Spring Is Busting Out All Over

Greenville, South Carolina

Sunday, 7th April 20013

I had time to write Sunday morning, with the in laws going to church and all.  He runs one of the cameras that records the service and so leaves earlier to set up, while she stays behind to make sure she looks her best before leaving.

Upon their return early in the afternoon, we all drove into downtown Greenville.  I had no real expectations either way of the city, but even entering it on I-185 was impressive---with the freeway in scale with the surroundings and beautifully landscaped.  The urban forest, though largely bare or just bursting into bloom, gave a sense of history and permanence lacking in the exurbs.  The core of the city has just the right balance of old and new, height and breadth.  There is no sense of history lost.

Most impressive were the crowds strolling the streets.  I've never seen so many people walking hand in hand, but it was a perfectly balmy day---with a stiff breeze blowing at exactly the same temperature.  Love was in the air.

We bumped into a friend of theirs from the senior center---a tiny Russian who was on the way to open her gallery.  Although her gallery was home to a number of artists from amateur to impressive, most of the space was given to her tremendously prolific output.  Although her vivid and urbane style was not to my taste, she displayed good composition.  I favored her sketchy watercolors over her scratchy acrylics.

"Oh, those are my more traditional works," she replied offhandedly.  They obviously didn't interest her much, and I wondered if they were nothing more than her ideas to later reproduce in acrylics.  She has lived all over the world, and her street scenes reflected this.  Her watercolors were of the type expertly slapped out and sold on the Champs d'Elysee.

As my husband and I pursued her gallery, the in-laws stayed close to their friend, who they had not seen in some time.  It turned out her husband had been critically ill, and now it would be months before he could leave the hospital.  There was a lot of catching up to do.

"When he regained consciousness, they started asking him all sorts of questions to ascertain his mental abilities," she said once we finished our rounds.  "When they asked him who the president was, his blood pressure went sky high---so they knew he understood that question!"

There were guffaws between the three of them and wan smiles from us.  My brother-in-law winked at me and announced:  "Careful, there are a couple of liberals among us."

My husband protested because he often can't leave well enough alone when it comes to his brother.  He offered a lame dissertation about neither being liberal or conservative when they damn well knew we're liberal.  His message was that he didn't appreciate being boxed in and didn't have any real fondness for any politician.  I agree, as I'm only impressed by an exhibition of intelligence and diplomacy over party rhetoric and philosophy---and needless to say I've rarely been impressed.  Nothing gets done if one changes their politicians as regularly as their underwear---and if you want change, you need to start at home by doing something positive and a bit out of your comfort zone.  And by positive, I don't mean mounting a counter-attack...

Anyway, my husband later remarked to me about this occasion in that he was pleased that his brother had introduced me as his partner.  I was pleased that he was pleased, but there didn't seem to be any alternative other than introducing me as his love child...

Sitting in a barbecue restaurant---where I should have ordered the barbecue instead of the barbecue salad, I duly mused to myself that my in-laws weren't seeing the same things out the window as I did.  There was a lesbian couple and their three children, the two men---the one man. Of course none of them were holding hands. Sitting close to the plate glass, I was at eye level to what gay men like to look at most, and indeed it looked like spring was busting out all over Greenville.

On the streets I walked behind the other three.  Being a head taller than them made sight seeing a breeze, and I could stay out of the way of other pedestrians if I took up the rear.  So naturally I saw first to see what my husband had to turn back to point out to me: a man holding his girlfriend's hand across the corner from us.  He was built like a brick shit house, wore skintight trousers and his penis was pointing to ten o'clock and the object of his affection.

"Look," he said, too loudly.

"Shhh," I hissed.  Like I wouldn't notice that.  Not that we don't share such observations, especially on days most conducive to hand holding.

"What?" asked my brother-in-law.

I suddenly had an interest in the heavens above and my husband darted back to the curb as an avoidance maneuver.

"What?" he asked again, fortunately not to me.  Perhaps he was just once more playing the instigator.

My husband finally muttered something to his brother---obviously picturesque enough to receive an icy oh in reply.

We wandered through the Mast General Store, a Greenville fixture since 1883.  Past the large outfitting department up front one finds local foods, kitchenware and once-penny candy.  Walnettos and hard ginger candy were my favorites---the latter a complexity of mild heat, spice and a pronounced floral scent on the breath.  Horehound is to be avoided in the future.

Eventually we ended up on the river, walking midst a happy juxtaposition of the man-made and natural.  Multiple spots for lingering and lounging or listening to concerts make the parkway most inviting, and the suspended arc that is Liberty Bridge is a favorite spot to hang out and watch the water slip over the limestone shoals in the river below.  Since the water level was low, many people were tempted by the forbidden act of walking out onto the shoals---gingerly moving about on the slippery, wet surfaces.

"I could live here," I murmured to my husband beside me on the back seat.  It would only be a day before we'd be reminded of the wretched humidity, but in this moment---this hand-holding day of growth and diversity---a little brick bungalow in some downtown Greenville neighborhood literally felt good.