My mentor and friend, Hazel Dicken-Garcia, died last night after a long health struggle.

I haven’t had the words today to fully articulate this loss. I miss her in the way I miss my grandmother; in many ways, Hazel filled that role in my life since Elsie’s passing in 2001. I haven’t been to see her in a few years, as life got in the way of my ability to just jump and go to the Cities. And while I knew she was unwell, the news itself was a bit of a shock.

I will need to spend some time thinking about what I want to say here. She was an amazing teacher, friend, mentor. She was the sort of person who truly invested in her students. Years after I finished my work under her tutelage, I knew I could email or call for advice, a sounding board, or simple reassurance.

And as is the case with all good teachers, her impact resonates not only through my work, but through the work of countless others who remember her teachings and honor her legacy.

I honored her today by doing my job. I submitted a paper today. And a research grant. And I taught a class. I carry on in her name.

But the hole in my heart cannot be filled by another. Goodbye, Hazel.

I watched fifty mass media majors cross the stage at graduation this morning, and I felt proud and happy. This is the first class to graduate substantially under my leadership as chair, and it gave me a bit of a jolt to see my name on the program above theirs.

It made me think about beginnings, and endings, and mentorship.

This ceremony was also the last to be officially attended by my good friend and colleague, Mavis Richardson. I left her with a selfie, a hug, and a promise to go and get coffee during her retirement. An ending? A beginning?

It made me think about the importance of ceremony to mark such things.

I advise all of my students to take part in the graduation ceremonies to which they’re entitled. They’ve earned the right. But more than that, the ceremony marks the transition. It marks the end of one thing, and the beginning of another. It gives one time to reflect, a day to remember, and a specific moment to point to and say, “I did that. I achieved that. What’s next?”

It made me think about my own transitions.

Life has been challenging the last few years. I took over leadership of the department. I became a late-in-life parent to two tiny girls. I broke my leg. But I also achieved some things. I published a book and another book chapter. I achieved promotion to Professor. I was awarded a sabbatical. And this coming sabbatical year marks a transition for me, too. To what will I aspire as my career moves forward? What’s next? How can I help these little girls be their very best selves as they grow? What’s best?

And so, we commence. Through this transition, to the next, with ceremony, closure, and eyes on the horizon.

Well, winter finally got physical in its quest to get me to hate it: I broke my leg falling through a snow drift in January.

Oh, winter. Where did we go wrong?

Some of my favorite times as a child involved dressing in as many clothes as I could and heading out into snow drifts taller than me, tunneling through them, building snow people, and throwing snow balls at my sister and brother and cousins. We’d stay out until we were soaking wet and ice cold, then go into the house for hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, our socks steaming in the heat.

Snow meant the possibility of no school, and therefore, more playtime. Snow meant giggling and, as we got older, excuses to be outside to “shovel” with the adults. It meant things could be cosy, and isolated, with just my favorite people tucked up with me in our house. It might also mean another reading of The Long Winter, a reminder that we were safe and warm and had plenty to eat.

As I grew older, and learned to drive, I grew less fond of snow and ice. Adults, I discovered, can’t always use the snow as an excused to stay home and play. Adults have to learn how to drive on icy roads and keep themselves and their passengers safe. More than once, I drove home from a meeting in the dark on ice-covered roads with almost-bald tires, praying fervently under my breath (and sometimes shouting) to keep my car on the road. As a reporter, I often ended up out in weather that I didn’t want to be in, just  to keep other people posted on what was actually happening.

One of my favorite post-reporter moments was watching the news in Milwaukee during a major snow event, laughing at the shivering reporter doing a live stand-up in the snow storm at a location across the street from my downtown apartment building. I toasted the reporter, snuggled down under an afghan, and sipped my hot chocolate.

One of my joys in being a parent of a toddler and a preschooler is reclaiming playtime in the snow. And on that day in January, we were all bundled up outside. I taught them how to make snow angels, and we were moving on to snow people when the snow drift claimed my leg. Literally. I planted my right foot for stability and tried to move. My knee went the other direction when the snow wouldn’t give my foot up.

Ouch.

So now, I can’t drive at all. Silver lining, maybe? I have a fractured right tibia in an oddly placed spot and position.

Snow, I forgive you. Next winter, we’ll build snow people with the preschoolers.

I’m back in my office today, getting ready for spring classes to start on Monday. I’ve already  managed to combat the paper monsters on top of and under my desk, and they’re currently under my control. I hope to keep them leashed this term.

Over the break, I learned several things:

1. I make excellent gingerbread for gingerbread houses.
2. There can, indeed, be too much chocolate.
3. Two-year-olds will do exactly what you tell them NOT to do. (A lesson learned once, but it needed repeating, apparently.)
4. The people I love know me very well.
5. New coffeemakers are awesome presents. See number 4.
6. Murphy’s Law is a THING.
7. Being housebound in subzero temps for longer than two days is bad for my mental health.
8. Julie Andrews starred in Mary Poppins before she starred in The Sound of Music, but both movies still appeal to all audiences, including picky toddlers.
9. Supercalifragilisticexpiallidocious is STILL an awesome word to say when you don’t know what else to say.
10. My sabbatical has been approved for next year, AND I’ve been shortlisted for the Fulbright, now moving into the third round of competition.

Overall, I’m glad to be back at my desk. I have a pile of writing to complete this month, and my Fulbright interview on the 17th, so my short-term goals are to get cracking on preparation.

One comment from a Russian IP address asked about my writing process. In case it’s a real query and not just Russian spam, I’ll answer: Sit at keyboard. Write anything that comes to mind until it makes sense. Go back and cut out the crap. Repeat.

Amy

I received word yesterday that my application for a Fulbright Distinguished Chair of the Humanities position at the University of Manchester, England, has been recommended for funding!

The next step is for the folks in the U.K. to determine whether they have enough funding to provide grants to all applicants, and it gets more selective from there. If funded, I’ll be in England next spring, teaching in the American Studies department and interviewing Manchester residents about their media use.

The first round, which I passed, is a thorough peer review of my application and proposal for next year. I’m grateful my peers think my project is worthy of funding.

Now, on to the next!

Amy