Ode to The Castle
There she stands, in all her magnificent decrepitude, the Castle Green. She has graciously presided over Pasadena for more than a century. Since 1898, when the families of the great industrialists first arrived (with their enormous steamer trunks) to stay for a warm winter enveloped in the heady scent of orange groves.
People in the park ask if the Castle is haunted. I tell them about the uniformed bellman I saw carrying pillows and blankets in my hallway one day.
They ask if crazy people live there.
Crazy? Possibly.
Eccentric? Definitely.
Artistic? Certainly.
People who care about history and architecture (more than water pressure) ride in a wrought iron cage to their gorgeous apartments with stately picture windows and gracious balconies.
Everywhere you look is an embellishment of iron, plaster or marble. Heavy red velour draperies frame delicate white lace curtains that billow in the breeze. There’s carved and polished wood here, mossy-hued tile fireplaces there, the antique furnishings bathe in the golden glow of turn-of-the-century style tungsten bulbs.
The Castle Green.
Living there was both a pleasure and a privilege.
It’s hard to say good-bye.
