I wish it were still so easy to get attention.
It was last Saturday I made my picture book for my grandson, Parker, and all week it was hard to find somebody to look at the whole thing and say, "Wow, Mary, did you really do that all by yourself?"
By Friday, I had a book in my hand, and took it to school to show my kindergarten teachers: that's what kindergarten teachers do, right? And it was a big help to hear their responses.
But it wasn't until today, when I finally called Mom and walked her through the process of viewing the preview on her computer, that I felt true satisfaction. Of course. For lots of us, I bet, even at sixty, Mom is the one we want to watch our feats.
Mom came through, in spades. "Oh, Mary," is how I would have predicted she'd start out, and she said exactly that. She asked how she could get a copy, and I said if somebody else wanted one, I'd let her know and we could piggy-back an order, but there was really no need for her to spend her good money on this. Moments later I got an email from her: "Mary, as I read through the book again, I saw where I could order one so I did. Thanks for a good read.
I love you lots, Mom."
And is that enough for me? Well, yes, as far as the book goes.
But on Wednesday, a day off from work, I decided I needed to go downtown and try to find a new something to punch up the look of my bedroom. I tried to get a friend to come along. No luck. I just couldn't bear to shop, so instead I figured out how to remodel the headboard with what I already had, the remaining few pieces of the Laura Ashley fabric I used to make my drapes.
And what did I want when I was done? More admiration! I wanted someone to say, "Wow! You did that yourself? With nothing but pins? It looks vintage!"
So, yes, this is something you miss when you live alone. A decent spouse can usually be counted on for at least some modest admiration.
For one thing, it's a great way to get sex. But I'm not even going there.