Where is Buffy?
Keeping up with a two year old is trying in the best of situations.
In our travels through Europe, I found out the meaning of the word panic. The first incident occurred in France. We had went to the train station, resting on our sleeping bags. I closed my eyes for just a moment. Buf was sleeping peacefully. I had not rested very long. Evans had went to get us a snack. I opened my eyes and she was gone. I looked all around. Evans came back and we began our search. I was sick to my stomach, and my head was spinning. All sorts of thoughts went flashing in my mind. What if a stranger had taken her? My baby! At about the time we had no hope, over the announcement speakers came, “We have a young American child, would the parents please come to the central office”.
It seems she had wandered off and made friends with a Frenchman that was on a ladder painting. He had given her a pastry.
In France puff pastry is called pâte feuilletée or feuilletage or mille feuille
Not seeing anyone with her he took her to the office.
We knew we had to be more careful. Buffy was such a good child. She was very friendly, we had instilled trust in her and with her inquisitive nature we knew the next time might not have a happy and joyous end.
In Tangier we had to let her down, and besides she was a sturdy little one. She would climb on the high walls in the medina, it would make my heart skip beats. She was fearless.
I remember another time she had been playing with a few children, laughing as they do.We were getting directions from someone and poof she had vanished! When you are in the medina, all the dwelling places look so cold and gray. We started knocking on doors. At one of these dwellings, they invited us in.
We went down a narrow corridor and like in the Wizard of Oz everything changed. There was a beautiful courtyard with fountains and the trellis was overflowing with Moroccan Roses and Jasmine.
The music was mellow and very middle Eastern.
There in the mist was my child.
We had found her once again.