Slower Than Christmas

When I was in Las Vegas last month, I often ate meals with my dad at his assisted living facility. We'd go down to the dining room about fifteen minutes before they'd start serving and Dad would wheel himself up to a table. I'd take a chair next to him. Then, even though he's capable and does it when I'm not there, I'd go to the salad bar and get him his fruit (He loves the fresh melon and pineapple they serve at every meal). About then, if he wasn't there waiting for us, my dad's friend, Ed, who happens to be blind, would join us. Throughout the meal, I'd help both Ed and my dad with whatever they needed. Most of the servers knew Ed's routine and where to set things  so he could easily find them, but occasionally we'd get a new person who didn't seem to understand what a sightless person needs. I'd wave them off and get his drinks (coffee with one sugar and a small glass of milk) situated. When our meals arrived, I'd butter bread, dispense condiments, and cut meat (my father lost the use of one of his hands after a stroke when he was seventy) and tell Ed what was what and where. After the meal, I'd walk my dad back to his room.  Following our last meal together, one of the other residents pulled me aside - apparently she'd been watching - and told me how "good" I was, so patient. I thanked her and said it was nothing, easy stuff.

People often compliment my patience. When I taught tennis in my teens and twenties, I'd get the youngest kids and the ones without hand-eye coordination. Even now at The Big Orange Box, I get passed the "difficult" customers, the ones who can't make up their minds, the ones with trying personality traits, grating voices. When I was a human resource manager, I'd listen and listen to all kinds of tedious stories and anecdotes. My store manager never understood how I did it. And because she thought I had a way with people - my steady and calm demeanor could disarm even the nastiest of customers - she'd send me up front to "be nice" to all the assholes (Being nice apparently gave her a headache. We made a good team). Over the years, co-workers and other customers have commented many times about how patient I am, how caring. As with my helping my dad and Ed, it's really nothing, just who I am. Arguably, some days are easier than others, but I promise I wouldn't have survived fifteen years in retail with my sanity intact if I wasn't patient.

Other evidence?

• I run long distances and nonchalantly peel away the miles.
• I write lengthy novels.
• I plan vacations months in advance and calmly wait for time to pass.
• I don't open presents early; I don't even shake them.

For as patient as I am, I'm REALLY struggling right now. On May 11, I submitted my second novel (The Match, Part II: Set) to my publisher. They killed it on the cover design and the interior formatting for my first novel and I - quite literally - cannot wait to see what they come up with for this one. I know it takes 15-20 business days (that's three to four weeks of real time) and I know I requested the same designer so it might take a little longer if he or she is tied up with other projects. But it's Business Day #18 (You would count, too, so don't judge me) and still nothing. The notification could come at any moment (Well, between 8am and 5pm Eastern time, Monday through Friday) which has me checking my email constantly. And fidgeting. Fidgeting! 

I didn't struggle at all with my first novel. I recall thinking something could come in while I was on vacation, but when the email arrived, I was merely pleasantly surprised. I didn't immediately stop what I was doing (I was in Oslo at the time) to look. I was a novice; I didn't know what I didn't know. Now? I hope I'm someplace where I can easily whip out my laptop or hop on a computer at work. If not, I'll drive myself bonkers until I can. 

And I thought Christmas came slow when I was a kid. This, though, is way better than any Christmas I can remember. Except maybe the year we got ten-speed bikes. Maybe. 

I know genius takes time, but f********ck, BookBaby, bring on Christmas already.

*** In the time it took me to write this, I've checked my email at least a half dozen times. And (AND!) I get notifications on my computer when I get an email. So if the notification arrived, I'd know right away which means there is absolutely no need to open my phone and refresh my Outlook account every five minutes. And yet... ***