…of many different peoples and worlds.
When in the course of human events a woman becomes a mother, she discovers that motherhood is rich. Then she discovers that it is a tad limiting. If you belong to my generation of stay-at-home motherhood, the next thing to do is develop what I believe is often termed “creative outlets” in the interest of “self-care.”
Now I think, “If we’d be staying longer, we’d be so much better at this.”
For me, traveling is a concerted effort directed at achieving what often turns into an underwhelming experience of more of the same old world. All of this I embrace for the delight of the occasional unexpected discovery and the calm pleasure of encountering a part of the world that is home to somebody else. I learn so much about myself in the concentrated drama of travel that can be lost in the slower undulations of life at home.
My father is the only person I know who routinely buys things like pickled quail eggs. Additionally, he is the only person I know, who having bought the quail eggs, thinks everyone else will want to try them and might want a jar of their own. He might also buy a case of jars of pickled quail eggs to hand out to anyone who can be persuaded to try one.
...I am quite used to thinking of myself as adventurous... Yet somehow Charles continues to throw me into paroxysms of lady-like terror and complete unwillingness to partake in his activities.
Bengalis consider nine children problematic in any case, but having six daughters is a severe mishap.
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