Cornwall, Day 39 (to the Chemist)

I awoke to the sound of a news channel at low volume, and realized that the results must be in. Should I or should I not get up? Should I or should I not go in and find out what on earth had been happening overnight? It could have gone either way, but by bedtime last night the British newscasters were already saying 'Madam President', and so I figured that would be it. They must know. So I waited under my comfy duvet for a bit, and then jumped out and took the leap.



"What's the news?" I said, poking my head out into the living room and addressing my husband.

And he said the most remarkable thing. He said, "Trump's won it."

What? But - what? "No joke?" I pressed.

"No joke."

"Then I must go and see the Chemist!" For on October 28 I had had a discussion with the local Chemist about who would or would not win the American election. As I recall it, we had discussed the conundrum of having two people on the ballot that so many disliked. That it was going to be a tough one. That I would come back to him on November 9 and discuss the resulting mayhem. Remember?

So down to the Chemist's I went, and there he was, his back turned in earnest discussion with his boss.

"This lady wishes to speak with you, sir," said an assistant.

"Oh? Alright, I'll be right there." And then he turned, and saw me. The American lady.

He smiled. "And what did I tell you?" he said, approaching. "I said Trump would win it, and he did!"

It was true. He had been the only Brit to say it, and I'd been surprised. From somewhere behind the Chemist, his boss mournfully interjected.. "Well, God help America."

There was a small silence in response to this, and then I said what we've said for over two hundred years now. Through the ups and downs, through the wars that seemed endless at times, through all the changes and fears.

"Oh, I think we'll survive, sir." And we will. 

But we do, as always, need God's help. The boss was right about that.


See you along the way!
the SconeLady

today in St Ives