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

Things

Some things happened today, Sunday May 18, 2025:

*I remembered Mount St Helens (45 years ago today) and being on a train the next day, going to a singing engagement. There were inches of volcanic ash laying all over inside the train. Oh - and there were masks. Everybody had to wear a mask.

 *I found fisherman Stuart while he and another fisherman were loading bunches of snapping lobsters into a white van. It was very dramatic.

*I went to church, and the music director's wife hugged me. Then the music director himself invited me to sing in the choir again.

*I walked to the Lelant train station and waved in a begging way to the train to stop for me... but the conductor barreled right on by. Rude!

*A young lady who was also begging the train to stop was a new visitor to St Ives, and didn't know what to do. When trains don't stop for you when they should, it feels like they don't like you, Apparently we were unliked, so she and I dashed uphill to catch the bus. The bus driver stopped for us. On the bus we found out that both of us would like to bring our loved ones to St Ives, so it was fun talking about how we could do this.

*When I got to the cottage I made grilled chicken and vegetables for dinner. It was crowded in the tiny kitchen because there is a huge air fryer on the counter which I will NEVER USE and found to be cluttering up the place. But the grilled chicken and vegetables were good.

*I saw Jean! Jean was lovely, and remembered me, and her daughter made us cups of tea which we enjoyed with the 3 delicious treats from the Yellow Canary which I brought. There was a cinnamon bun, an apple and blueberry sweet pasty, and a chocolate brownie. We cut each of the three treats into three pieces so we could each have a taste of all. The chocolate brownie was the best, very American and moist. The cinnamon bun, however, had very little cinnamon in it so it was scarcely worth calling 'cinnamon '.

*Those were only part of the people I found and the things I did. There will be more tomorrow, and I feel assured that the weather will be just as blue of sky as it has been the whole week. 

*Oh! And at church, the Vicar preached a wonderful sermon. I was thrilled to hear him say that as Jesus was walking toward Calvary, and as the men drove the nails into His already wounded body, He was thinking of healing OUR wounds. 

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

On The Other Side Of The World

Sunset at St Ives, 2025

 Each evening in the town of St Ives, a crowd of tourists quietly steps down to the sea, to watch the sunset.

I have the privilege of watching this happen for four weeks, because I stay longer than people who have only one week to spare. Some weeks the sunset watchers are teenagers who like to sit on the soft green grass to laugh and chat under the gentle supervision of their parents.

Other weeks, the watchers might be older and tireder, and prefer to rest on a bench while gazing. This group of people have dogs, leaping and nipping and hoping someone will throw them a treat. Or a ball. None of them are on leads, so they are happy during the spectacular sinking of that great Orb. 

It must be fun to be a teenager on holiday in St Ives, what with all the eating, swimming, surfing, paddle boarding, kicking of balls and the endless visiting of everybody's mothers. I know this because when I was a teenager, we spent a week at the beach every summer, only the beach town we had holidays in was called Cannon Beach. It was in Oregon and it had a spectacular sunset just like St Ives.

Our lovely holidays in Cannon Beach took place at a Christian camp that encouraged families to come and "Vacation with a purpose". Because my parents valued this purposeful vacationing, I grew to value it and carried on the tradition with my own children. They adored it all, especially the freedoms they were afforded because they could be trusted. 

I am sitting next to an open window, accidentally overhearing many a tourist conversation. People are herding children, washing off sandy feet, and thinking hungrily of their dinners. The mothers no doubt rejoice that it is "still only Saturday", and they have most of the week to enjoy! It's as if they are dragging their feet to slow the Circles down..

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Sunset at Cannon Beach, Oregon

"We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came,

and go round and round and round in the Circle game". Joni Mitchell

Bring Him Home

As much as I liked being in London, and loved seeing Les Miserables, and discovered two Gail's Bakeries right smack dab in the middle of Paddington Station, it was SWEET to be welcomed aboard the Great Western Railroad again, destination St Ives.

Les Miserables at the Sondheim

Did I say something about Les Miserables? Yes! I have been obsessed by the story for years. First, it was the book by Victor Hugo. Tremendous! We lived in Oregon that winter, and I recall reading the Kindle version of it while laying flat out on the couch in front of the fire. Much of my response to it consisted of open weeping.

Around that time Les Miserables started becoming a movie. When it did, I saw it MULTIPLE times. The central disappointment for me was that very few of its actors had singing voices. But the story still moved me, and I could rejoice in the singing voice of Amanda Seyfried (Cosette), whose voice soared flawlessly.

During my obsession with Les Mis, I searched YouTube to see if there were any other renditions of the story. Of course there WAS! Alfie Boe played Jean ValJean at the 02 Arena in London, supported by a stage filled with talented singers and actors. This became the new obsession, and I walked ten miles a day listening to Alfie Boe singing "Bring Him Home".  

Dear Readers, I heard and watched it so many times that YouTube took it down! 

Well, they probably didn't do that just because of me. But there were millions of other obsessed people listening and watching Alfie Boe so much that it was all-at-once stricken from the Tube. I still remember where I was when, in the middle of "Do You Hear The People Sing?" it went blank.

Seeing it on the stage at the Sondheim Theatre yesterday brought all that back, with a stage again filled with unbelievably talented people. If you ever have the chance to see it there, DO! The lady sitting behind me wept openly during Eponine's "A Little Fall Of Rain", and I did the same during Jean ValJean's beautiful "Bring Him Home" (we both felt sheepish about it afterward).

The audience stood and applauded for ages and ages. Then they sat back down for a while, because no one wanted to leave. It was fun to talk about it with the perfect strangers surrounding me! I'll never forget it. 

Why will I never forget it? I am convinced it is because of The Bishop. I simply love the Bishop, who touches our hearts the way he touched Jean ValJean's. It is the miracle of Redemption, which is woven throughout the entire story, beginning to end. And oh, how we need that.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

                                                  

 

St James Church, London

"They built this without the equipment we have today!"

This is absolutely true! My American friend who saw this photo of St James was blown away by the creativity, patience, and talent of so many hard-working British workmen and women. And it is all to a Purpose, you know. Every nook and cranny in this magnificent church points to the Story of Jesus, giving visitors the path to salvation. You could spend a month in just this room alone, and barely even scratch the surface!

I tiptoed into the church yesterday on my way to see Kensington Palace. I love seeing Kensington Palace, dear Readers, because the Prince and Princess of Wales are there from time to time. The appearances are always unannounced, which makes people watch out for them. I am not the only one with such hopes, because when I did actually seen Prince William in 2022, sudden crowds appeared, all shouting, "It's HIM!"

He was the pilot of this helicopter, (as the Brits surrounding me claimed. They were knowledgeable, confident, and knew more than I did, so I took their word as truth.) You should have SEEN their jubilation! Their noise joined the noise of the helicopter hovering and then touching down not far from our perch beneath the trees. If you want to review the blog post all about William that day in 2022, here it is: https://sconetherapy.blogspot.com/2022/

Entering St James Church yesterday had been lovely because of the prevailing silence. The street outside had been filled with horns honking and planes departing from LAX. Inside, though, had there been a hundred people in there with me, it would have remained quiet. A holy place.

But as I gazed at the graceful arches in the front, I heard something - footsteps. I turned and saw a lady holding a cloth duster, moving from pew to pew removing fingerprints. Not that there were any finger prints available to clean. 

"Hello," I sort of whispered. She smiled the whitest, most genuine smile I thought I had ever seen. Wow. Her teeth were so straight and white I felt that no dentist had ever whitened or braced those teeth. They were simply a gift, as is.

"Do you work here?" I asked her. 

"I do, as a volunteer. You'd be surprised at all the dust that can find its way into this place."

She smiled again, and then went back to her quiet work. Someone that deeply lovely was willing to volunteer her time to shine that already shining place, and couldn't help but smile while doing it. 

Wow.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

 

What Is A TeeTotaler?

Clock Tower in Downham Market

I might as well tell you, although it might make you upset at the man I sat next to on the plane. I did tell you that the flight was pretty much perfect, with next-to-no turbulence, and they served us so many meals and snacks that I, for one, became stuffed. The man next to me was comatose the first few hours of the flight, but all of a sudden he woke up, jumped to his feet and yelled, "HEY!"touching the call button. Now that he was properly awake, I noticed that he looked a little bit like Jesus might have looked. That was odd, because jumping up in an airplane and yelling "HEY!" real loud wasn't the sort of thing Jesus would do. 

Our row of passengers sat stock still. Soon a male flight attendant leaned down to ask the man if something was wrong. The man who looked like Jesus said that yes, there was something wrong, something very dreadfully wrong, because the flight attendants were all racists who didn't know what the goose they were doing. He flailed his arms around, escalating up and up until the flight attendant left and got two more flight attendants. 

Dreams of my lovely holiday in Cornwall began to dim.

Soon there were three flight attendants in the aisle being yelled at, and everyone else was getting sick and tired of these shenanigans. In the end I and the lady on his other side got new seating assignments. The man collapsed into the entire row, now empty of all but himself, and slept.

I have only one other note to add to this drama at 40,000 feet over the Pond. There were several empty beer cans laying around the man's feet. Great Scott! Where had they all come from? No wonder he was in such a State.

Which reminds me of something, dear Readers, that might shock you. Get ready for it: Airline flights ought to be TeeTotal. Do you know what I mean by that? I come from a long line of TeeTotalers, which means they don't drink alcohol and therefore would never dream of yelling at flight attendants and spoiling nice people's holiday plans in Cornwall.

(And there would be a lot less shenanigans.)

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

England

 

Wisteria in Norfolk

I am back in England, surrounded by beauty and the magnificence of Norfolk Wisteria. There is so much lovely Wisteria around here right now that you can literally smell it.

There have already been long walks as I reclaim the dreamy fields that are the earmarks of Norfolk. Outside, a fighter jet of some sort passes over the house. This brings back noisy memories of RAF Lakenheath and the fighter jets that still populate its skies. It's nice to see them again.

There is much to say to you, and I will say it. So far, I have made the overnight flight to London, achieved the maneuvering of the Underground without mishap, and been safely delivered to the home of friend Rosie and her Ted. Oh the food! The talk! the memories! because she was here with me through it all, and remembers.

Oh - there, she is calling up the stairs to tell me something important..."Dinner is ready for you!" I already know the dinner will be worthy of the long talks that will accompany the meal. And I will tell you all about it. Honest!

See you along the way!

the Scone Lady