Eat

One huge highlight of a trip like this one is how much fun it is to eat. I love to eat, and I think it is fun because we were created to do it. Even Ruprecht was created to do it. That is why it is sad when people feel compelled to look at food as if it is some sort of enemy, when it is not an enemy at all. It is a lovely friend.

During my first two St Ives weeks, my food choices were relatively simple because I was alone. A sandwich here, a bowl of soup there, and they were all really good. But on week 3, my British friends joined me and opened the door to a great change, three times a day. None of this sandwich and soup business. Our only trouble was having too MUCH choice. The number of restaurants we are surrounded by beggars the imagination. 

 Last night we ate at Ardor. 

Tonight it was Harbour View House.

Tomorrow for the Sunday Carvery it will be The Badger, in Lelant.

Later in the week it will be The Ugly Butterfly, for an afternoon tea. And these are not by any means all. There will be more.

Tonight we started by looking at the menus, discussing and choosing what we wanted to eat. I'm afraid I don't have a menu to read to you, but I will check with friend Rosie later who will remember every single item we had. But it almost didn't matter, because all of a sudden the most beautiful two voices wafted our way. They were young (20's). They were beautiful. They smiled. And they sounded like angels.

We were treated to the most lovely little concert in the Harbour View House, with the sea shining behind them (there was a plate glass window all along the back) and the spectacular sky above. The young man introduced his sister, and then played the guitar and sang with her in the most talented fashion. We were instantly hooked.

When it became time for us to leave, I asked the two of them how I could access their music. They did not have a way, yet. I said how much it had meant to me that they were a brother/sister group. And then as we moved through the door, a beautiful blond woman stopped to tell us that those two wonderful young people are her children! 

Her face shone as she told us how proud she is of them. How she loves going to their engagements. And that if we want to find out a little more about them, I should type "Globaljamming" into Google or facebook. This was promising! and I shall try it but not just yet, because I am supposed to be in my bed right now.

Do you mind?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Other Things I See

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Organ Has Pipes

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

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

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

The 1907 Hele Organ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Them Mousehole Men

The church in Paul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Robes and Incense

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Some Of The Things I See

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

My Lucky Day

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

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

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

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

"Is your name Chris?" I asked.

"Yes," he said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Why

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

"What does it look like?" he asked.

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

"Ok, but - who is it for?"

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

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

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

"Four! How many does it actually have?"

"One.." 

Silence.

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

See you along the way!

The SconeLady

Them There Eyes

 

Hanging fly paper

I'm terribly sorry if it seems that all I talk about are flies. It really isn't as bad as it sounds, but when a grouping of marauding insects focuses upon you, it makes you focus on them.

I went to the Colesco store today as recommended by the cottage owner, bought some fly paper, and hung it up around the open plan living area. Dear Readers, I must warn you about fly paper. It is vey sticky. If you get it on your fingers you will not be able to get it off for a VERY LONG TIME. I know, because I made that mistake. 

Then, I spray bombed every room, shut up the rooms, and went out for another long walk. Would you like to know what I found when I came back?  This is what I found: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Not one fly was dead. That's it. I've come to the end of my pitiful rope. 

I dashed off, then, just over the road to the Church of England choir rehearsal. I was raised on church music, and could join just about anybody's rehearsals. That is to say, as long as it was basically Baptist. I admit, the music tonight wasn't basically Baptist! It was hard. But oh, so good and so beautiful. We worked hard, and when the practice was finished I said goodnight and ran over the road again, this time to a Jazz Fest. There was a pianist, a saxophonist, bass player and drummer all crammed together on a postage stamp stage. They had a raffle where people might win a Frank Sinatra CD and a chocolate something. I didn't win it, but it was fun watching other people winning it.

I had learned to love Jazz music from my sweet brother-in-law back in 1974. My favorite song he showed me was "Them There Eyes". And another great one is "Take This Hammer and Show It To the Captain - WHOP!". (I was a young thing, and always wondered what the Captain might be going to do with that hammer. I never found out).

                                              

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

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

UP

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