When my father retired -- semi-voluntarily because the little company that had employed him for decades was sold -- my mother convinced him to join her on a trip to Ireland. She had done most of her traveling as an adult without him. He liked to stay home. But now he had no excuse; he would have to go along to the country of some of his ancestors.
He didn't much like Ireland: "They should put a roof over that country."
He was glad enough to stay home thereafter when she wandered. He was somewhat prickly, but funny. I loved him very much.
Travel was not his thing; I fortunately inherited my mother's yen to see the world.
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