Wednesday, March 17, 2010
...that would be Flintridge, with roads and trails leading to a stretch of the Santa Monica Mountains called Cherry Canyon. Not usually an admirer of the gulag style of architecture, I appreciate the simplicity when all you really want to see is endless sky and trees and purple hills.
This house is for sale. There’s a rumor it belongs to a major basketball star – you know, the tall one.
Both my surgeon (the one who finds my bones after my horse throws them around the Arroyo) and my dentist live around here. So did Dr. Bob, a well-known heart transplant specialist who would ride up the canyon with Vandy and me and whoever else might join. Everyone, horses and all, could tramp across his lawn to the pool for ice tea and a swim. Hemingway was right; the rich do have more money.