Just like Frank Slade Would've

A few minutes ago I saw that one of Bethlehem Steel's buildings is on fire. My very first thought was, that wouldn't have happened on Frank Slade's watch. And then, I walked outside to see what Doug was doing. I found him sprinkling a light layer of topsoil on the front lawn.

There have been countless times I've said to Doug, as I did a couple minutes ago, "Yep, that's something Frank Slade would've done." For anyone who hasn't already figured it out, the character of Gus in the Linger series is based on my grandfather.

He was a man who took care of things. He was gruff and crotchety, stubborn, intransigent, and sometimes very, very difficult to get along with. However, even at his worst, he was loving, kind, generous and caring. He would've given the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it, but would have done it in a way that no one knew about it, and also in a way that everyone would've assumed the shirt belonged to the other person all along.

I remember living in my first apartment as an adult, and could not believe how filthy the windowsills were. What most would see as normal, I did not. I've said often, you could eat off the windowsills in my grandparents' house, because it was true. Everything was cared for. Everything worked, if it didn't it was fixed. Everything was "in its place," a blessing and a curse that has followed me all my days.

Things were done a certain way in their house. Dinner was served at the dinner table. So was breakfast and lunch. That table was in the dining room. When he built their house, he told my grandmother that there would never be a table in the kitchen. There were other standards that the two of them were intransigent about. Order was a priority. As much as things were done a certain way, there were also things that were simply not done. 

Another story I've told my kids, and often laughed about, was bed making. I was about to crawl into bed one night, I was probably less than ten years old, and I hadn't put the top sheet on the bed when I made it. My grandmother hastily stripped the blankets off, put the top sheet on, and remade the bed. She mumbled the entire time, but I couldn't hear a word she said. Except one, "chaos." To this day I think about the partially made bed, and hear my grandmother saying, "without order, there's chaos." She never said those words, it just makes me laugh.

Doug recently finished redoing the garage. He patched and sanded walls, painted walls and ceilings, hung everything that could be hung, and built a storage loft complete with more implements from which to hang things. But the first thing he did, after he finished painting, was put up the various brackets and shelves for Frank's paddle boards and equipment. First. It's something Frank Slade would've done.

While Doug doesn't care much about whether we have dinner at the dinner table,  otherwise, he's very much like Frank Slade. He researches how things should be done, like preparing a lawn for winter, or when trees should be planted, or pruned, or what needed to be done to get the whole-house humidifiers ready for winter. He made sure the fireplaces both lit, and that the furnaces filters were changed, and asked me to double-check the thermostat programming so the the air conditioner doesn't come on once he's covered it for the winter.

In the last few months, I've insisted the kids help with the various projects Doug undertakes, not only because kids should help around the house, but also because they'll learn their father's approach. How he doesn't do things the easiest or fastest way, he does them the right way. Just like Frank Slade would've.

Vote.

We live in a "mail-in ballot" county, and last week, Doug, Charlotte and I prepared our mail-in ballots, after which Doug and I drove them to the ballot box at Town Hall. I got a letter in the mail a couple days ago, stating my ballot had been rejected because my signature didn't match.

I took the print-out from the El Paso County Voters Bureau to the polling place this morning, and after about a half hour, I was told that I have to go to the county building, located in downtown Colorado Springs, in order to "try to get it resolved."

I am crestfallen, and while I have every intention of going to the county building (I have seven days to do so) to resolve it, I am still sad that as of today, my vote will not count.

So. Vote. It's one of the most important things you can do if you're a citizen of this country (if not THE MOST important). I've never been in this position before on election day. I am exceedingly uncomfortable, but have to accept the fact that I will get it resolved, it just won't be today.

So, like I said, VOTE. If you haven't voted, go do it now. If you have no intention of voting, change your mind and go do it.

Why NaNoWriMo?

I participated in NaNoWriMo in 2012, when I was writing the second LINGER book. I finished the first book in early October, and was excited about having a book ready to write, that would give me the opportunity to participate in National Novel Writing Month.
The next year, 2013, I started the second book in the Crested Butte Cowboy series during NaNoWriMo. I attempted to participate in 2014 and 15, but the timing was off.
It seems as though I've been working on the third book in the LINGER series since 2013, or before, but it wasn't until earlier this year, that I made any real progress.
On October 31, I had written 35,872 words. Since, I've only updated my progress with the words I wrote November 1 and after.
Why, after four years of writing, am I participating in NaNoWriMo again? It was a question I asked myself when I logged in for the first time this year. I wondered if it was silly. I wondered if it would really motivate me.
Today is November 7, and since the first, I've written 11,894 words, and I'm committed to finishing this book by Thanksgiving. I stopped wondering if it would be silly, the second time I logged in to update my word count.
The idea behind NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in a month, the equivalent of a "short" novel. Mine tend to be in the 70,000 word count range. Given that, if I successfully meet my Thanksgiving deadline, I'll probably only hit the 35,000 word marker. That's okay. It doesn't matter. Finishing this book, that's what matters.
I love NaNoWriMo.

I'm Not the Mom

Winding down my Sunday by pinteresting Christmas stuff on my holiday board, and found myself regretting traditions I didn't start with my kiddos when they were little. By the third or fourth guilt-induced self-incriminating regret, I found myself saying "I'm not the mom who . . . "

So what mom am I?

• I'm the mom who showed my boys that you can write a book, or a write a song, or achieve what sometimes feels unachievable.
• I'm the mom that pestered them to get something done ahead of time, like college applications, so they could avoid the stress of not having it done.
• I'm the mom that showed them it's okay to cry . . . because you miss someone, or at the national anthem, or a sad movie, or a cheesy commercial, or because you feel powerless or sad or angry, or telling a story, or telling them how much I love them.
• I'm the mom who called them out on their shit, and told them I love them because of and in spite of it.
• I'm the mom who showed them that experiences will mean more than things.
• I'm the mom who prodded them to write their papers, practice their speeches, do their homework, and showed them they could feel good about it when they were done, and then be able to have fun.
• I'm the mom who let go when I felt they had it figured out, and them let them learn from their mistakes.
• I'm the mom who refused to sign off on homework I really didn't think they'd done, so they know it isn't okay just to get the sign off.
• I'm the mom who insisted they honor their commitments.
• I'm the mom who showed them the importance of relationships, and being part of a community.
• I'm the mom who showed them that if you do what you say you're going to do, when you say you're going to do it, you'll be ten steps ahead of most.
• I'm the mom who showed them, by example, that they'll make mistakes, sometimes big, giant mistakes, and life will still go on.
• I'm the mom who showed them that we all need forgiveness sometimes, and that you won't lose a part of your soul if you say you're sorry.
• I'm the mom who bitched, and told it like it was, when I thought they needed to hear it, and sometimes when I just needed to say it.
• I'm the mom who proved that if you don't make scrapbooks, or remember all the traditions, or decide not to bother, it'll still be Christmas, and Easter, and every other holiday.
• I'm the mom who decided it's okay if they get mad at me.
• I'm the mom who insisted they learn to take a joke.
• I'm the mom who made two loaves of pumpkin bread this morning, one with cranberries for Frank, and the other without, for Beck, because they asked me to.

There are a lot of things other moms do that I don't. I do my best. I've made mistakes along the way, and I'll continue to make them. But at the end of the day, I hope they learned some things from me, and that they'll continue to learn and grow the rest of their lives.