(Cornwall Day 32) London

 Here I sit in a microscopic hotel room in London England, not terribly far from Heathrow. This has to be the smallest room ever. All of my relatives who stay here after a dream trip to Cornwall say the same thing. The smallest room EVER. But it isn't horrible, it's just mini.

I can think of nothing untoward about my preparations for departure from St Ives this morning. I was surprisingly organized and did not have to throw out huge amounts of perfectly good food that would otherwise have rotted. I'll bet there ARE huge amounts of perfectly good food rotting in plastic bags in the Biffa Bin Trucks down there - this very minute - because we ladies have left (It is hard to strike the right grocery purchasing balance).

When I arrived at the train station, I found that I had not been given a seat assignment. 

"Oh! No problem whatsoever, Madam," said the ticket collector, when I explained this. "There are plenty of available seats. No Problem whatsoever!" And I believed him.

At least, I believed him until he went on break just as a man came and took my seat from me. What!? All of this took time because someone had to be found who could lift my heavy bag from the overhead bin, then help me carry all my clobber to an empty seat. In the next car. 

I ended up with two very nice Australians (one whom had helped me with my suitcase) and a Brit, who were very funny but whom I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND.  I know they were funny, because the people around us kept laughing. They loved films, and fascinated me with the US movies they had seen and loved. They told me outrageous stories about how restrictive the Aussie government was about Covid. Aghast, I finally said, "But I thought Australia was a FREE country!" The Australians laughed.

The Aussies and the Brit all took my name down and said they would order my book ("The House by the Side of the Road") and read it. The Brit wondered if it was going to be a smash hit like a Lee Child book (the writer of the Jack Reacher novels). I hesitated and said, well maybe my book would fit better compared with something like a... Rosamunde Pilcher book. This started us on a Rosamunde tangent which lasted until the train announcer called out for "London!"

They all said they had never read a Rosumunde Pilcher book. WHAAAAT?!

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 31) Last Full Day

 Sunrise this morning

Because it is the last full day, a portion of it has been spent with Jean. When I first came into her life, she was as fit as a fiddle and needed no extra help. She, Eric, and Pennie called themselves "The Three Musketeers" and went places together. I was lucky to be a part of those times and places, and I think I almost became a fourth 'Musketeer'. 

Then something happened, and a foot turned the wrong way during the making of a nice hot cup of tea. A hip was broken (oh, sad day) and things spun downwards for a while. But not out of control! 

Some time during these events, Eric was diagnosed with Leukemia. It did eventually take him, and that first Musketeer is much missed. But Jean is made of stern stuff, and sits in her chair with her Bible, welcoming visitors ("Please excuse my dressing gown, haha"), sweetly thankful for the small bites the SconeLady brings up the hill (especially pork pies).

Her birthday is coming up, so I brought her gift and card and we sat in a circle eating muffins and drinking tea. When I got ready to go, her eyes looked the same way mine did. A little damp around the edges. We don't know what changes may come within a year, but have determined not to see that as a worry. Last year we didn't know either, and yet here she is and here I am. 

"Goodbye Jean!" I called, and walked outside to her big window, waving and waving. The dogs barked at a cat that wanted to get a bird, but we ignored all of that stuff and just - looked. Then I turned, and left.

Walking around to my favorite St Ives haunts took my attention for a while, and I saw Knill's Monument, Carbis Bay Hotel, Tesco's, Man's Head Rock (where Eric stood in 1943 when a German bomber destroyed the gas works), and the Tate Museum. I might even enjoy a Moomaid ice cream, today. Perhaps it will be dark chocolate sorbet. After all, it will be a while before I have another crack at this!

Tomorrow's departure will include a cab ride, a little train ride, a big train ride, then next day a Heathrow Express ride, and a plane ride, drawing ever closer to my own Musketeer, driving in circles at an airport, waiting for me.

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 30) Embarrassment of Riches

 

Being in a town filled with talent is just great. There is always something going on. Yesterday a friend said I should go see the Matt Carter Octet (an 'Octet' has guess how many people in it!) at the Western Hotel at 7:30, where you pay whatever you can, and just go on in. I figured it would be a sweet little local group that plays in basements, and did not have high expectations. 

I was the first to arrive, so I did what I always do - found the most perfect seat in the basement and put my feet up. Only it wasn't a basement! It was a decent staging area with tables, chairs, and the bar to order from and lean upon. THIS was where the people were clustering, and leaning. The bar maid was by herself and working her head off, but her customers were all very nice and gave her tips and teased her (I don't think people in St Ives worry too much about getting into trouble for teasing). The tables and chairs added up to about 75 potential listeners, and my perfect seating area was beginning to get crowded.

Finally there was a disturbance at the back, and eight young men walked onto the small stage, picking up their instruments and looking shyly out at us all. There was a baritone saxophone, an alto, and tenor sax (those three played in absolute tandem, with no mistakes or off-notes). Next to them was a trumpet (fabulous), and trombone (I could tell he had a leadership role because he made hand motions when it was time for somebody to do something). In the back was the drum and double bass, and to the far left sat Matt Carter at the piano. He not only plays, he writes much of the music they play. When you do that, you arrange each and every player's part, which means you must know their instrument. 

From the first note of the first song, we were all shocked. Soon every toe in that room was tapping, every face smiling, and every hand reaching into a pocket for cash to donate to this magnificent group. Matt introduced each tune, and the instrumentalist who would be the solo in it. He kept his eyes on that instrumentalist, nodding, smiling, encouraging as the thing went on and on. 

I could feel myself becoming a Groupie..

Then today my computer went bing! and a message came out that said, Organ Recital today at 1:00 pm. What! An embarrassment of riches! I had to get going because this was not something I wanted to waltz in late to. The St Ia Parish Church is awe inspiring, and an organ recital in it is every bit as awe inspiring. It would not be like a jazz Octet, of course, blasting out unbelievable tunes no one has ever heard before. But the organist was just as as talented. He is the organist at the Parish Church and had already made an impression on everyone who has walked through that door on a Sunday morning. 

It is time to turn a corner now, dear Readers, for my five weeks in St Ives is nearly done. I shall soon be in the arms of my sweet family. I can't wait to be in their audiences again, up close - their baseball games, ballet recitals, and choir performances. Nodding, smiling, and encouraging as darling life goes on...and on.

Grandma, the Groupie.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 29) Wild Church 2

Walking uphill to the Vicar's garden, a new feeling of resilience came over me, because - can you believe it? - I was not out of breath! Just a couple of years ago and I would have been positively gasping. (The secret is practice. You wouldn't have one without the other). So I almost skipped in through the garden wall and was met by a smile and someone calling me by name.

"How did you get here?" the lady with the pew sheet asked.

"I walked up."

"What? That's a long way, I'm sure we could arrange..."

But I said it was okay, that walking is all part of the fun of coming to Wild Church.

Approaching the tent, I knew right away that something terrific was going to happen, because I could hear the Vicar's wife and her friend rehearsing a song called "Power in my Slingshot". It tells the story of David vs Giant, and I already couldn't wait to hear it again.

After tea, and coffee, and cake-at-the-Shack, and as the little children stood together in the blue and white bus...there came the SONG. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ccq9Vbp8xYY

I was hopeless at the hand motions, but they very perfectly described the song's meaning. I wish you could see AND hear them doing it, but there was no decent way to video without being a rude American. But I highly recommend you hear it (click the link above).

After the message (Isaiah 40, "Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket" - the utter Hugeness of God -), there were 'explorer zones' for people to join, participate in and learn more deeply. As my little group introduced ourselves, I was surprised to all of a sudden hear a familiar accent.

"You're an American!" we both said.

"California?"

"Temecula!?"

30 minutes from my home! The western US accent in the midst of these Manchester, Norfolk, Cornish, and Devon folk was a lovely cacophony! 

Participating both in the 'high' church of that morning (choir robes and such), and the brisk joy of Wild Church, is terrific. It is one of the lovely silver linings behind the covid-related-lock-downs for the people of St Ives. They all know it, and speak to it. And they are thankful for it, which means being thankful for the covid-related-lock-downs. 

You wouldn't have one without the other.

See you along the Way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 28) Chorus of Angels

Today is Monday, so are you wondering what happened to the SconeLady on Sunday? 

This happened!

Once again under a clear blue sky, I stepped into the Parish Church. There was, seated in the vestibule and chatting, the Vicar. Again he greeted me saying, "Hello! In the choir again today?"

I certainly said yes I am, and the Vicar smiled and said we're glad you are. And after that I trailed along into the choir room.

There was a little pause and scramble before I could find robes (there are always two robes - red and white) because I think last week's weren't there. Eventually it was established that I could wear another size, which felt wedding-dress-sized ... with a train. But the ladies helped get me situated and properly clothed and, after a rehearsal, it was time to be blessed. The Vicar squeezed into the small choir room and prayed over us with thanksgiving. We stood a little straighter and held our heads a little higher as we followed the tall young man bearing the Cross in.

"Please turn to hymn number 148," the Vicar called, "omitting the starred verses." Then everybody turned to it, and the service began.

When people afterward asked how it felt to be in a Church of England choir, processing together behind the Vicar and the Cross, I almost answered, "It was so fun!" but stopped myself. It would sound silly, wouldn't it, saying that something like that, something solemn and meaningful, was 'fun'. 

But - that word was exactly how it did feel to be in a Church of England choir, etc. The swell of voices and organ together (oh that organist!), dog-Tess giving the tiniest little 'yip' as we passed, the sermon drawing attention to the utter Hugeness of God - all of it. Not so much 'amusing' or 'merry', as - blessed.

Having a father who insisted his children learned to read music, play multiple instruments, and be on a stage, opened doors for all of us. We joined church choirs, sang in worship bands, or recorded albums. Now we watch as children and grandchildren do the same sweet things, to the tune of a different generation.

Ah, lovely...in the year 2023, standing with a group of Englishmen and women singing their hearts out on something wonderful like "Holy Holy Holy", on a Trinity Sunday, in St Ives. Yes. Fun.

And next up? WILD CHURCH!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 27) The Estates - Part Two

Continued...

In order to give you peace of mind, here is what finally happened:

1 I called my cottage friend and set the new time for 2:00.

2 the train reached Penzance.

3 the same train left for St Erth.

4 the same train broke down.

5 it hobbled back to Penzance.

6 I got off it and took a bus to St Ives. 

All through this long list of events, I thought my husband would have to come from America and rescue me with a white straight jacket! This idea of a straight jacket scared me so much that I got another idea: I would do what any tech-savvy (but slightly ditzy) American should do: GOOGLE IT. 

"Is there a train non stop from Lelant to Penzance?"

In all the 13 years I have visited St Ives, I'm telling you there has NEVER BEEN A DIRECT TRAIN FROM LELANT TO PENZANCE. Maybe there really was a direct train, but I just didn't know it. It was clearly a rotten way to find out.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

P.S. The cottage was viewed and all four stories admired. I don't know yet whether we will become "second homers" (and perhaps not yet, because four flights of stairs is likely a sad idea). But it sure is fun to look. Even if our tour guide's day gets wrecked.

(Cornwall Day 27) The Estates - Part One

 

It is hard to feel very sorry for those who live in the 'estates', because - well, it looks almost heavenly.

Our favorite walking tour guide pointed out last week that the people of St Ives cannot afford to live in it. This is because of "second homers" who swoop in and buy up the fishermen's cottages to refurbish them - having watched the British version of 'Fixer Upper.' on the British version of HGTV. This drives up housing prices, and then the locals (and their children) cannot afford to buy them and have to live in the Estates.

I have stayed in these St Ives holiday lets and wished I could maybe buy one, but made the mistake of mentioning this to our walking tour guide. It wrecked his day. But did I realize it was a major no-no to confess something like that to a LOCAL? 

Then I saw a British friend yesterday on the wharf. 

"Have I told you yet that we are selling one of the properties?" she asked.

"What!" I almost screamed. "Where?"

"Mere yards from here!" I hopped a little hop. "But," she continued, "we can't show you it until noon. Come see it then."

This means I had time to walk to Lelant and observe the silent beauty of Rosamunde's house. To be sure I was on time, I went to the little rail station nearby. And who, dear Readers, do you supposed I saw sitting on the railway bench? The Corn Flakes man! The one who had held forth that they would all end up eating government Corn Flakes in the end.

"You again!" he said as I appeared. "St Ives train? You'll have to get on the upcoming St Erth train, stay on it, and it will bring you straight back to St Ives. No problem!" What a relief. I didn't want to miss seeing the cottage.

The man didn't talk about Corn Flakes, but he did say the government had imposed a hose pipe ban on everybody in the country because of a drought. In case you are an American and aren't sure of what a "hose pipe ban" is, well I had to ask. A hose pipe in England, is just a hose. A hose pipe ban means people can't water their lawns, flowers, or pots, and cannot wash their cars (These restrictions don't apply to farmers, so they can carry on watering). The hose pipe ban really bugs this man, who said he was "cheesed off" about it.

But the really strange thing about this (long, and getting longer) story, is what happened next.

The St Erth train arrived, picked me up, and would take only 5 minutes to get to St Erth. I stepped into the train restroom. When I came out, it felt like we were going awfully fast for the little train to St Erth. We kept not slowing, and not stopping. What!?

After a while I looked out the window, and saw - ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT! What!?

I couldn't be at St Michael's Mount. Honestly, people, this was a crisis - not so much that I would miss a cottage, but that I must be missing my brain. How had I managed to reach St Erth, gotten off that train and onto the Penzance train (and not remember it), in the time it took to go to the bathroom?

I had to be in the Twilight Zone.

To Be Continued....

(Cornwall Day 26) Sunset in St Ives

June 1, 2023

Someone said, last week, that there are no sunsets in St Ives. I felt this could not be quite right, but was willing to consider all sides. Decades ago while living in New Zealand, someone told my American friend and I that, although the sun rises in the east and sets in the west in America, it does the exact opposite in New Zealand. We had felt this could not be quite right, but fell for it all the same. Thus becoming American laughing stocks.

So of course I knew there are sunsets in St Ives, it's just a matter of finding them. Which is simple. Half an hour before sunset time, I walked westerly until I came to the surfing beach. And there the sunset was, in all its glory.

And not only the sunset. There were hundreds of people standing, sitting, laying around on the grass, waiting for it to set. They were hushed. Their children were hushed too, as if something magical was about to happen. The Rather Stunning Son called just then, and (in hushed voices) we talked and I sent him photos of the great sinking orb out there, hovering above the waters. Magical.

St Ives is also exquisite when it comes to sunRISES - only you have to get up really early right now in order to see one. In fact, I have not seen one sunrise this trip. Which is strange, because I am an early riser. 

This sunrise photo was taken on October 6, 2021, at 7:57 a.m. Tomorrow's sunrise will take place at 5:15 a.m., so you see it is a disadvantage to travel to St Ives in the month of June, if you want to see a sunrise. 

When that magical thing happens, it reminds us that sunrises and sunsets happen every day, even when we don't see them. We know they are there, but maybe sometimes hidden. 

There is actually a better word for all this stuff, you know. All of the intricate, fabulous, phenomenal, surprising, revelatory stuff that is here - for you. Even when you don't see it:

Miraculous.

("The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the skies proclaim the work of his hands." Psalm 19:1)

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 25) Along The Way To Land's End

  Land's End

It is almost the end of Half Term. Yay. I want my streets back.

It's been fun, though, seeing so many children enjoying St Ives. I think I might miss them. It isn't their fault that their numbers have overwhelmed one of the grownups. 

Most of the babies I have seen have either been asleep in a pram with a binky in their mouths, or asleep in the arms of their young fathers because mummy is exhausted and still in bed. Very few of the babies have screamed.

The young school children have been fun, too. They have gotten redder as the days pass, and some of them are beginning to peel. I wonder if sun screen has been in their mother's needful bags? because just about the whole family is red. I mean, these people were red the FIRST DAY they came. No working up to it gradually. The backs of necks are particularly uncomfortable looking.

The middle school kids on vacation have been a blast to watch. I see them as I sit on an open top bus, watching the passengers board. Today on the way to Land's End I saw a tousle-headed boy of about 9 appear up through the bus stairwell (a little bit self conscious), and look for a seat. He was followed by a second boy, maybe 11 and also tousle-headed, coming up through the well after which a third, 13, appeared, and a fourth important looking kid of about 16, who looked responsible. Behind them, a haggard looking mother and father climbed wearily up. 

I had no end of a good time hearing their jokes, laughter, and all around good time. It gave me a positive feeling about the youth of Britain.

So tomorrow is changeover day, through which I hope to pass without losing anything. Last year there were the Apple Ear Pods which were left in the bed because I'd been listening to a Rosamunde Pilcher book, and forgot about the Ear Pods. The Pods were white and the sheets were white, which meant I didn't see them and the housekeeping people didn't either. 

Two weeks ago I left two plastic containers of the best chewing gum in the world ("Ice Cubes"), in a drawer. It was almost worse than the Ear Pods! This best gum in the world does not exist in the UK, and therefore the loss was distressing. There seem to be no lost-and-founds in the travel world.

My changeover day will be spent with Cornish friends, well away from the bustle of people down here packing up and leaving. By around 4:00, I should find out if I've finally got my streets back. I hope so, but... I still might miss those kids.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady