What you don’t know until you try it, is a cuddly travel buddy carried anywhere and everywhere on one’s travels, is sure to catch the attention of fellow travellers. For instance, they smile wry smiles of amusement as I photograph my dear Nessie wherever we are, like just before we board a plane or share a milk shake.
Who is Nessie?
Can you guess her origin? Her shape?
Nessie joined us in Scotland. She joined us rather early on this particular trip to where a dear friend let us house-sit while she visited family in West Oz.
Little Nessie, I planned, when I first found her, would join her sibling whom I’d left home. Lochie, dressed fully in his bright tartan with his beret, was sitting comfortably with his companions on a shelf in the bedroom my grand-children slept in at my home. He is, of course, a mini version of my Loch Ness Monster. The one I saw on the lake the first time I visited Scotland in the 1980’s! Nessie would be good company, I thought, not just for me on this trip, but afterwards, for Lochie as well.
How could I communicate my trip away with my grandkids?
Would I send photos to their mum and say:
Here I am at the foot of Loch Ness. There’s the tourist shop that tells lies about the monster living in the lake. Here’s the castle we stood on the top of where we saw the shadowy form lurking in the depths. (Yes, that bits true – but then I do have a powerful imagination!)
How utterly boring! Grand-kids of 5 or so and 3 years old couldn’t care less about staid touristy photos, not really!
That’s when Nessie all but jumped out at me. I spied her, eyeing me off from amongst her siblings on a shelf in a tourist shop. (To this day I can see the inside of the shop, the till, the feel of it all. But not exactly where it was! Perhaps it was the shop at the Loch itself.)
When I spoke to Nessie, letting her know that she was going to send messages to my grandchildren, the lady behind the till smiled. I bought her, Nessie, I mean, completely clothed in green, soft, cuddly fabric with splashes of tartan and a tartan beret, and promptly asked her to please sit still wherever I placed her so that I could take photos and send them to two little children far, far away, in a strange land where no such monsters as her parents lived. In this land which I called Oz, there was no Emerald City shimmering with opportunities to find a way home, just heatwaves and endless desire to escape to the coolness and cold of wintry days of Scotland in November.
Nessie complied. She loved sharing views from the castles in Scotland. Especially after being rescued from the souvenir shelf. Life became a shared adventure for her as well as myself. I held her gently and tucked her onto window sills in castles, onto piles of pumpkins too big to hold outside shopping centers – it must have been Halloween; and onto the seats and bonnets of cars (naughty Nessie sitting on the bonnet!) that children ride on in shopping centers. Grandad got into the spirit of it all and helped Nessie back onto her car seat!
I sent texts home via Messenger, and the grand-kids loved them. Their mother later said it was like she and the children were on the holiday with me! How perfect was that, Nessie? You did such a great job!
So did the lady on one of the tour buses, whose own furry friend, a duck if I recall, (why a duck in Scotland? I don’t know!) accompanied her for the duration, for much the same reason. Grandparent’s sols resonate!
It was the cold that did it though. Nessie’s tartan scarf both enhanced and belied her origins. Her colorful beret was too bright in its red, white and black patterns. She could only ever be a soft toy. Not a baby Nessie, not at all.
Saying goodbye is always hard
Nessie was a little nervous when I placed her on the window sill of the huge pane of glass, looking out over Edinburgh Airport. She’d seen so much with us, and now she knew it was time to say goodbye to her homeland.
Glances from fellow travelers note the adult, talking to and reassuring a soft toy! Actually, I was recording a video message for my grand-kids to reassure them I was on my way home and that Nessie was heading home with us to her new home in Australia! I was sure the grand-kids would be concerned she’d be safe. After all, it was a long-haul flight across oceans, being carried in luggage, almost suffocating, (poor Nessie) and being bundled into a car, not once but twice: once to go home and the second time to visit – and as it turned out, stay - with the grandchildren. Saying goodbye to Nessie was touching. I was attached to my little Scottish monster.
Are there really Loch Ness monsters, Nanna? My 3-year-old grandson wasn’t sure. Of course, I said, here, right here, in my hand! And he smiled. As grandkids do, when they just know.
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Based on an exercise in Week I - For the Sorrow and the Joy - with Writing in the Dark with Jeannine Oullette.
With thanks to Maureen Helen for her encouragement to create a blog post from the original essayette, and for her heartfelt sharing of ideas, not just in writing, but in every facet of my journey in life. Blessings come in dear friends.
Lovely read, Eileen! I find the joy with which you travel through life inspiring. Thank you.
What a lovely piece of writing, Susan. I loved reading about your ‘cuddly travel buddy’ and her adventures. Using a toy to communicate with your young grandchildren is a very inventive idea. In your article, you make Nessie sound human, with her nervousness and discomfort at being bundled into luggage for the trip home. I could see the ‘wry smiles of amusement’ of your fellow travellers, and laughed out loud at your description of the stranger who observed you, presumably talking to Nessie when you were recording a message for your grandchildren.
I hope Jeannine Ouelette has seen this. I think she would be super impressed.
Thank you for the acknowledgement. It made me feel very humble.