A Uniquely Winning Way

 The most notable difference about yesterday was the absence of the Vicar. There was a Vicar, don't get me wrong. It was just a different Vicar. Ours was on Sabbatical somewhere in England (no one was saying just where), and would be there for three months. Thus, the different Vicar.

I have enjoyed worshiping here for many years when in Cornwall, and have appreciated all their Vicars. Anytime a Vicar has announced they would be leaving, which happened several times over the years, I was saddened. They'd each had their uniquely winning way in presenting the Gospel.

The Vicar yesterday was very nice, humorous, and kind to the American visitor who popped up in the choir room. As the Warden helped him adjust his cassock, the Vicar said people often mistake him for the actor Rowan Atkinson. Right away I thought of Mr Bean, who is the main character in the Mr Bean shows. His shows are funny, I must admit (just think of one, and I'll bet you laugh.). I determined to find a Mr Bean movie soon and see whether or not he looked like the Vicar.

The morning service turned out to be lovely, and the Vicar turned out to be interesting and funny, a good but rare combination. The Musical Director's wife once again helped me with where I should walk, bow, stand, sit, and sing, because I did not really know. There were a few mistakes I probably made, but thankfully didn't actually embarrass anybody. 

We could not stay for tea and biscuits because we would be going up to The Badger for their Sunday carvery, and had to arrive at the stroke of Noon. 

The Carvery was again the best in western Cornwall, and the only mistake I made there was to pick up a Yorkshire Pudding with my fingers, when the rule was that you do NOT EVER pick up a Yorkshire Pudding piece with your fingers,

"DON'T pick up that Pud, Miss," said the chef. He was very busy and didn't have time to correct rude Americans in Lelant. 

I was so embarrassed! and offered to give the offending Pudding to my husband! but the chef brushed off this effort and called out, "Next?"

Rosamunde Pilcher probably NEVER picked Yorkshire Puddings up like that, having to apologize embarrassingly in front of a bunch of customers at the Badger Inn in her own home town. But the Carvery was so superb that I lost myself in its deliciousness and forgot the chef.

Here is a picture of it for my dear Readers (notice the two Yorkshire Puddings)"

See you along the way!

the Scone Lady 

((I would have been able to speak about the Vicar's sermon -Pentecost-, but our hearing aids were back at the cottage and we couldn't hear it))

Charlie Bucket

 

Charlie Bucket was a little boy who lived in poverty with his parents and grandparents (who went to bed and never came back out). I thought about Charlie today because of a Cadbury Milk bar. The Cadbury Milk bar grabbed my attention at the Norway Store, in our quest for something unrelated to chocolate. That is how such things happen, you know, with people and chocolate bars. They are walking along minding their own business, when a chocolate bar catches them.

I turned and picked one up, suddenly remembering the character Augustus Gloop (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). He is naughty, falls into a chocolate river and is sucked up a pipe. I didn't like the pipe sucking part, but I very much liked the chocolate river part. That is what a Cadbury Milk Bar feels like when you take a bite and let it sit in your mouth. A lovely, soft chocolate river. 

The Cadbury's Milk Bar now resides in the refrigerator where it can be accessed at a moment's notice.

We once lived in England when the US Air Force sent us to where my darling could serve during the Cold War. This opened up the wonders of England to us, finally answering the question, "Will wonders never cease?" The answer is 'no', because they never have. 

It was such lovely fun. We could have all the Cadbury products we wanted, and still get Hershey Bars at the Commissary. A perfect score!

Family members came to visit us there, so we got to go to all sorts of fun places, such as the Tower of London, Shakespeare's birthplace, Stonehenge, Bath (which nearly froze us to death in December), and Scotland. 

We made a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings for friend Rosie and her Ted, their four children, and our next door neighbor, cooking a wild turkey instead of an American Butterball from the Commissary. The only trouble was that our neighbor died the next day! 

We got to live in a house that had a swimming pool and have no end of friends to come over and splash. 

We learned to love all sorts of British foods, chief among them the taste and texture of a Scone with  jam and cream on it. 

The children got to go to a British school and be taught by the Headmistress how to 'Eat British' and get English accents. The only negative was that when the children came home from school each day, they had to re-learn how to 'Eat American', becoming so confused that they sometimes forgot and ATE AMERICAN at school, and BRITISH at home (there was no end of a dustup over that).

And as you know, dear Readers, it was all of this that finally created the SconeLady. She simply had to get back and see it all again. There are Cadbury Milk Bars at home in our little British Emporium, the proprietor sounding just like they do over the Pond. But there is nothing like being there, hearing it all, tasting it all, and walking it all. 

Remembering Charlie Bucket makes me want to go get the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and read it again. I know he wins the Golden Ticket, and that his grandpa jumped out of his bed and escorted Charlie to the factory, and that (spoiler alert) Charlie wonderfully inherited the factory. But I've never actually been in the town near Mr. Dahl's Repton School, where there were chocolate spies stealing chocolate secrets left and right. That would be fun!

Roald Dahl always found things children would enjoy reading about, turning them into life-long readers. I certainly am one, and that is a gift that keeps right on giving,

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Life in England circa 1984

Are You Allowed To Sleep in a Library?

 

Marching your husband up to Knill's Monument

We are sitting in the Library's upstairs section where people can browse through books and watch the tourists wandering by below. You can even go to sleep, as long as you don't actually  lie down. This is what one of us is doing (while sitting straight up in the chair) because the next cottage keeps not being ready. He thinks (and I agree with him) that all this waiting is a load of codswaddle.

Nevertheless, changeover days must be tolerated because they usually end with an open door and a nice cup of tea. 

The tourists below this window are going in and out of one of my favorite shops here. It is called Colenso and has almost everything you need for a successful holiday. I have visited this shop many times looking for a flat iron ('hair straightener' in British), clothes pins for making pour-over dark Columbian coffee of a morning, an electric coffee grinder, and a bunch of other things I did not know I needed. The proprietor is happy to see his customers, and booms out at them, "I have exactly what you need!" no matter what it is you say you need. 

From where I am sitting, he has brooms, mops, coffee machines, other small appliances, chicken pots large and small, platters for roast chickens, paint, kitchenware, electrical and hardware items, ironmongery (what's that?) and tools. The proprietor is a local man whom the local people come to see on a regular basis. They call him 'John', and he also calls their names and their babies' names. He is the perfect Local.

If you go out of his shop and turn left, you will come to the Cinema. The Cinema is very important because it is where Rosamunde Pilcher used to go see films as a girl. AND, it is showing the new Tom Cruise movie RIGHT NOW. I know very little about this movie except that he is in it, and that lots of crazy things are going to start happening. There should be a nice looking young lady in the near vicinity, and a team of friends who know how to set up those crazy things right along with Tom. Am I right?

We will go to this movie some time soon, after purchasing/eating a double Chinese dinner, which, if we are too full to finish, the chances are high that it will come back home in my bag.

The SconeLady has not seen this film yet, so kindly hang on to your spoilers. The filmmakers are bad enough with well placed spoilers on the Internet. Just today I saw a parachute with Tom Cruise hanging on to it, explode. I really do think it exploded, and wasn't special effects. This is because I saw Benji Dunn helping to hold the parachute and pour an explosive liquid inside of it. Next thing you know there is the explosion! with Tom Cruise rocketing terribly quickly to the earth. To me that qualifies as a big spoiler.

The cottage company never did tell us it was time to enter our cottage, so I made a command decision. We grabbed our bags and went. Sometimes you just can't wait any longer, especially if you think all this waiting is a load of codswaddle.

Breakfast at the Porthminster Beach Cafe

Cloud Bread

 

Cloud Bread in the town of Looe

If man could live by bread alone (and I know he can't), I would vote for Cloud Bread. It's adorable and divine. Your mouths should be watering right now. We had some last year at the Sardine Factory in Looe and after my first taste of the stuff, nothing else mattered. What was Hake, or Scallops, or Hamburgers when you've had bread from a Cloud?

We were working out what to order when I saw a serving dish go by. My eyes followed it. It seemed to float above the serving dish.

"What is that?" I asked the blond waitress.

"That is called Cloud Bread. Would you like some?"

And of course I did, and of course I ordered it along with the hamburger choice. Everyone else ordered breathtakingly tasty entries worthy of the famous chef who was on a competitive TV show with other chefs, and won. But I considered the bread my entre, with the burger coming in second.

Because of this new taste of bread at the Sardine Factory (although I don't think sardines were anywhere on the menu), and the desire to keep eating it, I told friend Rosie and Our Em that it would be amazing if we could go back there sometime. So Rosie drove us all that long distance again. And once more, I came face to face with the Bread on a Cloud that is better than any other food. Really, dear Readers. It was sort of like, well, like the Manna in the wilderness the children of Israel used to eat. And grew weary of. If I had only Cloud Bread to eat, maybe I would get tired of it too like they did, spending my time kicking against Moses, and God, and Manna.

But it is late now, and there is no time to solve the food problems of the children of Israel. 

Tomorrow my friends will climb aboard their train and their car, and leave us behind. We are almost exhausted from all the fun things we did/ate. (And did I tell you yet that we went WILD SWIMMING every day but one?). People commented a lot about how brave - or mad - we must be, jumping into the ocean and freezing ourselves nearly to death. But it isn't madness that makes us do these things. It's the joy of being alive right now. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Polperro, Cornwall

Lobster For Five

 

Stuart said that for five people, we would need 3 lobsters. Did you know that it takes a plethora of lobster to feed that many people? We did not. We learned that "more of a lobster is thrown away than eaten", so you must do what you can to swell the numbers. The shell is mostly what is tossed away but there are icky, gooey things in there too that must be deleted or people will feel ill looking at what is on their forks.

It is a very big deal to procure three lobsters, thank the fisherman, carry them home in a sturdy plastic bag, feel slightly queasy as they make movements inside the bag, place them gently into the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, and then prepare them to become edible. That is the sticky bit. We wanted to be nice to the lobsters because all of us feel a little bit bad for eating them. At least, we feel partly bad. 

The way we learned to be nice to the lobsters was discovered by friend Rosie, who read and said if you put the lobsters inside the freezer for two hours, they will fall asleep and not know what is happening to themselves. This sounded so hopeful that our Em almost stayed downstairs instead of peeking around the corner to shout, "Are they dead yet?" 

When there were 2 hours before the action would begin, friend Rosie slipped the poor dears into the freezer. Meanwhile, the SconeLady and her husband walked to the church for choir rehearsal. The director's wife very kindly sat and pointed out the notes as we sang, and then sang the part toward my ear so I could catch on. If it had been a Baptist church and Baptist music, I would have jumped right in. But since this was a Church of England and also a High Church, I mostly hoped no one could hear me. 

Then it was time to go back and see how the little dears in the freezer were faring.

By then, one lobster had already... finished its contribution, and was being shelled. The SconeLady's husband inserted the knife into a certain area of its anatomy and twisted, then bit by bit he got the lobster meat out. It was an intense process because of the many places the knife had to be put in and twisted. (our Em hovered on the second floor and waited.)

I won't elaborate about lobster numbers 2 and 3 because it is understandably repetitive. But the lobsters didn't make any of it easy. Which made me wonder why we had worried about their comfort and put them into the freezer to help them sleep it off.

The lobster dinner was a huge success. But it might be another while before we do it again. In spite of all our efforts, there was still a bit of a noise coming from the pot (not quite a scream) and this we did not like.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The SconeLady's Husband

for the SconeLady's husband

You just should have seen me (us) dashing in and out for the little things that can make a traveling man welcome, a man who did not sleep even a wink on the plane or the train the night before. What would he like for dinner? I (we) pondered. Should it be a British meal or an American? Would he even be hungry? British Airways tends to overstuff their flying customers so that they can fall asleep and not bother the flight attendants. 

We decided our traveler would like a savory chicken pot containing thighs, potatoes, carrots, onions, peppers and (smashed) garlic. The chicken was browned first for 5 minutes per side in butter and oil. Then it was turned over and cooked 5 minutes more. By now the aromas coming from inside that chicken pot were driving us crazy, (and I thought I might understand Esau and his stew a bit better).

A stock cube was now entered into the pot with some water and dried herbs. We wanted to put the chicken pot inside the AGA's oven RIGHT AWAY so it would be done enough by the time the husband arrived. The AGA wasn't as hot as it has been known to be in times past. But we should never have worried. Some husbands might never be satisfied no matter what you cook for them. But this husband will dive in and never come back out.

There were green beans as a side, and I can't remember anything else. I dashed upstairs, brushed my tangled and wind-swept hair, layered up, and sped down the hill to the railroad station. The train whistle blew, and everyone turned to watch as it pulled slowly in. Eeeeeeeek!

At first I could not see him, and wondered momentarily what I would do if he had missed his train. Such a disappointing thought! But then, his familiar face shone out amongst the others, and...ummm, why was my heart beating like this? 

It was actually quite a bit like our early days when he would come to see me on the front porch. Sometimes he would be holding a book, or a flower, or an orange. And those simple gifts would make my heart beat this very same way!

He hasn't changed all that much. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Director Was Eating a Pasty

Carvery at The Badger Inn

 Yesterday as we ate our Sunday carvery at The Badger Inn, the people around us seemed to be speaking another language. It happened as the group made their way to their tables, it happened in the line at the ladies loo, and as people gathered in the garden. This has happened on occasion as I wander around Cornwall, but not all at once and on the same day, so it was interesting.

Then friend Rosie said that a German lady just told her that they are going to be filming here tomorrow. Whaat? Filming? Who is going to be filming? It took a quick second for me to realize what this must be. It must mean darling Rosamunde Pilcher! After all, we were at The Badger Inn which has known Rosamunde for decades; she was born into what is called Riverview House (you will recognize that through her book, "Going Home") directly across the garden from the little Lelant rail station; her ashes have been buried in St Uny Church of England where she worshiped, and the Tombstone states that she is "A Lelant Girl". Our German friends across the water absolutely love Rosamunde and have filmed just about every Pilcher book in existence multiple times. And they were coming tomorrow!

After a little while, though, this piece of news began to fade because there were too many other things to think about. Today is a Red Letter Day for me/us, because the SconeLady's husband is coming! Terrific and very distracting news. He has flown throughout the night, landed at Heathrow in time to pass inspection, find the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, found his train, climbed aboard, collapsed into his seat, and is now a mere hour from St Ives. Eeeeek!

Doing my little preparatory errands around the town, I ran into a large crowd of good-looking young people holding microphones and props and film gear, saying things like, "Could all of you please move down the block a bit? Just so we don't accidentally get you in the film, you see." 

I thought it might be fun to accidentally get into one of Rosamunde's films, but I moved down the block a bit, all the same.

The director finally said, "Ready? And...ACTION!" wherein a smashingly beautiful young woman began to ride a strange looking black bicycle cart that held all the tools of the Chimney Sweep trade. Most of them were brooms. But why would a film about Rosamunde's books have anything to do with sweeping chimneys? I couldn't get it. I still can't. But...

"CUT!" yelled the director. "Ah, could you please step back down the block, Ma'am?" I looked around to see who he was talking to. But oops - it was me. "Oh! sorry," I said. But he was standing near me so I struck while the iron was hot and asked, "Is this a movie about a Rosamunde Pilcher book?"

His eyes lit up, friendly like, and he said, "Yep. That's who this is all about!" Then he went back to his work.

This was all so satisfactory that I decided to follow the action, and we filmed in three locations We filmed on Fore Street in front of the Post Office, then a little further on in front of what used to be where Judith stayed in the book "Going Home", and then we filmed at Smeaton's Pier, in front of the Italian man's coffee shop. 

It was so beautiful outside through all of this that I felt they really had hit this nail square on its head. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow is meant to be rainy, and that would have been a disaster for lights, cameras, and action. 

It was around noon by this time, and I wondered how they would feed all this huge clot of people. As if reading my mind, the director said,"What about lunch?" to his assistant. "It's after 12:00." I would have thought this had been all planned out ages ago. But the AD had it all in hand.

"Don't you worry about it, sir, I've organized lunch. Pizza."

Later on I saw various members of the company sitting around the cafes and eating, but the director did not have a piece of pizza. Oh, no. For him, it was a Cornish Pasty. This director knew how to recognize a good thing when he saw one.

I walked past him, and waved. And then he waved. If I could have, I would have told him all about the Rather Stunning Son, who is about the director's own age and is in film editing, and can also yell, "CUT!" right along with the best of them. 

But I didn't tell him it. I walked on by, picking up speed now because of my Red Letter Day. He is now passing Truro. Eeeeeeeeeek!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Budgies

The Cornish Bakery is hopping and popping today. It is Friday, a Changeover day, which means everybody changes cottages, and there are lots of lady tourists heaving bags along Fore Street. Fore Street by now is an enormous human beehive, buzzing around in and out of shops and avoiding seagull dive bombings. Some of the lady tourists come into the Cornish Bakery, hoping to snag the only comfortable seat in the joint. But I am already in it (heehee).

I sit here with a laptop and an Americano, watching the customers. They are consuming lovely chocolate twists, croissants, chocolate croissants, sweet pasties, sausage rolls, custard tarts, and cinnamon buns. I am not having any of these delights because I did have them each and every morning for the first week - until I no longer recognized my pants.

I have left the wonderful 1950's cottage with all its beautiful colors and retro gear. That is sad, but the place I am going to today is so smashing that I can't even be sad. The best part of the new cottage is that it will be populated by my friends! Two of them (friend Rosie and her Ted) are driving right now, as I write. And the other one is the first one's sister whom we call Our Em. (Ted calls them the 'Budgies'). She is on a train from London, but had not yet had a cup of tea by 4:00pm. Great Scott! This is tragic because everyone knows that British people must have an immediate cup of tea when they are on long train trips. What's this world coming to?

We four have met in this fashion every year since 2013. Actually... there was one year, 2020, when they came but I didn't. Couldn't. Guess why. It was during Covid when leaders of the G7 met in Carbis Bay and had to all stand 6 meters apart. Their meeting caused no end of interest and madness, especially to the tourists. It included President Trump,THE QUEEN and Prime Minister! and a few other very important persons. My friends were sad I was not there, but happy because it was so intriguing. You never knew whom you might see, or if the police would let you go places you weren't really allowed. They were amazingly jolly policemen. And the police themselves had a blast because they felt as if it were really a holiday and not a job. 

Well, I am all done with this blog post now but not with all the visiting, eating, walking, shopping, and cups of tea that lies ahead.

How lucky we are to be alive right now!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Arguing With A Tesla

The church at Paul

Riding up to the village of Paul to hear those Male Choir guys is top of the list A-OK. My driver kindly picks me up outside the St Ives Cinema (where the new Mission Impossible movie is playing! Have you seen it? I want to see it!) and I hop immediately in.

Last Monday night another choir member came along, and he sat in the front. We all talked about cars because I noticed how nice this car looked, and said so. I don't know anything about the car other than that it 'looked nice'. My husband would have made a point of discovering the make, model, and mileage of the thing, but that didn't occur to me. There is only one car I know the make and model of, and that is because we bought it last year. 

"We bought a car last year," I said.

"Oh? what is it?"

"It is a Tesla, and we think it is smashing. And it doesn't need gas. And it drives itself down the road while my hands rest in my lap."

"Whaat?" the general chorus in the front seat said. "Yes," I responded. "It has auto pilot and is a better driver than most humans. Are there Teslas here in Cornwall now?" 

"Yes, but not the auto pilot type."

He asked if I have to 'help' the Tesla to park. You can park it yourself, I said, but I'd much rather just touch the 'P' on the screen, and then sit thinking about what to make for dinner while the Tesla parks. It's actually quite dramatic to watch.

It hasn't all been perfect, though, and there was a lot to learn. If you make too many of what Tesla thinks of as 'mistakes', it might put you in what we call Tesla jail. It isn't a real jail, but you can become locked out of auto pilot for a while. People don't like that, because when you get used to not driving a car, it's hard to go back. But arguing with a Tesla is not recommended, dear Readers. Remember about the customer always being right? Well, scratch that.

The Tesla is.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The church at Paul

The Tug of War

Wild Church

On Sunday I shared with you about the morning service Gospel reading in Mark chapter 5. Just a few hours later at Wild Church, we all saw an illustration of this which found its mark. 

A boy around 12 years old stood at the front (in the Vicar's garden) and read the entire account, all 21 verses of it, without a hitch. When he sat down, the Vicar spoke of the spiritual 'tug of war' for our souls we all experience. He said it was like a toddler holding one end of the rope, and a giant holding the other. When the pulling starts, the giant always wins.

The Vicar held a long, thick, knotted rope during this explanation. Then he asked for two child volunteers. Since there are a goodly number of children at Wild Church (who are always ready for the 'Wild' bit), there were lots of volunteers. But two small boys were finally established as official, and came forward.

The boys were given one end of the rope while two bigger boys were given the other. When the pulling began, who won the pull? The older boys! Then the Vicar asked a young man (the one who wears vestments and carries the cross in the morning service) to stand with the smaller boys and hold their rope. Their eyes gleamed as they saw all the wonderful muscles this young man had.

"On your marks," said the Vicar, "get set - GO!" To the thrills of the small boys and their posse in the audience, their side was victorious!

"Hooray!" everybody cheered. 

I won't forget that illustration, and I don't think they will either. It reminded me of my childhood church long ago. Pastor Ketchum did illustrations like that (although I don't think ropes ever came into it), and I remember them still.

Thank you, Lord, that when you come into our lives, You pick up our end of the rope... and the battle is won.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Not At All Mundane

 

Jean was in a new blue dress yesterday, as bright as the morning sky. Her hair and makeup had been gently 'done', and it became clear that whatever medical issues she has had, they have not deprived her of her style.

Jean has always liked clothes. Not the kind you might wear out into the garden, but clothing that makes a statement, if anyone is there to hear it. My first glimpse of Jean in 2018 prompted me to ask her where she had gotten her scarf. It was a combination of creamy colors, with caramel at its base. A dear friend had brought her a box of things she wouldn't be needing anymore, and she wanted Jean to have them. 

"Why wouldn't she be needing them, Jean?" a little bit afraid of the 'why'. There was a silence, as Jean thought about her friend.

"She was dyin'..", Jean said. "It were Eric's wife, 'y know. Me and she was friends."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear about that.."

Soon we ate the fresh strawberries which I had purchased on Fore Street along the way. Audrey got out some vanilla ice cream, and we had ourselves a jolly pre-lunch tea-snack. Pennie was there too, and when she asked Jean what she had been doing, Jean said, "Puzzles, mainly; readin'; lookin' at me fish.." 

Audrey had bought Jean a fish tank this year with a plethora of styles and varieties inside it, squiggling around in the water. Audrey knows a large amount about these fish, and filled our brains with all the details she had learned through research. Where they originated, their life expectancies, everything! We were a rapt audience. And then Jean's other daughter Lilly began to show us all the puzzles her mother had 'whipped together'. It was true, no one is as fast as Jean. A particularly difficult one has shells, and then there was a Hercule Poirot puzzle that you could solve while you fiddled with the pieces. 

Are you as excited as I am about these things? It might seem mundane, were you to scrutinize it for its high intellectual content. The other half of the population would probably think it lightweight. But I find such a delight in chatting with these remarkable British women. Such kind friends, opening their lives up to an American lady who cares, and who climbs the hill every year to discover the status of Jean's puzzles, her books, and her fish.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Beach Boys Never Disappoint

 I always look forward to seeing the new cottages I get to stay in, in St Ives. Most of them are very nicely decorated with all the 'Mod Cons' ready to comfort perspective visitors. No matter how many years I have visited St Ives, there are still a ton of cottages I have never yet stayed in. But I keep whittling away at them, and always say that the search is half the fun.

The current cottage is hard to book because everyone loves staying there. It is decorated in the vibrant colors of the 1950s, with old fashioned bits and pieces set about the place. It's lovely. I believe yellow is its predominant color, with sky blue, pink, and touches of green, red, dark blue, and orange. Oh - and a bit of purple! These touches can be found in little crystal lamps, kitchen tiles, and couch pillows. Really, I cannot think of any cottage I like more than this one. The only disappointment associated with this darling place is the disappearance of the juke box.

Every time I have stayed here, upon arrival I have unlocked the door, put my suitcase down, put the kettle on and turned toward the absolutely perfectly ancient but flawless juke box in the corner. It was painted all the colors I have just described, and, icing on cake, the predominant music in the juke box was The Beach Boys. Wonder of wonders, Miracle of miracles! It even worked just like the juke boxes of my past, so it was never hard to get it to play. The owners must have been somewhere around our own age, and knew what it was we might want.

Three days ago, upon my arrival I unlocked the door, set the suitcase down, put the kettle on, and turned toward the juke box. But - there wasn't one. Whaat? I was a bit stunned. I searched every nook and cranny (ridiculously even the bathroom, which wouldn't have even fit in the tub) and soon had to face facts. It wasn't there, and probably never would be again.

Most people would have just dropped the whole thing (I know what you're thinking), and forgotten about it. I didn't. I contacted the managing company. It is too embarrassing to share with you the conversation, and indeed my cheeks were a little warm during it. The manager I spoke with really did not know anything about the juke box; had, in fact, never heard of the juke box. He offered me the owner's contact information, and said I could call them about it - if I really wanted to. 

He probably thinks (and I agree with him) that I am some kind of a nut.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The View From The Top (2)

 I sat in the back of the church this morning because I might cough. Coughing is very disturbing during a church service, particularly when you are in a place where certain coughing diseases have made everybody nervous. So I sat quietly down and placed all my cough suppressant products along the pew shelf. It was very convenient, as if in the year 1100 the church builders had my cough in mind.

 My favorite portion of the Church of England Sunday service is the Gospel reading. This morning's Gospel reading was taken from Mark 5:1-21. In it is the account of Jesus crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat, and meeting a man with an unclean spirit. Whose name was Legion.

"And when He had stepped out of the boat, immediately a man came out of the tombs." 

After thinking about graveyards and tombs yesterday, this grabbed my attention. The people there clearly did not like this man. How could they? He creeped around the tombs and shouted at people top volume. No one could restrain him anymore, even with a chain. He had often been restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart and the shackles he broke in pieces. It is obvious that Legion was unloved, had no friends, no regular or nourishing food or water, no clean clothing or shoes, painful self-inflicted bruises, uncared for teeth, no friendly conversation to comfort him, and no prospect of a future.

Jesus had mercy on the man, and sent the Legion of demons into a nearby herd of pigs, who ran down a hill and drowned in the lake below.

The man, who was now clothed and in his right mind, sat by Jesus and begged him to let him stay there. But Jesus told him to go home and "tell everyone how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy He has shown you."

The people who saw and heard the changed man were amazed. They would have thought such a thing was impossible.

The Vicar shared with us that there is a constant spiritual tug of war going on for our souls. He said it is like a toddler holding one end of a rope, and a giant holding the other. We simply can not win. But when Jesus comes into our lives, He picks up our end of the rope, and the battle is won. 

I love the way people wanted to sit next to Jesus after he healed them. It was the only place they wanted to be. That is what I would have wanted to do, too; just walk up and sit right down.

 One day we will.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

The View From The Top

Each time I visit St Ives, I make it my business to walk uphill to the Barnoon Cemetery. I like to roam around in it, reading the ancient gravestones if I can. They often cannot be read, because the lichen on the stones gets too thick. One must be very fit because the path upward is punishingly steep. But the view from the top is stunning. 

The photo you see here on the left was taken during a morning fog, rendering it fairly spooky. It reminds me of an old British film back in the day where the main characters were afraid of the churchyard. My husband loves that kind of thing, and asks, "How about we watch an old 1950's black and white British horror flick? Or a British black and white science fiction movie in a graveyard..?" His face lights up in anticipation, but I am not so keen.

British towns and villages all seem to have 'churchyards' in them, with tall, crooked gravestones looking ominous. I grew up in a small town whose cemetery was less than a mile from our house. It was always tidy. The young fry liked going there during the summer when they had gotten the 'boot' (there was no 'hanging out' at home in those days). The boys often followed us up there to hide and shout "BOO!" at the most inopportune moment. Screaming and running became a large part of our summer entertainment, until we all had to start picking berries.

Our mother used to tell us we should never stand on a grave. Standing on people's graves was disrespectful, she said. My little sister and I never stood on graves after that because we did not want to be disrespectful. Oh! I just remembered that we did go up there and run around one time, and whenever my sister ran over a grave, she apologized to them as if they cared! I sure do love her.

And then years ago at a funeral there, I made an important discovery. I was no longer afraid of the cemetery. The lady whom we had gathered to honor had touched all our lives with her love for Christ. She had given her life to Him as a young woman, and lived forever after following His lead. Her face was a wreath of smiles, and I miss her terribly. But I am not afraid, for He is with me.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me." Psalm 23:4

The cemetery back home

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Blue Eyes on a Train

                                                        

Today as I stood ready to climb aboard the GWR at St Ives, I glanced up at the person standing just ahead of me. People were paying attention to her long blond hair and blue eyes. The platform had become crowded and noisy, but as this girl took her place amidst them, everyone became quiet. 

Her very presence was so unusual in this work-a-day world that the tourists could not help but stare. I kind of wanted to, and certainly understood everyone else kind of wanting to too. But I stopped staring, leaving her alone with her beauty rather than call attention to it.

I knew that although I had been a blond girl/woman most of my life, nothing I did could ever make me look like that girl. No matter how much makeup I used or what clothing I chose. She had the look of some movie star or other - maybe one of the Marvel movies. 

Everyone stopped staring long enough to cram into the train, which soon pulled out and headed toward Truro. I was going to Truro because I'd begun actually feeling well enough to go out! Miracle of miracles! Soon a man stood hesitatingly next to my row. "I think you might be in my seat, Ma'am..", he said.

I was. "I am!" I said, jumping up, and we switched places - he was now in my seat and I was standing in the aisle. This all took time because of the man's ponderous luggage. But then - the Marvel girl spoke.

"Ma'am, why don't you sit by me? There is plenty of room for you."

It was true, there was plenty. So I sat.

Things became quiet, as we rumbled along the tracks. And then she asked where I was going. Had I been there before? Where was I from? Mention of California and the grandchildren prompted much talk, and I began to realize that this was more than just a pretty face. She was interested and articulate at age 18. For a moment I almost forgot she was beautiful.

Truro was her destination too, but we lost sight of each other as the tourists pooled around us. I thought I'd never see her again, but after eating lunch at Marks and Spencers (where they forgot my soup), I saw her walking in the sunshine with two friends, all talking animately and laughing. I thought she would ignore the American lady (her friends certainly did), but mid-sentence she glanced my way, and winked. Just the tiniest little wink, it was. Enough to acknowledge the Star Spangled Banner.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Next blogpost coming tomorrow

I don't want to rush it!

See you in the morning.

the SconeLady

Things You Learn Over Salmon

 It is still light out there, and quiet compared with last night's noisy party-like atmosphere. There is no noise. It's lovely.

 You see before you this lovely salmon dinner consisting of the delicious fish I purchased from the little outdoor fish market. With this there was a sweet potato ( microwaved) and vegetables (grilled on the stove). To finish this off, I sliced a piece of the great sourdough loaf I got from St Ives Bakery on Fore Street, toasted it, and spread British butter on top. Whilst eating this delicious repast, I listened to Howard Stern interviewing Hillory Clinton. Don't ask me why I was listening to this, because I'm not sure. But it was interesting. Howard Stern asked her a bunch of questions about that time the president found himself in deep doo-doo which did not end well. 

 Hmm. I had not thought about all this in decades, and now here it all was, back again in all its glory. I think the president told Hillory what he had done, and when she asked him why, he said because so many things were on his plate that he got stressed and went to find someone to distract him from his stress. Luckily he did not have to go very far because someone was already in the Oval Office waiting to take care of this.

Hillory was really quite forgiving after the significant dust-up that was not elaborated on during the interview. Things settled down somewhat, but the country never really got over it.

And anyway, didn't Howard Stern used to be a sort of racy guy? with shocking people and things happening on his show? It surprised me that Hillory had chosen to have Stern do the interview, sort of like a rat talking to a swan. Maybe he has changed because he didn't say as many bad words. And everybody was clothed.

Earlier, I told you the interview was 'interesting'. Well, maybe. But it wasn't all that much fun, either; so I think I'll shelve it again for the next several decades. 

But something tells me it won't improve with age.

                                                   

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Listening At Windows

 

Window to my world

Some of my recent time has been spent laying FLAT OUT on my couch a few feet away from the window, facing the sea, and coughing. This was annoying. But things seem to have changed for the better today, and I am ready to be in the sunshine rather than coughing at it.

You can learn quite a bit just by being near a window. Listening at windows was something our mother discouraged and would not tolerate. But I had such a terrific view today, and was such a captive audience, that I really cannot be blamed for what I heard. 

Some of what I heard was the usual chatter between mothers and fathers below me on the sand. It consisted of directing their children, scolding their children, scolding each other, and then scolding their pets.

"Don't climb those granite steps, Gerald! You'll break something!"

"No Jennifer you may not have any more snacks. You'll throw up!"

It was sort of like The Christmas Story when everybody told Ralphie "You'll shoot your eye out!"

 In between conversations I could focus in on the clothing the holiday-makers were wearing. This is extremely interesting, and I make note of it to my daughter back home. She is a good dresser, and appreciates hearing about the fashions her mother is witnessing in St Ives. Some of the fashions are really quite lovely. The ladies often wear long flowing sundresses that are very flattering and flowery. Over these dresses there are often long, camel colored soft jackets with brass buttons. Plus terrific looking sandals that also have brass buttons.

The men who walk beside these well-dressed happy ladies look pretty happy themselves.

It was warm out there, so just about everybody wanted to swim or to sizzle. The swim suits ('bathing costumes') came in a variety of sizes and types, today. Some of them consisted of enough material to be called decent. One, however (as somebody's sister would say), had barely enough to cover the subject. That one was admittedly shocking (I mean, this isn't the Riviera). But the man standing next to the woman in the shocking bathing costume looked, well, pretty doggone happy.

But there were other dramas of the day that I wished I'd not witnessed. As two men walked beneath my window, one of them said to the other, "I've been having affairs."

"You what?" the friend said, in genuine concern. And then they were gone. 

My oh my. No wonder my mother discouraged listening at windows. This is a wonderful holiday spot and I love it dearly; but there are some hard things around the edges.

                             

I Can't Help But Recruit

Riding on trains and reading books is a huge part of the WOW factor of travel in England. As long as the trains are operational, and they don't have electrical problems, and the workers are not on strike, and the toilets inside the train aren't backed up (sorry), you'll have a great time! I did last Friday. The photo above was my first glimpse of St Ives this trip as I rounded the bend near Carbis Bay. I have read all four of Rosamunde Pilcher's major books in preparation for this moment and this view. 

It is all part of my belief that life in Cornwall is not so much a holiday - it is a lifestyle. 

A friend from back home has not yet made it to these shores, so I ply her with photos and explanations  that will guarantee her eventual arrival. Already the magic of Cornwall has begun to draw her gently here. It's only a matter of time.

I would love to be hired by some sort of company that would PAY ME to recruit travelers here. That would be a blast! All these travelers would have to do is to see one teeny, tiny photograph such as the ones on this page, and the recruitment would take care of itself. 

The lady I met at the railway station yesterday (when the train conductor so rudely swept past us) feels this same way. She wants to live here, and she wants to bring her family members. I feel and believe she will accomplish her goal. I saw it in her smile as she spoke of it, and she is young enough to have time to make it happen.

It is 9:53 PM here, and it has finally become dark. There are people outside my open window who are still wandering around on the sand, laughing and talking and even making new friends this late in the evening. Bunches of them have ice cream cones stuck to their faces. They are happy, their dogs are happy, and their babies pipe in with a happy language all their own. Everyone out there has one thing in common, dear Readers, which I think you will understand:

No one wants this week to end.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Rosamunde Pilcher's former home, Lelant