Strike

The anticipation had built all day, as a certain train wound its slow way to Cornwall. Someone, actually two someones, were on it and were coming my way. There will be a week of fun and sun together here, and I will no longer be alone. 

They've come a long way, this sister of mine and her hubby: Seattle, London Heathrow, the Heathrow Express, the London Underground, Waterloo Station, Portsmouth,changing at Salisbury, Westbury, Exeter St David, Newton Abbot, St Erth, and finally, St Ives. It was more train changes on one trip than any unsuspecting American should have had to face, but it had to be faced nonetheless.


There had been a communication from the train people: there is a strike this weekend. It is happening right now, this very minute. We will get you to where you want to go, just not when you had wanted to get there. 

The great thing about this whole operation was how nice the train people were, and how communicative, and ready to help, standing by your exit door in order to direct you quickly. Because those trains don't wait, I can promise you that. If there was no one to direct the hordes who don't know what the heck is going on, they would be like sheep without a shepherd and, there would be chaos. Mahem. Unhappiness!

Back home, I seem to remember that a Strike is meant to cause chaos, mayhem, and unhappiness; why else strike? They just strike a little differently, here. I kind of like it.

So this sister of mine, and her husband, made it safely and we have not stopped since. We can't! We had to get out and see St Ives again together, to talk about what we've loved about it and what is new about it, the sad stories of its people and the happy ones. It all had to be caught up on, and then we had to eat, and then talk some more and laugh until the cows came home. But I don't think those particular 'cows' are coming anytime soon, because we will never run out of things to say. The decades have taught us that.


See you along the way!
the SconeLady