I know I'm not the only one who likes to walk around the fancy neighborhoods and dream.
I've always done it. In my Chicago days, while living in a studio apartment on Wrightwood near Clark Street, I loved driving the Oak Street curve and gazing at the gorgeous nineteenth century apartment buildings, wishing for an invitation into their glowing warmth.
In my early soCal time I had a small apartment in North Hollywood. I quickly discovered the Hollywood Hills, then Beverly Hills. Soon I began to waste gallons of gas, gawking along on those curving streets. An open gate was always a bonus, allowing me a peek.
Here in Pasadena we have our wealthy neighborhoods, our old money houses, our mansions. I walk the neighborhoods now—to enjoy them more, take pictures, save gas. And something else is different. It's not that I don't dream; it would be nice to be wealthy. But then again, I'm happy where I am. I've worked hard to get here.
John and I often enjoy a glass of wine on our front porch in the evening. Sometimes a young person strolls by with a dreamy gaze, and we know.