duro Canyon in Texas. I am signed up for the workshop in Santa Fe. I have Ghost Ranch and Abiquiu to explore. I am sure to make it to Chaco Canyon and I hope to make it on to Canyon de Chelly and Mesa Verde.

I have plenty of paper and paints, pencils and charcoal, my camera, my sketchbook and journal, and this, my trusty blog to document the journey.

Wish me luck as I start to finalize my plans! There are only five more weeks of school. After that I have a couple of weeks to set my home life in order and spend some time with my husband. Then, it’s on the road again!

My First Rodeo

In the late fall of 2001, my school principal sent out an e-mail to the faculty telling us about a grant called the “Fund for Teachers” grant. How could I resist anything with that name?

You can find out all about them at http://www.fundforteachers.org/ .

I was amazed at what I read. This appeared to be a dream grant for teachers. I read everything that I could find about it. Once I finished checking it out, pinched myself a couple of times for good measure, and made sure that it wasn’t just a dream, I begin to think of what I would like to do.

At the point that I first applied for a Fund for Teachers grant I had ten years public school classroom experience as an art teacher and I was forty-seven years old.

I need to give you some background here. The first “art class” I taught was at a Baptist Vacation Bible School when I was about fifteen. I sold my first painting the same year. A classmate of mine’s mom bought it for twenty-five dollars. I think it matched her couch.

Before I began working in public school, I had been a visual artist/instructor for about fifteen years. I taught workshops to kids and adults, toddlers and senior citizens. I hustled like crazy to get enough teaching jobs to take care of me and my two kids. Art, teaching it and making it, were the two main things, otherwise I did what ever was necessary to support my art habit. I have been an artist model, a waitress, a real estate agent, a real estate appraiser, driven a delivery truck, worked as a librarian and worked retail sales. Of all the things that I did, only teaching art and making art were fulfilling.

At the age of thirty-two, I went back to school for five long years. When I finished at university, I had graduated cum laude and had an all-level, lifetime art teaching certificate.

For the first six years after receiving my degree I taught art in a middle school. I changed school districts and took a position teaching “multicultural art” to gifted and talented students in an elementary school. And that is where we find me when the Fund for Teachers grant first became available in my school district.

Back to the grant, my very first thought was that I wanted to take the Orient Express. This had more to do with reading and watching movies than anything else. A few moments on the computer let me know that this was way out of my financial reach, even if I got a grant.

Then, reality kicked in. I had been teaching art for ages and I had never gotten to see the things I taught about. I wanted to go to Europe and see the artworks that I had seen in reproduction in books or projected on lecture hall screens. I wanted to see the real thing! I might not be able to take the Orient Express, but I could get a Eurailpass!

And with that a plan was born. I went to the bookstore and got a Rick Steve’s Guide to Europe. I pulled out my old college art books. I begin to make a plan based on museums. It took quite a bit of time, but finally I had a proposal. My first grant asked for $5000 so that I could fly to Europe and tour museums. Continental Airlines had just started a non-stop flight from Houston to Amsterdam and they were running a special low fare to publicize it.

It was a huge grand plan. My mother always told me that my eyes were bigger than my stomach and my dad used to say I always bit off more than I could chew. You know, they might have been right! I planned to start in Amsterdam and then museum hop my way around Europe: London, Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Nice, Rome, Venice, Florence, Prague, Vienna, Berlin, and then, back to Amsterdam.

It was fun to plan and dream, but I never believed that anyone would really say yes. Imagine my shock when the phone rang and a voice told me that I had received the grant.

And so I had. I went to Europe in the summer of 2002 alone. I speak a bit of Spanish, a smidgen of high school German, and before I went to the UK I thought I spoke English. It was awesome! I didn’t make it to Florence, Rome, Prague, Vienna or Berlin that trip. It was just too much, but I did make the trip.

Until I got the Fund for Teachers grant I never believed that I could go to Europe. I was given the opportunity of a lifetime: thirty glorious days, five countries, museums, churches and galleries all in an intoxicating whirlwind of languages and cultures.

Not long after I got back I begin to plan for the next grant. You can only receive the Fund for Teachers Grant every five years.

In the meantime, I’ve been back to Italy once and the United Kingdom twice. The Fund for Teachers Grant allowed my life to open up and blossom. My students have received the benefit of having an art teacher who can share her personal experience of works of art. My experiences as a stranger in a strange land have made it easier for me to relate to those of my students who are new to the USA and who are just learning English.

So what could I do for an encore?

The journey has begun

It was an unseasonably cool day here. I awoke early to go and receive the check that will make this sojourn possible.

I walked under gray skies in the company of women who could only be teachers who were grant recipients like myself. Who else would be walking down the sidewalk dressed in "business casual" on such a bleak Saturday morning before 10:00 AM?

Once inside the Alumni Building we gathered in the Great Hall. Now there were men and women gathered, each with a red canvas backpack labeled "Fund for Teachers", a black folder containing a certificate and a white folder containing our instructions. The room buzzed as everyone asked what everyone else's grant was for.

There were sausage biscuits, muffins, coffee and orange juice. Occasionally the sun peeked in through the large glass windows as we awaited our orientation. Jenny greeted us and praised our initiative. For a moment I felt worried. The last time I had heard the words "best and brightest" was before the Great Performance Pay Fiasco. We were instructed in the fine art of fulfilling the requirements of our grants by Stephanie. Afterward we turned in our media releases and forms, all dutifully signed and witnessed. Upon receipt of our forms we were given the envelopes containing our grant checks. I think everyone opened their envelopes as soon as they were back at their seats. Just for a moment there was some hesitation. Could this really be true and real? Were we really going to go on these amazing adventures? Ladies and gentlemen, the envelop, please. And the answer is, yes! You could feel the tension dissolve and the entire room seemed to breath a sign of relief.

We were called in for our group photos. First there was the full group photo op, followed by the school district photos. Fortunately the photographer was able to shoot us from the balcony above the foyer. Good thing since I don't think we were capable in our excitement of getting into any semblance of order, heightwise or other.

For a few moments more we were gathered together as a group united by the opportunity afforded us by the Fund for Teachers and the donors who believed in us enough to back the program financially. The three of us who had been fortunate enough to receive a grant five years ago gave advice to those who sought us out. Stephanie told us we were free to go and we wandered out into the gray day, envelopes clutched in hands and minds full of dreams.

I headed for home in my bumpersticker encrusted pick-up truck. My first stop was at my house. I had to scan the check so that I will be able to collage it into my journal. Once that was done I headed straight for the bank. I needed to get there before the drive-through tellers closed.

As the check, now endorsed, the deposit slip and my driver's license nestled in the plastic cylinder and were sucked away by the pneumatic tube my mind turned to thoughts of what to do next.

A moment later my reverie was interrupted by the young man in the teller booth's voice. "Ma'am, there will be a two day hold on this check."

"That's OK. Not a problem." I replied and with that there was a swoosh and the cylinder settled back in its nest. I gently removed it, extracted my receipt and license. Just for a moment I paused to look at the amount in my account. Just for a moment it didn't seem quite real. Just for a moment, and then I headed home to set up this blog.