Capturing a memory of my youngest child, Edith Anne. (If you haven’t yet read the monkey stories, let me explain that, of my four children, three were squirrel monkeys, little pound and a half furry babies.) Edie lived to be twenty-eight years old, an anomaly for her heritage. Fifteen years is average; twenty, the high end of the lifespan range.
When I drive by a particular local national recreational area, I always have a bit of a flashback to a national folk festival that was held there nearly forty years ago which featured varied and interesting musical events on several large stages, a plethora of ethnic food choices, and a number of tents where vendors from many ethnic backgrounds displayed and marketed their wares.
Back in those days, our family (Edith included) met weekly with a group of friends to hike the local trails (and earn annual shields for our hiking staffs in the metroparks). Edie had her own staff at one point, although she really only used it to comb on as the chilly fall weather thwarted her ability to complete the trails required within the prescribed time frame of September 1st through November 30th.
Well, we decided to “hike” at the folk festival that one year. It was not part of the hiking spree, but it provided an opportunity to get in quite a bit of walking while reveling in the colorful sights, phrenetic sounds, heady aromas, and gustatory delights. It was a beautiful sunshiny day, quite hot, and we strolled through the festival. Edie, as usual rode on my shoulder, tethered by her belt and leash. She loved playing “tree” and would leap from person to person, striving to always ride on the tallest person she could access at any given point in time. And we had great fun…until Edith Anne barfed. And barfed. Yeccchh!! Poor baby!! She had never been sick before, so it took us quite off-guard. We realized fairly quickly that her ancestors would have lived in a rain forest, sheltered by a canopy of trees. Direct sun exposure would not have been normal for them. Poor Edith had sun poisoning, so we found a shady spot where she could cool down with the benefit of cool drinks and lots of love and TLC.
Fortunately, Edie recovered quickly, so we all enjoyed a meal of barbecued ribs (in the shade, of course) and set out to view the wares in the tents, moving from shade to shade. When we visited a tent run by a family who were refugees from either Laos or Cambodia (I wish I could remember which), the family members clustered around Edith Anne. At first we naively assumed they were not used to seeing furry children; however, it was actually just the opposite. Monkeys roamed everywhere in their homeland, and Edith’s presence had triggered a wave of homesickness and love. The head of the family tearfully presented Edie with a square of cloth (much like a quilting square) that had a monkey pattern in the fabric. They refused to let us pay for it; they just wanted her to have their gift. We still have that cloth square today. Unfortunately, we have not had Edith for the past ten years.
Missing my youngest child who used to sleep on my pillow at night, suffocating me with her dear, furry little body (and squeezing my nostrils shut with her grubby little fingers, just in case). Okay, I’m sort of kidding. She meant no harm. Just liked to snuggle that way.
The folk fest was only one small memory out of our twenty-eight years together. And I still talk to her sometimes…when I forget.