I know it sounds like I was going to say “my husband”; I am falling in love with my husband. I am already in love with him, though, and this weekend I fell in love with Charleston.
My weekend of loving Charleston began with a magical wedding at the Citadel and included: a radiant, beautiful bride, a happy, handsome groom, an “everybody dance now” kind of band (Atlanta’s own Atlanta Party Band), precious, and I mean precious wedding children in the ceremony, and time spent with dear and wonderful friends. A weekend full of happy.
Then, after a delicious Sunday brunch (best grits ever!) and some more wonderful visiting time, Beazer and I headed out to do a little sightseeing. And I fell in love with Charleston. It helped that the temperatures were in the seventies and the skies blue. It helped that the city was the home of my college roommate, whom we lost to cancer, and I cherish memories of going home with her to Charleston. The city is precious to me now; it is where she grew up.
What else to love about Charleston? The light, the water, the soft-hued houses, the scrolled trimmings, old brick, fascinating architecture. People walking, running, riding bikes, walking dogs. The Battery Park with its massive live oaks and twining limbs. Cobbled and brick-paved streets, winding vines, soft gas lights, and later, the sunset over the water.
We strolled through The Market and I splurged on a slate-blue pottery mug, bought pralines, watched talented women weave sweetgrass baskets. We ate outside, and my husband was patient when I took way too many pictures. (Here is a picture, which I would like to caption, “Are you sure this is enough?”)
The city smelled like the ocean and, in places, like something delicious being cooked. (Well, you just know I am going to have to bring in the subject of food.) Besides the afore-mentioned grits, and the nachos in the picture, made with smoked chicken, some of my favorites were shrimp, crab, melt-in-your mouth grilled cheese paninis, and, of course, coffee.
The only two not-so-great moments were when I dropped and broke my new pottery mug (: and when I asked the people sitting next to us at lunch if their dog was a mix. (Apparently not. They were not amused, but I have never seen an almost solid black German shepherd. My bad.)
Now we’re on our way home. I remember when I went to college in South Carolina, how I would sometimes get homesick for the big, old hardwoods and rolling hills of north Georgia. But now I am loving and appreciating the countryside we are passing. The air smells like pines, and the slender, small hardwoods, the flat farm country seem open and warm.