Sunday, March 1, 2015

Cornwall, Day 9 (Happiness is: a Friend in Cornwall)

Shall we meet at The Sloop?

I sat in a drizzle just feet from the sea, with the ever present gulls circling above. At any moment I would see a black Mercedes convertible (the top up!), within which would shine the smiling face of friend Rosie, and her Ted. Another St Ives reunion!

Only it wasn't meant to be raining. It was meant (in my scheming mind) to be lovely, and blue, and rainless with perhaps just a breath of wind. I would welcome them with flowing blond hair, wave graciously and dash to open the car door. Instead I huddled beneath a purple umbrella, hair damp and unforgiving.
The Sloop Inn, St Ives Cornwall, Oct 2014 
But through the rain there came the Mercedes, with Ted responsibly driving down the tiny harbor lane covered in cobbles. As soon as I saw them, all plans of perfection disappeared, for they would neither notice nor care about hair. True friends see MORE! not less.

I climbed into the car with them, shaking the umbrella and offering directions. After a flurry of signaling, and turning, and then finding the car park, I turned around to look at Rosie and grasp her hand. We both smiled. A sight for sore eyes!

We got them parked and began to step down the hill toward our cottage by the sea. Each of us carried the most amazing food! Casseroles, and fresh bread with wines, and 'tasties' - which were sliced Italian deli meats and enticing packages of cheeses to die for. With Ted, only the best cheeses make the trek to St Ives from that land of Norfolk.

It was obviously going to be a lovely week.

And anyway, neither of them cared about the rain. The British expect it. Only the Americans hear that it is coming and then are disappointed when it does! But then just this morning, we were awakened to a bright and blue sky after all. The first of many long walks revealed the magnificence of Cornwelian cliffs, and as we wandered along them we watched the surfers gathering in force. 

Wave after wave astounded, as these fearless men and women climbed atop them. And a lone paddle boarder, very tall and rather regal, threaded his way among them doing his amazing thing. It was like an orchestra, never a clash and many a thrill. We were wind blown when we returned, but wonderfully exhilarated by it all. I was fiddling with my tangled pile of tech cables when I heard Rosie say,

"Right. Now who is feeling like a hot drink? I'll just put the kettle on, and we'll all have tea!"

But from his perch at the end of the couch could be heard Ted's clear, Irish voice: "Tea? Not here - I'm going for a pint."

And promptly disappeared, making his way to the ever waiting, ever welcoming Sloop.

It was a perfect day.

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

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