Awww. I can relate, Askold. Years ago, I made the mistake of going to see the old family home where most of my childhood memories were lived. I was visiting the area on trip from Atlanta, and just on a whim, drove over. The same couple that bought the place from us fifteen years before were still there, so they knew who I was, and very graciously let me in for a guided tour and a visit over coffee. They had done a wonderful job of both maintaining and modernizing the house, which my grandparents built in the late thirties. I bet you can guess how weird it felt to be there. Later, I could not stop the tears while driving away. The place was beautiful, but it just was not "home" any more.