Would Mr Darcy Approve of Me?

My sister reminded me that in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennett was quite the walker. She lived in beauty, and wanted to be out of doors. Although there were times she read a book or talked with her sister about the two horseback-riding wealthy gentlemen, the English countryside would forever call out to her like a magnet.

But there was mud in that countryside, sometimes; and manure all the time, and water of a variety of types. You can see it in the series. 

In a recent blog post I included a photo that showed my own wet jeans - and socks. and shoes! To this, my sister replied, "I love your blog about St Michael's Mount! The bottoms of your pant legs are wet for 6-8 inches! It reminds me of when Elizabeth Bennett walked over to Netherfield to see her sister who was sick. Bingley's mean sister commented to Mr Darcy that Elizabeth's petticoats 'were 6 inches deep in mud!'"

                                                        

6 inches of mud

Bingley's mean sister would certainly NEVER go walking in mud. Bingley's mean sister liked Mr Darcy, and thought that if she brought Elizabeth's mud to Darcy's attention, Darcy would lose his interest in Elizabeth, and like her.

As you all know the denouement of the story, I don't need to tell you that having muddy skirts never hurt anybody's love story. My own jeans are in the washing machine right this very minute. This is because we walked St Michael's Way again today, and I know that Elizabeth Bennett would approve of me. 

And yes, I think Mr Darcy would too. Do you?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The mud in this English countryside 

 

The Land of Austen and Lewis

                                        

RF-4

 I don't know if soaking one's feet is a viable treatment for what we now call 'corns'. But since there is plenty of water on tap here in our cottage, and warm water feels good anyway, I shall soak them.

While I soak, I am thinking of how terrific it is to have married someone who is perfectly happy to go to and be at the places I like to go to and be at. It has been like this for a long time, starting with joining the Air Force and being given assignments in foreign lands. I hoped the foreign lands would be lands where they spoke English and shared similar cultural habits (a.k.a. England). And then when our first assignment was to a base in England, I couldn't believe it. It seemed miraculous. The land of Jane Austen and CS Lewis would be mine!

There was Oxford, and tea with crumpets, and driving on the wrong side of the roads, and Her Majesty the Queen, not to mention the excitement over Prince Charles and Lady Di, followed by Prince William. 

Because of that assignment, and then the next one (also England), our children have made friends here and kept them. Our mothers have come; our siblings have come; our friends have come; and we ourselves have been coming back, and will keep coming for as long as time allows.

And it's all because I married someone who is perfectly happy to go to and be at the places I like to go to and be at. Starting with joining the Air Force.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

It Takes Forever for the Sun to Come Up Around Here

 I spent ages last night thinking up how to explain to you about the new coat I just bought, but then tossed the blog post out for lack of inspiration. Instead, I will just tell you I bought a new coat. And the color of it is cream, although it looks a strange color of pink when I wear it on a sandy beach. And the coat is actually two coats! The shop assistant explained to us that having two coats in one is the best, because the wind will bite straight through lame, normal jackets (such as the one I had worn into the store) and said I would notice the difference right away.

It is after 6:00am here in Cornwall, and I just can't wait for the sun to come up so that I can try out my new coat. It is raining properly now. I can hear it, and the winds, banging away out there as if they would like to get at me. But with my two new coats in one, plus the outer boots my husband bought for us, and the variety of other layering, and the hood, I should be as snug as a bug in a rug. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

British? or American

It's interesting to sit in the waiting room of a foreign country, watching as they take care of you and the people around you. I suppose because American citizens used to be British citizens, the process of care is not all that different. (We learned it from them). 

I have been inside the waiting rooms and hospitals of several British cities, starting with delivering a baby in a British labor and delivery ward. It was 1983, and not only did I give birth there, I got to spend the previous nine months being examined and cared for by an outstanding obstetrician . They called him Mr. Milton.

They use 'Mr', and not 'Doctor' because... well, I can't exactly remember why they used 'Mr' and not 'Doctor'. I only know it is the title they gave their highest skilled physicians. And how did I get to have a baby on the British economy, you ask? I got to because at that time women in the military (I was a military dependent) could choose to have their baby either in the base hospital, or in a British hospital.

Of course I chose British! I was pretty sure it would be lovely, start to finish. And it was. I mean, it isn't comfortable giving birth. It is hard. But if it must be done, you might as well do it while surrounded by Sisters (nurses) who give you confidence and answer your questions and joke with you gently as that child makes his way into the world. And then after it is over, they give you cup after cup of the most delicious British tea, and (you won't believe this) CINNAMON ROLLS WHENEVER YOU WANT ONE!

                                     

The SconeLady with mother-in-law, sweet little daughter, and British-birthed baby

Cinnamon rolls were a new experience for me in a British setting. They were great! Warm, and accompanied by butter and either coffee or tea, whichever the young mother wanted. I could get used to this.

And then because I had a C-section, my son and I stayed in the hospital for 11 days! Eating rolls, drinking tea, and having what seems to be 6 meals per day! Breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper. Really!

Today as I waited my turn in a British surgery (doctor's office), I thought back to those halcyon days of being waited on hand and foot, living the life of Riley. The nurse who saw me this morning had that same look of excellence in her eyes, where you get the feeling you are in the hands of an expert. I wished I had the time to tell her about the 6 meals a day I ate, and all the cinnamon rolls I, and the other new mothers in the ward, had enjoyed. I'm sure none of us ever forgot it. 

Wouldn't it be fun to meet some of those moms from that year of 1983? Oh, the stories we could tell!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Postponed

 Scenes from Cornwall

Can you believe this? My blond cousin was going to be in St Ives for a week, starting tomorrow! She is an inveterate planner, and her itinerary is/was a thing of rare beauty. She brings fun with her wherever she goes, and we had our own lists of things she would do with us. Places to go, lovely people to meet, and scrumptious food to eat. St Ives wouldn't know what had hit it! And jet lag? there would be no time for that!

 But then all of a sudden my cousin became ill, and is not, after all, going to fly across the Pond and take a train to St Ives. The poor thing. Poor us!

Standing ready for her is our cuter-than-ever cottage with two bedrooms, 1 1/2 bathrooms, and three narrow stories high (a bit iffy, I admit). Hers would be the guest room at the tippy top that has two twin beds and a view out over the rooftops toward the sea.

The cottage used to be a Fishermans abode, where they used the basement (now a kitchen) as a fish-press and smelly fish storage space. But as all the Fishermans cottages back in the day had the same exact smelly basement, almost no one noticed. 

The front door opens into a darling kitchen where we have had some smashing dinners and cups of tea. It has a scrubbed pine table and tiny refrigerator - but as every cottage in town has a tiny refrigerator, almost no one notices!

There is a shower room just off the kitchen and front door.

From the kitchen, you ascend the first set of zigzag narrow stairs, and come to the living and sitting rooms. This is the spot where we spend our comfy evenings, always accompanied by strawberries and cream while watching some sort of British show or other. Last night we ended up watched the final Mission Impossible starring Tom Cruise, who accomplished all sorts of impossible stunt things, on and on, until I thought he would somehow perish right in front of our eyes. But he didn't.

From the comfy living and sitting rooms, you ascend the next set of zigzag stairs to the tippy top where the two bedrooms sit. The main bedroom is super pretty with a Queen bed and iron bedstead. And the view of the sea is stunning in there. 

There is also a half bath on that floor between the bedrooms, just in case it is needed in the middle of the night,

So our plans may have changed, and the guest room remains empty, we refuse to utterly abandon these plans. We shall think of them instead as being temporarily Postponed. And then St Ives won't know what has hit it.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

New and Improved Sea Gulls

The SconeLady's husband has expressed a change of opinion toward the sea gulls in St Ives. He has said that the sea gulls in St Ives are his friends, that the sea gulls in St Ives no longer dive bomb, and that the sea gulls in St Ives are basically 'chill'. 

I begged to differ.

But even I had begun to think kinder thoughts about the creatures, this trip. They seemed to have become new and improved versions of their former evil selves, and I thought perhaps they had repented.

We bought chicken sandwiches today for lunch, and I was headed toward a covered beach bench to consume them. But my husband carried his toward the uncovered Wharf benches to eat. I balked.

"You want to eat on the benches?"

"Sure! Why not? The sea gulls are my friends." And he sat down to unwrap that darling gem of a chicken sandwich on white bread, with salad, mayo, and sweet chili sauce. The best sandwich in town.

I took a couple of pictures and a video or two as a bold sea gull eyed my husband. It stood stock still on the Wharf, concentrating on the eating man. When it hopped and flew up to settle on the rubbish bin, just feet from the sandwich, another tourist began filming as my husband ate. Nothing horrible happened until I stopped filming. Then suddenly - WHAM!!! It struck.

General consternation exploded around us. That cheeky bird carried its bootie from my husband's hand, screeching at the surrounding sea gull posse who wanted bites. And the videotaping man? He was nowhere to be seen. Too bad! I would have liked to make his acquaintance.

Many men would utterly abandon the lowly sea gulls of St Ives after such rude behavior. But this man probably won't. This man, once a friend, is always a friend.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Twists and Shouts

 

(I cut my twist in two)

The very first photo taken by me this morning was that of a chocolate twist, which I ate just seconds after taking this picture. As you can see, this delectable item isn't recognizably a 'twist', but has all the ingredients of one. The Norway Store got tired of having their chocolate twists fall apart in front of the customers, when staff members tried to place them into a bag. Apparently the twist/s were quite fragile. 

I never minded if they fall apart. And in fact, I never noticed it. The twistly aroma coming out of that bag drive me and the other customers so mad that it doesn't really matter what shape they are in. 

Customers in-the-know have figured out another angle to the morning ritual. You have to be on your toes when it's time to make a trip to the Norway Store. There are a limited number of chocolate twists in the basket on their counter, and when they are gone, they are gone. It is hard to walk into the shop and suddenly sense that something is missing. 

The last TWIST!

But I am sure you will rejoice with me when I say that I solved that dilemma. We moved into the cottage right next door to the Norway Store! Wasn't that clever? I now only have to take a few steps, and there I am at the secret opening.

What secret opening, you say? Well a few years ago I discovered a secret opening between the outside alleyway and the oven where the twists are baked. The opening allows customers to smell the twists as they bake! I stand by the opening every morning, just taking it in. It's almost as good as eating one.

Other food items from today are a Traditional Cornish Pasty, heated up and cut in half for us to eat as we walk the Coffin Trail today. The man at the Yellow Canary Cafe get excited about our plan to take one of his pasties along, so he did a good job of getting it heated just enough for it to stay warm in its foil package.

One of about a billion stiles we climbed on the Coffin Trail

The next food item of note was a visit to the Moomaid Ice Cream place next to the Guildhall. I always order a Dark Chocolate Sorbet, but today, for the first time EVER, they were out. So we ordered a Belgian Chocolate instead.

The next food item was our salmon dinner. We have searched high and low for fresh salmon in the shops down the Wharf, but no one had any, not even Matthew Stevens Fish. Then the other day I discovered salmon in the Co op, which is a shocking discovery. Who ever heard of finding fresh salmon in the lowly glass cases of a Co op? They have definitely come up in this world.

We did have another food item, Readers mine. The last one. Sliced up strawberries dusted with sugar and smothered in whipped cream. As I presented the berries to my husband, he ran out of words to express the goodness of all these food items. After I finish this post, we shall watch some British show or other, and then - shall I come up with any further food items? I sort of think enough is enough, although I could easily come up with some. (Maybe white cheddar cheese on a platter with some green grapes?)....

The cottage where a wealthy musician lives and records, along the Coffin Trail

The Pier House, just sitting there waiting to be sold

See you along the way!

the SconeLady