British Invasion

I'm sitting here on the couch trying to write this, only I keep getting distracted by the flies. For there are flies hovering in here! I've never had flies in a St Ives cottage. When I called the owner (St Ives cottage owners are wonderful and will drop whatever they are doing to dash over), he was extremely polite but not sure of what could be done with flies. He wanted to know what the Americans would do.

"What would the Americans do?" he asked.

"Well, I think we would get out a can of RAID and spray the little wretches."

"Ok, that is what we would do too," he said. "Didn't it work?"

"No, they are still hale and hearty."

Next, I said what my husband had suggested on the phone when I complained. He thought fly paper might do the trick. The owner had never heard of fly paper, but said the Colesco story down the street would carry it if anyone did.

The owner also suggested using a fan to chase the flies out of the window. Right now I am looking at the fan blowing a gale toward the hovering flies. They don't seem in a hurry to shift, but anything is worth a try.

This was my final suggestion. "We grab a kitchen towel and wait for a fly to land somewhere. Then we smash the brute to smithereens." I said.

Then we ran out of fly suggestions, but the cottage owner is sure that one will do the trick. For some reason I'm not terribly sure. What do you think? Have you had pesky flies in your domicile, and did they win? 

My strategy today was to go for a long walk in the fresh air (Raid doesn't smell too good). The first stop was to see friend Jean in Carbis Bay. She isn't in her little bungalow anymore, but has been placed into a care center. I think it is a very good place for her, and will be a helpful protection from falls. 

Plus, she is being entertained mightily, there! Besides a large flat screen TV in the common area, there is often something exciting going on, someone getting medication, or someone not wanting their dinner. The ladies who work there are SMART. If a resident would prefer not to do something, those ladies somehow talk them around with a combination of encouragement and humor. 

When I walked in to see her, she smiled and called, "I KNOW her! She's an AMERICAN!" The residents snapped their heads around to stare at me, as apparently Americans are rarely seen visiting British care homes these days.

All of a sudden I felt Jean patting my arm.

"Yes, Jean?" I asked. She pointed to the television. "He's an American TOO!" 

Elvis Presley beamed out at us from the screen just feet from where we sat. All the heads snapped back as we stared at the screen, amazed at Elvis' young good looks and terrific voice. My oh my, it perked up everybody in the room, just like it used to when I had watched him decades ago, singing about being nothing but a hound dog, Cryin all the time.

I suddenly remembered hearing way back when, how Elvis lost much of his fame because of the 'British Invasion'. He'd been as famous as can be and rolling in the dough, when along came 4 young men called The Beatles.

Elvis' fame evaporated, chased away and out the window of fame, just like those flies. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Coming into St Ives on Friday

 

What If We Don't Want St Ives To Change?

Since today is a Sunday, all sorts of fun things began to happen. To start with, Tessa (the choir president's dog) was at church. She sat at the front of the Nave, loosely tied there while eyeing her drink of water. Since churchly things must be done neatly and in order, Tessa had long since learned to wait until the church had finished with Communion. There was a time for everything. Even a drink of water.

 The Organist's wife was at the church too, of course, and told me                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        that her grandson is 18 now, and about to start college in piano performance. Our choir Master was the boy's piano teacher his whole life, and he is following right along with his grandfather. Isn't it splendid when grandchildren take after their grandparents and become wonderfully successful young pianists? 

She showed me a photo of the two grandparents with their grandson, standing together at a performance and smiling to beat the band!

(I know about this first hand because I know one! Yes, dear Readers, I know a splendid young pianist whose grandmother - my sister - taught him to play. And Oooh, he is good.)

Now, something else significant happened today but I don't know if it is because today was a Sunday. I was walking as I always do the first days of my visits, past the lovely place that used to be called The Digey. The Digey is, or was, everybody's favorite place in St Ives. This was because The Digey baked the very best scones ever. Then they closed and it was replaced by Source Kitchen (did not like), and now today I have seen with my own eyes yet another replacement. It's now called "Brunch Matcha Coffee". So now all of you who have visited St Ives and ate at The Digey know as much as I do about it.

The Digey

Brunch

Matcha

Coffee

I've been dreaming of starting up a Digey all my own in St Ives. Maybe if it wouldn't be such a horrendous difficult enterprise (too much work!), it could be fun. It could be a blast. In fact, it could be...

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

It is a well known fact that a flying trip to St Ives is an endurance test of 24 hours. We know precisely how long it takes because we have done it bunches of times, beginning with climbing aboard the Cybertruck, and ending with a sometimes hair-raising ride to a cottage in the back seat of a cab.

All the cottages are unique and filled with their own darling decor. This one has an ocean view, and an ocean, and a large number of boats (some with red sails called 'Luggers'), lots of free-wheeling sea gulls, and a stair lift. 

a What? you ask. Yes, it has a stair lift - as in Carl Fredricksen from the animated movie called "UP", when Carl needed one because his knees or ankles or legs weren't quite at the top of their game. My own knees, ankles, and legs are fairly tip-top. But I'm liking this Carl Fredricksen "UP" character, now that we have something pretty profound in common.

Carl Fredricksen

The 24 hour ordeal ended at 5:35pm on Friday evening as I waved to my friendly cabbie, and turned to greet the owner of my cottage. We were to meet there so he could give me the keys and show me how to use the stair lift. It's hilarious.

I was feeling the effects of only a couple of hours sleep on the plane and train, and was probably speaking gibberish. So we finished with the tutorial and entered the cottage. I was instantly silenced. Faced by a wall of shining, gleaming windows, I could only think of only one word to say, and said it again and again. "Stupendous!" 

For there was the sea. A sea you cannot describe enough. A gem-of-a-sea with mesmerizing colors mingling in a million ways, reflecting the sunlight in all its glory. And out there standing, and sitting, and swimming were the people and the dogs, shout-barking and having one beauty of a time, and I wanted to be out there too. But there was no time because I needed food! and so I thanked the kind owner, clutched my keys and ran off to my little essential chore. 

(If only I had a Butler! Or at least an Amazon Fresh delivery!)

Thus ended my first day in St Ives, 2026. Have you ever adopted a town? or a county? or a State? or a continent? No country could ever replace the good old USA, for me. I knew this decades ago, standing aboard the SS Austraulis as that mighty ship slowly approached the Panama Canal. A group of Americans stood there together, silenced by the appearance of the American flag. Old Glory. Stars and Stripes. I looked around at these dear people, American to the bone. Many had been away for years, and were washed by the grip of a love they remembered afresh. All of us wept.

So there will be no adoption process; no saluting of somebody else's flag. But I sure do like it when I fly across the Pond. Just look for that American lady in row 46 seat C, the one who is grinning from ear to ear.

That'll be me.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

An American in Geevor

In the Geevor Mine today

 I did so want to take my husband to the Geevor Mine near the village of Pendeen. I wanted him to see the green fields along the way and hear the unusual and fascinating way Cornish cabbies talk to their fares when they are cooped up with them for a half hour.

 I wanted my husband to go deep into the mine that is no longer in operation but still has all its parts intact. But mostly, I wanted him to see OUR SON 'DOWN THE MINE'!

He - the Doppelgänger - was down there, I tell you.

I've already shared in this space that I had once visited the depths of Geevor Mine, been scared by the smallness of the space, thought I would scream, yet made it out unscathed. After this small drama I walked around the lockers the miners had once used, saw the clothes hanging in the opened lockers, small nick-knacks belonging to the men, and enlarged smiling miner pictures usually smoking a cigarette. 

It was then that I saw him.

I found a double of my Rather Stunning Son.

(Donald Dunston)

It was weird, and I was suddenly filled with a desire to bring my son here to see himself. I did this in 2023, and we asked a volunteer if any of the retired miners knew Donald Dunston. They told us that a retired miner who had known Donald was working that day! We searched for him, found him, and bought him a pot of tea while plying him with questions about mining as he knew it.

You can read it all here: https://sconetherapy.blogspot.com/2023/05/cornwall-day-3-down-mine.html

So today I brought my husband to see his son in the mine and to marvel at the lifestyle experienced by those men long ago, digging out tin, copper, and other elements so badly needed by the general populace of the world.

And do you know what? We saw that retired miner there again today! He is called Colin McLaren. We didn't get to buy him tea, or be able to ply him with questions. But we saw him, and that was enough. Colin McLaren is a lovely man, very kind and shy and followed around by young and old alike after he spoke for them. Here he is back in 2023:

Colin McLaren, retired miner at Geevor

We ate a Cornish Pastie and enjoyed the bright sunlight beaming around us through the enormous cafe windows. In due time, our erstwhile cabbie came to collect us, and we said goodbye to Geevor. We now have one more day in Cornwall, a day which will include packing up, cleaning up, getting rid of food we cannot take with us, and saying goodbye to friends. It's been lovely. 

It always is lovely.  

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Down the Geevor Mine

We Put Ourselves in Cornwall in October

 

A friend's back yard on Friday when it wasn't raining yet

 We haven't had all that much to do or to write about in quite a few days. First of all, it has been rainy and windy which no one can complain about because (take a breath) they themselves booked the cottages and put themselves into wet Cornwall in October. Next is the discovery that my knee (or at least the back of my knee) has developed a 'crack'. Or, at least there is a sound of a crack. It happens whenever I move the knee, and then the knee cracks and tells me that hurts, and would I please stop moving it, if I don't mind.

 So we do not walk and run and search out foods and other fun shopping ideas along Fore Street right now.

 So even though it was raining outside, and my knee was sore, and the bedroom windows banged like a relentless hurricane, we got bundled up and went out on a rain-walk just now. Because we are well endowed with coats, and especially the SconeLady's two-coats-in-one, the air was cold but we were not! 

 I expected to see empty streets again, and people crammed into hot restaurants. But that is not what we saw. We saw the adult tourists all out sitting on beach benches, watching the kids and dogs which were IN THE FREEZING WATER. We could hear them squealing all down the Wharf. Now that's entertainment.

 We came back to our cozy, three story cottage with steep stairs, thinking about leaving in four days. It sure did go fast, dear Readers. And we sure did love it. But I won't be altogether sad to leave it this time. Trying to sleep with bedroom windows that bang like a relentless hurricane at night is not all it's cracked up to be.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

A Cornish horse I've come to love

American Pancakes in a Foreign Restaurant

We were the only people out of doors yesterday morning. St Ives was as deserted as one of the black and white fifties Sci/Fi movies my husband likes so much. Abandoned streets, restaurants open but empty, and winds of enormous size. 

We crept out into the chaos with hesitation. The winds had been so loud and so strong in the night that we thought the roof really might lift off, and we'd be Dorothy over the rainbow. Surrounded by flying rubbish bins.

Seeking something to eat that was not a chocolate twist, a croissant, a cinnamon bun, or an apple turnover, we finally settled upon a real breakfast at The Hub. We love The Hub because it has a porch out front with dear little tables and splendid tea. The Hub was open but empty, just like everything else. 

We decided not to sit inside where it was over-heated, but outside where it was brisk. There was also a dog flopped out under the chair of his Master, and I maneuvered toward the dog's table. (We like the dogs of St Ives, and maneuver ourselves in their direction as often as possible. My husband says, "That's a fine looking dog you've got there," whenever someone has a Golden Retriever. Golden Retrievers ROCK. We would like the cats of St Ives, too, only there aren't any right now. Where did they all go? We are puzzled about this. Maybe they are spooked by the winds of enormous size, or the proximity of all those dogs. We just do not know).

To bring this story to a swift end, I ordered the 'stack of American Pancakes'. Only they weren't actually American. They looked American. They had American butter, and American syrup on them, and you might almost think you were at a Denny's. But..

I wish I'd stuck with a chocolate twist.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

 

Dark Chocolate Sorbet

Yesterday at the Wharf

There was a large crowd with us at the windy Wharf today, everybody waiting for innocent victims (tourists) to become soaked. 

 Our favorite little sweet cottage is right there, and whenever we stay we hover around watching at high tide. It's only a matter of time before, WHAM! down it comes at high velocity on their hapless little heads. The watchers laugh and the tourists scream. Without fail. Today's tide was massive, so we sacrificed our dryness to see what would happen, taking videos. I became wet but it didn't matter, because of my new waterproof coat.

The children of St Ives loved getting soaked. Their mothers called for them to "Get away!" but they ran through it the way they would a sprinkler in the heat of summer (does Cornwall ever have sprinklers in the heat of summer? I'm thinking, not).

 I can hardly believe we have only one more week in Cornwall. During that one week, we want to hit the Coffin Trail again, walk St Michael's Way again, go to Wild Church again, and eat as many Moomaid's Dark Chocolate Sorbet cones as can fit into a normal sized tummy. (only it might not be normal sized right now)..

See you along the way!

the SconeLady