If I am a wealthy woman when I retire, then I would love to live in Hilton Head. The beaches are moderately appealing (I am a tough beach critic), I could play tennis nearly every day and enjoy nature. Not bad. However, if I retire a very wealthy woman, then I would love nothing more than to live in Charleston, South Carolina in one of the lovely, well-kept homes that line the waterfront battery. In fact, I cannot presently think of a more ideal location. Charleston combines my love of so many things. First off, the city has a fascinating history that has been painstakingly preserved.
Could you imagine living in a home where actual Civil War history has taken place? Wow, it would be worth altering your life to accomodate all of the preservational rules and regulations that accompany living in a historic home.
I could walk on streets and admire the careful deliberations of neighbors, determined to find just the right floral accompaniments for their window boxes.
And in the light of springtime sunsets, I could reminisce about perfect days past.
Not only is there the larger, romantic history of one of the most beautiful cities in the United States, but the city holds an important point of personal family history as well. My parents met in Charleston. My mother was a new schoolteacher, straight out of graduate school at the University of Virginia. She came to this Southern city with her Irish Setter, Kelly, and her sailboat, thinking it would be the perfect place to make a life. She met my dad, a young Naval engineer stationed in Charleston, working on nuclear submarines. Charleston must have been a very romantic place for both of them; before they were engaged to each other, they each were engaged to two other now nameless, faceless individuals. But fortunately for my sisters and I, they eventually found their way to each other, otherwise our unique DNA might have never been formed.