A Winter Sea Side Town

The sun had recently set, and the remnants of the ebb suggested this seaside town was ready to pull the shades and slumber. A brisk offshore wind picked at my garment seams for a way to get inside and chill my skin. The occasional gust did manage to lick my neck. The idea of hot tea or coffee lurked in my immediate wishes. Despite the cold sensations, the homes and restaurants glowed. The foreboding weather emptied the streets, and the village seemed indoors, performing end-of-day routines such as dining, visiting, and winding down.

The last family outside passed across the courtyard, struggling to keep their dog focused on getting to the front door. My dog-loving traveling girlfriend, Sarah, did not necessarily help. Her gentle demeanor attracts everything in his world, including the young, slobbery-snouted dog. The happy dog paid Sarah handsomely in slobbers from head to toe. We spent five minutes wiping the drool off her new all-weather jacket.

I love to experience and share moments like these. Come with me or invite me, and be ready to explore.

Gray and Gray

It was many moons since my most valuable treasure sailed away from the shores of my soul. Every day, I walk these piers alone, hoping that perhaps one day, my gem will sail home. I may miss my treasure, but I know that my treasure is also missing me. The feeling grows even harsher, like a giant storm roaring in from the sea, knowing that your ships and shores may never pass again. Some understand this feeling well. Some may know what it is like to leave the metaphorical shores of your daily beloved. The feeling in the heart comes from the longing to connect with the missing pieces.

The Daily Wave

Unlike the other tourists, I headed out to see the city of York in the very early hours of the morning. I seriously enjoy seeing places in the early morning hours. There is something to be said about watching a town or village waking up.

Ponder the thought that every day, every hour for millions of years, we have formed a human wave around the planet by waking up in the morning.

I take part daily in that wave from my small, self-centered view of life. I cannot see the wave. It's not like our Stadium of Life is shaped like a bowl.

I walk the area during the day and nonpeak hours as much as possible when I visit a place. Seeing a place at least twice affords me the license to say I actually visited.

The scene is from Clifton Street facing South East. Time of Day 0728 and the sun rising (0732)

Shambles

The tour guide asked, "Do you know why they call this the shambles?" I mumbled too loud, “Because they are a mess?” “Not exactly, but I will share with you shortly,” said the tour guide, throwing mystery words and rolling his eyes back in my direction.

The street is called the "The Shambles" because the road is full of shambles. I was like in my head, “Duh,” I am still not there. What the heck is a shamble? The suspense was stringing me along. Finally, we arrived at "The Shambles." Filled with anticipation, I was ready to see my first shamble. Was it metal, wood, or a combination of both? Turning the corner onto The Shambles, my eyes scanned high and low, looking for anything I had no term. The medieval scene drove us tourist imaginations into a curiosity of the life in those years long gone. The human’s ability to manage and interrupt the world in the 12 and 13th centuries was very different from the 21st century. Reading medieval history often feels cruel and unusual. So, what could a shamble be in the context of my literature readings about the early centuries when people believed in ghosts, evil spirits, and demons as real entities?

The guide stood before a shop window, leaning slightly on a large window ledge. Or at least what I thought was a simple large window sill. Then he explained using a visual illustration that the window ledge is the shamble. I spoke up; that shelf is a shamble? Yes, this is a shamble. The merchants hung their meats over the storefront window shelf. Above the shamble was an old rod with original metal hooks. The meat hung from the hooks, and some smaller pieces for sale were sorted on the shamble. The tour guide added that these hooks were originals and, in medieval days, hung meat for sale and that the large shelf below was also original and held other meat items for sale. The street became known as the Shambles, named after the storefront window ledge.

So, the word shambles entered my vocabulary with meaning and a visual. I had wrongly assumed that Shambles met something, being a hot mess. That was yesterday. Today, the word has meaning. :)