Other Things I See

This is the only cat of St Ives I have seen this trip. It was sweet, and just like Opal back at home. (I wonder if this one stands at its owner's big window and yowls until the owner finally comes out looking cross?) Apparently both this cat and Opal live for one thing, and one thing only: being fed. There are two cats living with the Rather Stunning Son back home, who also live to Eat. They are called Two Scoops and Ruprecht. This black cat of St Ives has kept her trim figure, but Ruprecht has taken "Eat" to a whole new level. 

This is the last full day in this, the second cottage this trip. We learned that the Queen came to St Ives some years ago and held onto these hand rails as she walked along. She must have had to be very careful walking on the cobblestones of St Ives. It would be terrible if anything untoward happened to her Majesty.

I like hearing about the Queen, and indeed I miss the Queen, now. During her year of Jubilee in 2022, I was here when she celebrated her 70 years as the first Monarch to reach this milestone. People were happy about this accomplishment, and had many celebrations to honor her. 

I was also here during the time of the King's coronation, which was a bittersweet day; you had to lose one person in order to gain the other. 

Secretively, and personally, I switched one of the words of the National Anthem, during the St Ives' celebration. (I whispered, "God Save The Queen" instead of you know who).

If I ever could I would want to live in this house, one of Rosamunde Pilcher's homes. In her book  Coming Home, it was called "Riverview", and Rosamunde described it so precisely that you would have to be blind as a bat not to notice it was Riverview. That's the thing about her; she makes you want to live in all her book houses.

 Every day I climb up to the tippy top of St Ives so that I might see everything. The hills are amazing, and steep, but I don't care. I am used to it! The air is crisp and sweet, up there. 

When I have achieved the tippy top, I come to the ponies. The ponies are always waiting for me and are the most adorable creatures with locks of hair that hang down between their eyes. Maybe they are nice to me because they think I have a treat in my pocket. I never bring any carrots or sugar cubes to them, though,  for that would be against the unspoken Rules.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Organ Has Pipes

 They call it the 1907 Hele Organ, and you would never believe it is over 100 years old. We might expect an organ that old to wheeze, or at least to cough or something. But it does not do that. It just soars.

The people who play this organ have been brought up studying it, practicing it, performing on it, and loving it. One might say they eat and drink it, for such is the food of souls. Today we had an organ recital at St Ia Church, and the Hele Organ was truly in its element. 

The performing organist today was one Martin Palmer, of Truro. Martin studied the organ, cello, composition and conducting at London's Royal Academy of Music (it doesn't get any better than that!), while singing with the London Philharmonic Choir. Imagine being able to immerse yourself that deeply into music! I have mentioned on this page before that I was brought up in church choirs and playing organs, but nothing like the riches of the London experiences Martin had.

The 1907 Hele Organ

I must mention our father, who was a wonderful singer himself and provided lessons in piano, organ, saxophone, flute, French Horn, trumpet, and so on. And he expected us to practice. We did. I think it drove him a little bit crazy listening to us playing our instruments in the other room. He had perfect pitch, and knew what something was supposed to sound like!

"No! It's a B-flat!" he would shout in our general direction. 

I recall that as a 7th grader, the band director at school, Mr. Crandall, placed me in the high school band. I played French Horn, and was taking lessons from a professional Horn player who had only one arm. She and I worked on the music Mr. Crandall gave us, and one day it was time for me to do the solo that was the centerpiece of the song. 

None of the students knew what we had been working on. I was pretty scared, as the band approached that place in the song. And then it was time, and I played it. Heads turned. Mouths dropped open. The two most popular girls in the school turned around and stared. Nobody could believe that solo was being played by a 7th grader! Mr Crandall kept directing me and together we, with the whole band, were in the middle of something bigger than ourselves.

I tell you that little vignette because it is my one example of significance a tiny bit similar to Martin Palmer. (I liked the mouths dropping open part..)

Oh - and here is a little something about Martin Palmer that I think is terrific. This morning he woke up and saw it wasn't raining or windy, so he got out his bicycle and rode it to the recital, stopping along the way in Portreath to gaze at St Ives 16 miles away! Just then, a storm broke through and he was drenched! 

But he made it to the organ recital, and played his heart out. 

It is summer season in Cornwall right now. Sometimes you will be walking down the street and hear something beautiful floating out in your direction. If you hear it, go in. Go hear what these people have been working on with you in mind. It's all part of St Ives in the summer.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Them Mousehole Men

The church in Paul

 I was beginning to think the chapter in my traveling life entitled "Mousehole Male Voice Choir" was about to close. This felt sad because I like them so much. They are altogether a different kettle of fish than your church type of choir. First, they come to rehearsal with a Cornishman's full head of silver hair. How they achieve this I may never know (do you know?), but it is noticeable to the people who are lucky enough to be in the same room with them. It's a real Wow factor, as Simon Cowell would say.

Their voices range from deep bass to high soprano, and under the direction of Steven, they are guaranteed to give listeners the chills. But the Mousehole men themselves do not call attention to it. They just sing, and then laugh in between songs. They don't seem to have a noticeable 'ego' factor. It's sweet.

Over the years I have been given lifts to MMVC rehearsals faithfully by the Mousehole men. These rides were as good as the practices themselves. You get to catch up on the various members, and these catch-up sessions are great fun. Pure laughter to the church in Paul, and then back again. 

(I have tried to include a video of the men singing, but this is proving not to work for me right now. I'll keep working on that tomorrow!)

But lately, due to their health issues and family needs, I was not finding myself heading up the hill to Paul. Until now! Now, I am excited to announce that tonight I get to ride up that hill once again. I won't forget my blanket because the church in Paul is a COLD place, and once you get cold, it's hard getting un-cold. There will be other folks there to listen as well, some whom I will recognize from years past. I hope I get to see the elder gentleman who takes a bus from central Cornwall (25 miles) which has a very complicated set of stops and bus changes. He has to leave the rehearsal before it is over because he must catch the last bus. He doesn't care, though, because getting to hear the choir is worth any struggle.

It will be terrific climbing back in the car of the kind man who is happy to pick me up, and will never let me pay for petrol. I always hand it over and he always politely declines. Sweet!

I promise to take pictures for you, and pick up as much 'news' as I can. Not gossipy news, though, because they aren't like that. They are a family, and share like families do. 

But mostly, I am eager to hear the opening chord of the first song of the evening. I don't know what song it will be, but I can guarantee that there will be goose bumps.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Robes and Incense

 

I love that I get to sing in a church choir 5,500 miles from our home. Having grown up in a Baptist church and been in their choirs down the years, there isn't a lot I don't know about Baptists. But there is a ton of stuff I don't know when it comes to high church Anglican.

And I wanted to do it right, and not make obvious mistakes everyone around me will hear. So at the Tuesday night choir practice, the choir Master and his wife gave me the books and music you see here on my table. Just LOOK at the numbers of things I would need to learn! I carried it all back to my cottage, and gave myself a massive tutorial I hoped would do the trick.

The choir typically has a prelude, three hymns (sung by the congregation and the choir), and an anthem. Sometimes more, sometimes less. So those were my tutorial topics, and I rehearsed every day until the music and the words started taking shape in my mind, and heart. 

This morning the only way I could get those heavy books to the church was to put them in my travel roller bag, and pull it up the cobbled hill to the church. As I came in the front door an hour early (as a singer for many years, I had the habit of arriving hideously early :-), I saw another roller bag going down the aisle too. I felt right at home!

Our choir Master and his wife were out of town, so there was a substitute organist. He was terrific, sounding a lot like the organist in The Sound of Music, as the nuns sang "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"

Someone whispered, "He isn't wearing any shoes!" which made us all discreetly look, confirming that indeed he played the organ shoeless. 

It was a wonderful morning for so many reasons. I didn't make mistakes everyone around me could hear. The soprano voices soared in exactly the right places, making us all grin from ear to ear. The Processional made us all jump because we were sitting right next to the huge organ, and that opening chord was a real doozy. 

Standing with all the other choir members, listening to the sermon, noticing the congregants singing their hearts out too, all of this made the practicing and praying worth it all. What a lucky girl I am!

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Some Of The Things I See

Sometimes I stare out the lovely window and watch the Luggers chasing each other, while eating a chicken sandwich with mayo on it and a pile of vegetables.

When during the first week it did not rain, I was able to stare for ages at the "Island", and remember why it is that I keep coming back.

Every day I munch on delicious pastries without worrying about calories, because people who walk long distances don't believe in them. 

Most mornings I walk up to Carbis Bay where friends instantly put the kettle on so we can all have tea.

No matter where I go, the scenery is always breathtaking and never boring.

Sometimes I sit at my window eating a Cinnamon Bun like the ones in Oxford and London. My most fun thing to look at is the church where I will sing in the choir tomorrow.

People in Truro near the Cathedral took the time and money this year to fix up a block of flats that had seen better days. 

The reason I was in Truro today is that I needed to get makeup. Why did I run out of makeup so quickly as to need a makeup store after only one week? The truth is that I had put it off until we were inside the Cybertruck heading to the airport!

So I boarded the train today and enjoyed the rain-less ride to the cathedral city. The makeup store lady was quite exquisite when it came to finding what I needed. I needed quite a lot, and could just about see my husband at home watching his laptop as I made my purchases. Ka-ching! went the lap top. 

"Do you need anything else, Madam?" asked the makeup lady.

"Yes," I said, and then ka-ching! went the laptop again. I shall draw a veil over the next hour. (because did I mention needing shoes?)

When it became time to get back on the train, the conductor's voice rang out over the Station. He was dreadfully sorry that a tree had fallen onto the tracks, and we would not be going home any time soon. The announcer said that they 'might reimburse the passengers'. I had heard this before after sitting for hours on a dead train, and saw not one penny of reimbursing. 

The announcer said we could 'go down to the basement' to learn how to apply.

Not really wanting to see the basement, we sat around the railway station, wondering what would become of us. Doesn't it take a long time to move a tree? 

Eventually another announcement was made that caused the passengers to make a dash for the Penzance train. But I had dozed off! I very nearly missed the train! I would have missed it had not some kindly person shaken me gently by the shoulder and said, "Ah, Madam?" 

He said it in that kind, British, civilized BBC male voice, the type that makes you want instantly put the kettle on. 

"Your train, Madam," he said, and disappeared.

How come Americans never say "Ah, Madam" like that?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

My Lucky Day

When I walked into the care home this afternoon, I saw things from a different perspective. The faces were different because this was now the evening shift. Jean was being encouraged to move toward the dining room, but her tummy wasn't hungry just at the minute. Then she saw me.

"Oh, I knew you would come back!" she exclaimed. "I don't know who you are but I told them they can't do anything until you get back!" Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, even though we are barely into the month of June.

"What's for dinner?" I asked. But tonight's dinner was being kept a secret, and the secret added a sparkle to their eyes.

As they moved along, I saw someone in the crowd I did not know but who looked familiar. He was staring my way. A dinner lady said his name (it was Chris) and asked if he wanted a "Jacket Potato" and "beans", thus revealing the secret. Chris wanted both.

"Is your name Chris?" I asked.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"So is mine." But just then someone climbed on top of the tea trolly, distracting everyone else from their jacket potato. When things calmed down, I noticed Chris was watching me again from his place at the table. He said, "You are so kind to everyone around you."

This surprised me because he had been quiet up til then. He continued. "You are a star, and always have been one. When you talk, it makes everyone happy." He took a bite of his potato.

A star?! This couldn't be, because a star wouldn't have their hair sticking out all over, and frizzed. A star's makeup would not have been obliterated by the rain! When he smiled again, I realized who he reminded me of - someone I had gone through school with. I remembered his gift of giving compliments in a timely manner.

It became time for me to go back to St Ives in the rain. As I turned at the door to say goodbye to Jean, I saw that Chris' arm was elevated in my direction, and although he said no words, his face said it al.

I calculated that Chris is just about my own age. I will not know if he can ever mend, and I certainly pray so. There is something untouchable in there. A Star quality, the kind he wanted to bestow toward me. I've never been complimented better.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Why

Since this is my last day in the cottage-with-a-stair lift, I made a little video of it for your viewing pleasure. My husband had begun to wonder about it (we had never in 15 years seen so much as a single stair lift), and we had an overseas Q&A session about it last night.

"What does it look like?" he asked.

"It looks like a chair sitting on a stair.. and it's sort of yellow, with two arm rests and foot rests and room for your knees to stick out."

"Ok, but - who is it for?"

"This week it's for me. I guess."

"But why do you need it? You're perfectly ambulatory!" 

"I thought the cottage had 4 floors in it, and that sounded like a lot of floors."

"Four! How many does it actually have?"

"One.." 

Silence.

He sat there in California with the phone to his ear, wondering (not for the first time) how many blondes it takes to change a light bulb. 

See you along the way!

The SconeLady