Photo Essay: Inside Greystone Mansion (Updated for 2017)

[Ed: Updated with new photos 10/24/17 5:09 PM PT]

I love my hometown.

Yes, sure, I've already established that I love LA. But I don't actually live in LA.

No, my hometown is Beverly Hills. And it has a lot more to offer than Rodeo Drive.



I had the rare opportunity to tour not only the interior of Greystone Mansion (whose exterior gardens I'd already visited once), but also the recreation wing and other super-secret nooks and crannies not usually visited by civilians.

Desert Revelations

Today, while hiking solo along the Borrego Palm Canyon trail in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, I realized:

I don't so desperately need to be alone anymore.

And,

what's more,

I don't so desperately need to be with someone either.

I'm kind of OK either way.

Related Reading:
Since I've Been Gone

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Photo Essay: Taking Flight

I knew I wanted to visit Anza-Borrego Desert State Park sometime this spring so I could catch the wildflowers, since my last visit was at the tail end of summer, the brown, dusty low season that makes the park feel dead and barren (though no less magical). I took the opportunity to capitalize on my approach from the north (LA) instead of the south (San Diego) and decided to use Warner Springs, CA as my basecamp.

I'd first read about Warner Springs as an up-and-coming wine country, to give nearby Temecula and Julian a run for their money. But then I discovered there's a lot more to do here, including flying planes.

When I arrived at Sky Sailing today, I had no intention on actually flying a plane myself. I wanted someone to fly me, and I would go along for the ride. But when they offered- and kept offering - I couldn't turn the opportunity down.



I asked for the most basic plane, with the most basic package, at the shortest time frame available. No acrobatics. Just for beginners, the gentlest experience possible.



The cockpit was a two-seater, with me in front, gauges and controls on my dashboard and between my legs.



"I don't think I want to fly," I said. It wasn't that I didn't want to get in the plane. It's just that I didn't want to have any responsibility.

"OK well we'll see when we get up there," Keith, my pilot and soon-to-be flight instructor, said.



At first, we were being towed by another plane, the tow line tight between us.



But soon, the tow plane was ready to release us.



And then we were on our own.



And soon I was on my own, my pilot urging me again, "You sure you don't want to fly?" at which point I responded, "OK, yeah, sure."

I couldn't turn it down.

Flying a sailplane like this one (also known as a glider), you have a kind of joystick between your legs, and a pedal beneath each foot. Adjust the joystick to the right, step down on the right pedal, and the plane turns right. But the incredible part is that it actually takes very little adjustment, very little pressure, very little movement to steer the plane dramatically to one side or another. And with a little nudge, a little guidance, the plane can completely change direction.

Left in that position, the plane will continue to circle, tighter and tighter in the same direction. You can't just turn left. At some point, you have to turn right to straighten the plane out.

I remember when I was learning to drive, changing lanes was a huge challenge, because intellectually, I thought you'd have to turn the wheel in the same way as when you're turning off onto another street. But in truth, to change lanes, it's better if you just make the slightest, most subtle adjustment, and almost lean into the direction in which you'd like to go.

Now I change lanes with ease, zipping in and out of traffic almost like a snake in the sand, gliding from side to side.

Sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest difference.

Slideshow:

Related Reading
Elegy for the Flightless Bird

All Is Full of Love

I might be paraphrasing a bit here, but at some point in the final act of the film Magnolia, William H. Macy's character is sobbing and says something like, "I have so much love to give...and nowhere...to PUT IT!"

I've always related to that.

I've always looked for a person to love. But I've never loved my own life.

Til now.

I love my apartment. It's mostly furnished now, and not really decorated, but I love what it is now, and what it can be.

I love my car.

I love my commute to work.

I love lunches in Santa Monica.

I love having a job again.

I love walking to and from the Sunset Strip and not having to drive home.

I love my new MacBook Pro.

I love starting over with a clean slate.

I love meeting new people, and I love some of the people I've met. (Or, at least, I like them very much.)

I love being a brunette in a blonde city.

I love suburban sprawl.

I love LA.

I love my life now. And I love what my life can be.

I'd love to share it with somebody.

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Photo Essay: The Gamble House, Pasadena (Updated for 2020)

[Last updated 3/5/20 6:30 PM PT regarding new management]

Pasadena was founded in the 1870s by families from Indiana looking to escape Midwestern winters, and since became a destination for Middle American industrialist magnates like William Libbey of Libbey Glass. They built winter homes that occupied a large horizontal footprint, but from the outside appeared almost modest—despite the tremendous investment they required.

And so Pasadenans are known to say, "If you're not comfortable in Los Angeles, you'll be comfortable here."

And I, being from a town as Midwestern as Central New York can get, feel very comfortable in Pasadena, too.

circa 2017

One of its many architectural marvels is The Gamble House, commissioned by David Gamble of Proctor & Gamble.

circa 2017

Most people would recognize The Gamble House as the setting for Doc Brown's house and workshop in Back To The Future (particularly the garage).

circa 2017

The garage once housed several (electric!) cars at the time of the Gamble family—but now it's the visitor's center and gift shop where the house tours begin.



It was designed by the architectural partnership of Charles and Henry Greene in 1908, at the height of the Arts & Crafts movement...



...which was somewhat of a predecessor to Art Deco, but with a focus on open-air and outdoor spaces.



Many of its characteristic designs are quite geometric.



But there's also an embrace of elements of nature—particularly Asian flowers and trees (like gingko, dogwood, and other Japanese plants).

circa 2017

These themes are repeated not only in the art glass doors and windows...

circa 2017

...but also the lighting fixtures designed by both Greene & Greene and Louis Comfort Tiffany.

circa 2017

Electricity was still relatively new at the time of the Gambles' arrival to Pasadena, and no one was entirely sure how safe it was. Most bulbs were of a low wattage, and most of the fixtures either directed the beams away from people's faces (and up towards the ceiling) or provided some kind of shield.

circa 2017

The low lighting and mixture of deep brown woods (maple, Honduras and Santo Domingo mahogany, black walnut, etc.) make the inside of the house incredibly dark—so much so that the Gambles couldn't find any prospective buyers for it who didn't want to paint everything white to brighten it up.

circa 2017

So, to preserve the integrity of the interior, the Gamble family initiated the process of converting their private home into public property...

circa 2017

...gifting it to the City of Pasadena in 1966.

circa 2017

Its educational activities now as a house museum open for tours are managed by USC, whose strong ties to the California Arts & Crafts Movement along the Arroyo Seco date back to the late 19th century. [Ed: As of March 2020, The Gamble House is managed by a newly-formed non-profit organization, The Gamble House Conservancy.]

circa 2017

The Arroyo was pretty wild back at the turn of the last century—but now, the area of Westmoreland Place and Orange Grove Boulevard (a.k.a. "Millionaire's Row"), just 0.3 miles from the "dry river," has been tamed into manicured lawns and lotus ponds.

circa 2017

A red-eared slider turtle is about as wild as it gets now.

circa 2017

The Gamble House is one of many Craftsman homes in Pasadena, enough worthy for a whole walking tour of the neighborhood.

circa 2017

But on its own, the Gamble House is so huge and its design is so intricate, you've got to tour it several times just to see everything.

circa 2017

I've been twice, and I still feel as though I've only scratched the surface.

But fortunately, the photography restrictions have recently been softened—which means I'll be back.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Mysteries of the Pasadena Magic House & Museum
A Pasadena Mansion Plays the Role of Plantation
Photo Essay: The House of Chewing Gum and Roses 
Photo Essay: The Time Capsule That Is Lanterman House

What I Can't Get Out of My Head

How do you know when something's right? Upon first glance, it may seem right, feel right, look right, sound right, even taste right, but how do you know if it is, in fact, right?

I mean, we humans are sometimes dazzled and distracted by shiny things. We see a pretty face and think it's love. We're willing to sacrifice ourselves for something that seems like a really good idea.

When I was looking for a NYC sublet in August, I almost moved into a 5 bedroom apartment for $1200/month where the main tenant taught drums for a living. In the apartment. At night. All because it was situated in a converted smokehouse (adaptive reuse!) and on one of the nicest blocks of Williamsburg's North Side.

Thank God I came to my senses.

Sometimes, you can trust your first instinct, your gut impulses. When I walked into the building in which I now live - even when I first saw its listing online - I knew it was the one. Then again, I had over 20 other apartments in LA to compare it to.

But in the case of my Astoria apartment, where I camped out for five months, I forced myself to trudge all around the city looking for something that might be better, cheaper, newer, hipper, more conveniently located, include a pet, not include a roommate, etc. And after I did all that, I realized I had to make a decision, and return to the first apartment I saw.

I'm all about taking opportunities as they come my way, but in order to make a decision I was really comfortable with, I had to know what I was missing out on. I had to shop around.

In setting up my new life in LA - furnishing my new apartment, buying a car - I've tried to manage my own impulsiveness in the same way, even if that means hitting dealership after dealership, furniture store after department store after thrift shop, and Target about 17 times. So far. Most of the time, I've chosen nothing. I've spent hours online each night, scrolling through the same thumbnails of curtains and clocks and chairs and pillows and rugs and tables over and over again. I have bookmarked tons of items, added them to my wishlist and emailed links to friends. And then I've waited.

Ultimately, the right choice is eventually revealed to me, because I can't get the image of certain items out of my head. If I can't stop thinking about it, and I can afford it, I should go get it.

While I was car shopping - a rushed endeavor, like my apartment hunt, that I only gave myself two days to accomplish - I couldn't stop thinking about the first dealership I'd visited, Miller Honda in Culver City. Even though I'd visited two other Honda dealerships around LA, had looked at Hondas at various other used car lots, and was told I could not afford a brand new Honda Fit, I returned to Miller Honda at the end of my last car shopping day. I didn't know why I was there. I didn't know what I would be asking Ruben, the salesman who'd impressed me so much the day before, for. I just couldn't get the place out of my mind, so I went back, and told Ruben my story.

Like any good salesman, he assured me that we could work something out, and in a couple of hours, I paid the down payment I asked for and set up the monthly payments I could afford. I left my rental car with them and drove my new car (lease) home.

Likewise...

After all the frogs I've kissed, which is the prince who makes all others pale?

After all the pillows I've squished, which is the one I can't help but bring home?

After all the places I've lived, which is the one that feels most like home, and that I can't wait to get back to? (Hint: it's not New York.)

Sure, for people like my mother, it's easy to become fixated on minor things that don't matter - a spill on the carpet, a stain on the shirt, a rip in the curtains, a germ in the air - but for someone like me, who's a little bit more than distracted by shiny things, and falls too easily in "like," I need to be able to dismiss the passing fancies, or accept them for what they are. Although that may slow me down in the process - 14 years in New York, 35 years of being single - so far, I've done a pretty good job of putting my new life together in Los Angeles on a pretty tight schedule.

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Furnishing an Art Deco Apartment on a Dorm Room Budget

When I realized I was moving into a historic Art Deco property, I realized I had to improve my interior design skills.

Up until now, I'd lived in apartments that were furnished as glorified dorm rooms, with space-saving storage units, cheap bookshelves, torchiere lamps, and heavy plastic crates. When I moved out of my Manhattan apartment in August, I put most of that stuff on the curb, leaving me with practically nothing except a table and chairs and a mattress.

I was starting my life over in LA, but I was also starting from scratch in my living space, having sold my couch and thrown or given everything away.

Fortunately, moving into an apartment with an existing distinctive style gave me a little direction in narrowing my already-eclectic taste, which usually has resulted in a kind of organized chaos in my prior decor motifs. But furnishing a new apartment from scratch can get really pricey, and although I had a somewhat of a budget to do that, it was a modest one, and was competing with my budget for a car.

So although I'd promised myself to upgrade my furniture from the KMart back-to-school collection I once owned, I set out to furnish my apartment slowly, deliberately, and affordably. And selecting those pieces has monopolized my time since moving to the West Coast.

I think I've done a good job so far. Some of my new treasures include:

Living Room
Chloe Velvet Metro Living Sofa, Seafoam - Macy's
Gear C-Table - CB2
Golden Geometric Logan Armless Chair - World Market
Angelo:Home Sutton Chair - Amazon.com
Cocktail Trunk Table, Espresso - Target.com
Mirrored Tray - Restoration Hardware
Mirrored Console Table - Target.com
Distressed Metal Cocktail Table - Target.com
Safavieh Soho Blue Burst New Zealand Wool Rug - Overstock.com
Adesso Spotlight Floor Lamp - Amazon.com

Adina Step Stool (floor model, 10% off) - Pier 1

Bedroom
Glass Accent Table - Target.com
Mirrored Box - Restoration Hardware
Sunburst Wire Wall Art - WestElm.com
White Sliding Door Media Cabinet - Target.com
Adesso Bella Table Lamp - HomeDepot.com
Metal Accordion Side Table - UrbanOutfitters.com

Almost everything is here. Almost everything is in place. I still need to put the finishing touches on with what one might call accents - throw pillows, curtains, etc. - and with some photos and framed prints.

But it's starting to feel like home. I'm starting to figure out where to put things, where their natural places lie. Last night, instead of going to bed, I reclined on the couch for awhile, thinking, "I like it here."

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One Month In

It's hard to believe I've already lived in Los Angeles for a month. I'm not quite moved into my apartment or out of my boxes yet, but I'm settling in in ways that count.

I've established my local, a restaurant where they know me by name and seem genuinely happy to see me.

I've gone on four dates.

I want to get up in the morning.

I accept invitations to hang out with groups of people I don't yet know.

I've gotten a lot better at parallel parking.

I don't miss New York.

But, in LA, I need to find a place to dance, and someone to love.

Then I'll really feel like I'm home.

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Photo Essay: Past the Mission

Houses of worship have always ranked high on my lists of places to visit when I travel to a new place. I've toured any number of cathedrals, churches, and mosques in my various domestic and international travels, but somehow - despite all the time I've spent in California - I've never managed to make it to a mission.

Until last weekend.



I guess it didn't occur to me that a mission listed on the National Register of Historic Places would still serve as a functioning house of worship, so when I pulled into a full parking lot early Sunday morning outside the Mission Santa Ines in Solvang, I was surprised. But sure enough, I'd already missed one mass and a pancake breakfast, and I was just in time for the second mass of the day.



It's quite a turnaround from the original iteration of the mission, which was built by the Spanish to try to convert the local Native Americans to Catholicism, and which operated as a functioning ranch for several years. The original footprint of the mission was huge, and actually similar to some of the mosques I've visited, with a large, open-air central courtyard...



...housed by an exterior wall, topped with Spanish tile.



But instead of going back inside to sit through service (about which I was somewhat curious), I stayed outside of the main building, discovering the mission's more interesting exterior features and nooks, including the gardens...



...an area where you could walk through the Stations of the Cross...



...the view of the vineyard next door under low-hanging mist...



...and a cemetery of graves both unmarked and marked by reproduction wooden crosses...



...blank metal signs...



...and crumbling old headstones.







My mission visit was a decidedly architectural and historical one rather than a religious one, but walking through the cemetery, I did feel spirits around me, if not my own brand of spirituality derived from nature, solitude, and exploration.



I suppose this isn't what people have in mind when I tell them about traveling solo in Santa Barbara wine country. But there's a ton of stuff to do, besides winetasting, just a couple hours north of LA. And plenty of opportunity for future exploration in my search for greater meaning - even among the ruins, and the dead.

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Walking In LA

At least once a week, I try to walk a couple of miles in LA in one day.

Not on a hike through the mountains, taking pictures and navigating trails, but on the city streets - or, rather, the sidewalks.

They are seldom used, the sidewalks, here in LA - at least for walking. For the last three Tuesday nights, I've been walking to and from the LA edition of the cold reading series where I've been workshopping my Tunisia story, and my round trip route is desolate. On the way, around 8 at night, there is the valet retrieving one final set of car keys from his metal case, which looks like an electrical box affixed to the side of a luxury boutique. There is the woman waiting for the bus with her cart, so overflowing with goods I wonder if she's homeless. There is the group of three young men, clearly tourists, crossing the street confidently with a sense of purpose, and eying me curiously. On the way back, there are the men smoking outside a restaurant. There are the doormen from the swank hotel. And there is a single ambulance passing by, lights blaring, silently.

The Beverly Center looms in the shadow of itself, its stores empty but its restaurants bustling with patrons who do not emerge onto the sidewalk. The Cedars Sinai hospital hangs brightly in the sky, its beacon lights unflickering behind the city's street that does not move. The traffic lights change, regularly, but the cars passing through them seem confused when I pass, stopping and starting as though losing all memory of road rules and of how to operate heavy machinery.

I amble, headphones in ears, hands in pockets though sometimes gesticulating wildly to the side and over my head, in response to a song or a lyric or a beat or the rhythm of my own gait, the freedom of being alone on the sidewalk, on the streets, on the road. On my walk from Beverly Hills to West Hollywood, I traverse a stretch with no homeless vagrants, no cab drivers, no drug dealers, no skateboarders, no prosthelitizers, no pickpockets, no whistling men. No one is interested in what I've got.

These are my wide open spaces, the sidewalks and intersections occupied by no one at night.

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