Yesterday we headed over to Kinsale, a charming village where you can wander for ages. Rick went off to check out Charles Fort while I wandered the shops and scouted places to bring Rick back to. Watching grumpy husbands following their wives I began to wonder why is is that women tend to love to shop when traveling and men seek out remnants of war.
So what is it with women and shopping - and yes I know I'm being ridiculously simplistic and grossly over generalizing. There are many women who love to pick apart buildings stone by stone and many men who do enjoy shopping. But bear with me here as I have a theory. I think the deal for women, or the primary nester, is twofold:
1) We want our loved ones to know that we are thinking of them even when we are thousands of miles away from home. I do have a rule that there are no gifts on a second trip to a place we have been before, but when it comes to a new adventure we just can't help think of our nearest and dearest. And sometimes it's just that we'll be wandering and see something that makes us think of someone we love. For many of us, we don't just love but we want to make sure that those we love feel loved, that there isn't any doubt. Of course sometimes that means excessive worry and or that we hover too closely, but nevertheless there is never a question of love. Roshann, for example, thinks I'm being ridiculous when I want to implant a tracking device in her body to make sure we know where she is at all times. I think it is just being safe.
2) And then there is nesting. Our home is filled with treasures from our travels and our experiences. It deepens our own history together as a family and brings joyous memories with just a glance at a piece of artwork, coasters or funny socks Sharing memories is what builds family history.
One family story- not ours. Today as we were exploring the grounds of the Blarney Castle, I caught sight of three brothers walking. One was little more than a toddler, while the other boys were considerably older. The little one was bouncing up and down and every few feet shouted "PEANUT! PEANUT!" You know that they must call him the peanut of the family and he became so happy he could finally say it. I have a feeling that he will forever more be known, at least in his family, as Peanut.
To close, we are convinced that the Irish built their roads as a joke on the Yanks while having leprechauns do their magic wherever we go. The beauty of this country is simply not to be believed.