I have always had a lot of males in my life. In my generation of cousins, I am the only female. I have two sons, two grandsons and a brother. They are all very entertaining.
Last week in India, for example, when I emailed our son Jeremy that Peter and I were the only ones in our group of ten that didn’t see a tiger in Ranthambore National Park in Rajasthan, he replied, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, we didn’t see any tigers yesterday either.”
And when I emailed a picture of Peter and me in front of the
Taj Mahal, my one word message said. “Spectacular”. Our son Seth’s reply email—“The building in the background is pretty nice too."
But most of all I am entertained by, and proud of, my husband Peter. India isn’t for sissies. Or for most 82-year-olds, especially with Parkinson’s Disease. Yet my intrepid husband, although he occasionally needed help with railing-less stairs in old forts and temples, was a trooper. He was more courageous in trying local specialties; his thoughtful observations such as “All the men on motorcycles are wearing helmets; the women behind them aren’t” made the trip better for all of us. His quick and dry sense of humor entertained everyone.
Before we left for India, I worried. I thought this trip might be a bit much for Peter.