Napping in Morrab Gardens

Yesterday was my last in Penzance.  My agenda: eating, napping, and a little shopping.  As I set out for the Morrab Gardens I reflected on how parks are a way of life over here.  Incredible pride is taken on keeping even the smallest and most humble ones clean.  Men.  Women.  Families.  School kids on lunch break.  Dogs and their owners.  Old and young.  Birds, birds, and more birds.  Everyone enjoys the park.  For sitting.  Chatting.  Eating.  Enjoying the green.

After my arrival at Morrab I did write for a short bit--editing a blog entry--jotting down notes of additional items I suddenly remembered.  A black lab with a red collar pawed his way over to my bench to take stock.  His head was wet from the fountain in front of me and his tongue wagged as he sniffed my backpack.  He could probably smell the spill from the horrible vegetable pasty of two nights ago that I had to put in there until I found a waste bin.  No amount of scrubbing or deodorizing has been able to fully erase the scent.  Despite the lack of treats the sweet canine was happy to receive a few minutes of love.

The first bench I chose was in the shade so I could see my laptop screen.  The photo below was my view.  A sweet little boy gave his mother chase as he squealed and ran around the fountain.

After finishing with the laptop I moved to a bench in the sun.  I kept my pen and notebook out in case I wanted to record observations or brain bulbs lit up.  But the Converse came off and my legs stretched the length of the bench--a relief to my left ankle, knee, and hip which seem to have taken the brunt of my activity this week.

 

My bench in the sun.  I always love reading these kinds of inscriptions.  They make me wonder about the who, what, where, why, and how's.....

From this bench bed I gazed upon the fountain and the daffodils.  When the sun hid behind the clouds an awful chill crept up my pant legs and the wind nearly blew my hat off.

A tree to the left reminded me of ramen noodles with its squiggly branches.  A group of 6-8 young men laughed and chatted next to the fountain--mostly about Nicholas Cage and his various movie roles, a topic I thought odd for such a group.

Eventually I put my head down, resting it on my pack.  I dozed for about an hour and then decided it was time for some very hot tea even though I really just wanted to laze and lounge.  The chill of the wind and intermittent shade, however, made this impossible.  So I gathered my belongings and walked the short way to Penlee House Gallery & Museum for a cream tea at the onsite cafe, The Orangery.  After tea I went to the gift shop and purchased the sweetest book by a local author for a friend's little girl.

After tea I headed back to the gardens for a real nap in the sun.  The grass was so soft; the air was filled with flowers.  Before I dozed off I took note of the various gardening and tidying up activities that were happening:  Weeding.  Rails, gates, and benches being sanded and painted.  Flower beds and shrubs were being mulched with fresh wood chips and pine needles--a heavenly scent.  

I'm not sure how long I slept for, but the CRASH! of the daily/weekly trash and recycling being thrown in dump trucks and hauled away is what woke me.  A sea gull was staring at me, eye level.  Maybe he/she smelled my vegetable pasty stained backpack, too.  It soon left seeing that I had nothing to give.  

Fully rested, I began the trek back to my room to begin the packing ritual.  I saw a sweet little cat with a bell on its collar outside a cafe.

I purchased an egg and cress sandwich, a bag of sea salt and malt vinegar chips, some grapes, and a can of PIMM's with lemonade from TESCO.  Note:  not all that crazy about the PIMM's.  But I had to try it since it is so quintessentially British. 

  My last purchase was from a lovely corner store:  three hearts.  I thought "How appropriate."  I will hang them from the decorative screen above my writing desk at home.

To cap off the day, I snapped a shot of the bay with St. Michael's Mount in the distance.  The water was such a brilliant blue, and that is one view I never want to forget.

I Spy.....

Yes, I see things.  I'm always watching and observing.  Part artist, part psychologist....it's just what I do.  Have always done.  So it wasn't surprising that I ran into a skirmish of sorts the other day (photos below) as I was wandering around Covent Garden.  The cyclist spat several times on the ground, nearly missing the shoes of the "damn prick".

What do you supposed happened?  I didn't see the incident; only heard the angry yells.  Until I looked at the photos, I also thought there were only two parties involved--the cyclist and the bearded gentleman with glasses.  Perhaps the bloke in the blue button-down shirt stepped in to try and be a reasonable third.  Whatever the incident, the amount of rage and cursing on the part of the cyclist could be felt in the bones.  At one point he picked up his cycle and slammed the tires back down on the pavement as he spat two more times.  Spitting really is one of the most disgusting things, and in general, this sidewalk show illustrated some of the worst human behavior I have ever seen.  I asked a woman standing next to me on the sidewalk what happened and she said she didn't know, but implored me to take more pictures.  "You 'ave to, don't you?"  I'm not sure what she thought I could do with them, but I am relatively certain this kind of thing happens across London all the time, and I am likely to see one or two more similar shows before I fly home.   

 Nevertheless, I was grateful to get on the train at London's Paddington to head to Cornwall on the 29th.  I still wasn't fully recovered from the flight over the pond, and hadn't slept all that well so my nerves were terribly frayed and misfiring and not all that up to London zip and chaos.  It was a long train ride--nearly 6 hours--and I played a game of sorts to keep my wits about me so I could stay awake and make the needed train change at Plymouth. 

I looked for things.  Things that could be stories.  Beautiful things. Out of the ordinary things.  And simply paid interest to, and took delight in, the land zipping by outside the First Great Western cars as they rumbled over the tracks and through the occasional tunnel.

Here is what I saw:

So many spires in the distance.  Rising above trees.  Above green hills.  They reached up to billowy white puffs or clouds dark with rain.

A riot of cows, horses, and sheep.  Baby sheep.  Some sheep were all white and their coats recently shaven.  Others had white bodies with black heads.  Some had curious blue and red marks painted on their sides--a sign of the butcher, perhaps.

One half hour into the ride, I saw my first thatched cottage.  It was large and beautiful.  Until then, I had only seen them in photographs or movies.  Silly perhaps, but I have always wanted to learn how to thatch.  It's not just a home-building technique.  It's an art.  And if I remember correctly, it's an endangered art. 

Curious white bags....BIG white bags filled with rocks at various places along the train tracks.  Bags of rocks in piles; bags stacked one upon the other.  All along the route.  I have no idea what they are used for.

Backyard gardens everywhere with wooden composting bins and small glass garden sheds and greenhouses; rakes and shovels standing against fences.

A pile of hedge cuttings and pulled up roots...good for shelter building and giving shape to thin places along the canals and running trails.

A runner in a yellow cap and yellow jacket running on the trail beside a canal.

A farmer in a flat cap and wool sweater with a white bucket opening the gate to his sheep.

Large dirt fields ready to be planted with seed, dark brown against vivid green.

One tree in the middle of a field, no leaves...just twisting branches with patches of missing bark.

An impressive array of solar panels larger than a football field.

A cluster of trees with 6-7 bird nests spread between them. 

Circles and clusters of white plastic tubes containing and supporting newly planted tree-lings.  They looked more like large white toothpicks stuck in the ground.

(Between observations I sipped a blueberry-banana smoothie and ate a few bourbon creams.)

And then I listened to a Polycom guy in pinstripes with a flat cap.  (Polycom makes conference phones and videoconferencing equipment...I know this from my previous life as an IT support person.)  He was American.  And frustrated about a contract.  He got off after 5 stops, replaced by an older woman in braids.  She peered out from tinted glasses and wore light blue/irridescent Nike’s, and a large oval turquoise ring. 

Countless fields of yellow flowers.

A gray compact car, dented in good shape on the driver’s side parked on the street in a residential neighborhood.  Owner-inflicted or another Marcy?

Nearer the coast there was the red cliffside with patches of yellow and pink flowers that grew out of and clung to the rock.  The red reminded me of the sea caves and flower pot rocks I explored in St. Martin’s, New Brunswick. 

At the last station before Penzance, a series of cargo cars flew by on the parallel track....cut logs...at least some of them pine I gathered, on account of the baby pine cones still clinging to a spindly branch or two.

A patch of brillant red poppies growing in front of a fence.

A backyard treehouse built in the center of a tree.

Guitar in Piccadilly Circus

I've already posted about Simeon Baker on my Facebook page, but wanted him to have a place on my blog as well.  Music is a great love of mine and my ears listen for it wherever I go.  As I was snapping photos and generally enjoying the sights around Piccadilly the guitar seemed to strum out of nowhere and my feet and ears made a beeline for it.  Normally I don't photograph people because I just don't get the chance, but Simeon gave me the perfect opportunity.  Below is a series of shots I took of him playing.  Here is a short video about him.......