If there was a place / time that you could visit again, even if for a
brief amount of time, what would it be?
  I assume that most people have had feelings like me: you've vistied a
place, and when going there again, something is different, such that it
isn't the same?  Sometimes I think its little things like the people I was
with, or perhaps places being "built up" over the course of years.
  These are the places I visit in my mind, over and over.

9 responses total.

   In 1976, I travelled with friends to various places in Ohio.  The
car, sometimes called The Shit from Below, decided to throw a bearing
of some sort in the engine.  Its death throws were truely dramatic, as
something slammed into the top of the underside of the hood, and stuck
there.  This happened near Xenia, which 4 years ago had been nearly
destroyed by a tornado.  Perhaps you remember President Nixon, flying
there to look at the damage?  He was placed next to a man still in a
state of shock, and the President asked, "Well, what did you think of
the ballgame?"  In the course of getting the SFB pushed into town, so
the machanically minded could work on it, we came across an old geezer
who it turned out was as old as he looked--96.  He saw that the car was
out and offered *his* place to work on it, and to crash there, rather
than try to find a place that might work on it on Sunday.  Looking at
each other (there were four of use), it seemed no more bizarre than the
rest of the trip, and we accepted.
   Mr. Geezer turned out to be an interesting if loney man who outlived
all his children, and wife (two of them).  He wasn't quite spry, but he
didn't have the gate of the acient, either.  Politically he was a
Republican, and rememberd Nixon visting the area.  He was disgusted enough
with him that he said he wrote something in the local paper over it.
   Getting the car repaired took two days, in which we did some chores
around the place, in payment for getting free use of an incredible tool
set, and free food.  My part was rewiring the TV antenna; I'll save the
story of how I started sliding down the Big Steep Roof of the farmhouse
and saved myself with TV antenna cable for a more appropriate place, like
the writing conference.  During those two days I learned something about
gathering peices of what life is trying to say to you during your years,
and came to appreciate some of my mothers stories a bit more.
   Before we left we had a bbq on what was once an emense barrel of some
sort.  Mr Geezer had sause what seemed to contain mostly black pepper,
but it worked after being cooked on the meat for about an hour.  As we
were eating the sky turned black and angry, with enough of the Sun left
to color its part of the sky bright red/orange.  I remember sitting there
with food about my mouth thinking this was a very special time, for some
reason.  Here we had a bizarre trip (more happenings suitable for the
writing .cf), had the car blow up and wind up with the tools and place
to fix it with a interesting, sad, crufty old man.  We all developed a
liking for each other, and did promise to come back and bother him if
we were in the area again.
   Two of us did go back that way again, about a year and a half later.
Anyone who knows me will appreciate the fact that a paper bag can often
be a geographic challenge, but I was able to find the house / farm again.
   Only it wasn't there.  What remained was the burnt out shell of the
house, and the barn that held the tools and such mostly flattened.  We
drove closer to town and asked what had happened.  From what we heard
he had died and before anyone knew what to do with his property, the
house burned down.  Of course Mr Geezer died without leaving a will--
his children (two? three?) had died so long ago that apparently a lot
of people didn't know he had ever had them.  The person in the gas
station we talked to seemed puzzled that we would have known him, and
didn't really believe the quick version of his generosity twords us.
   As I left the area I felt sad.  Sad that I hadn't gotten to see him
again (and gotten the receipe for the bbq sause).  But glad enough that
I had met him just that once.

   So I still have memories of sitting on an ancient picnic table, red
paint weathered, eating food looking at the sky that was dark and golden
just before a rain.  I will never capture that again.

But aren't those memories wonderful, though, Steve?  [Great story!]

I'll have to think about this one [where I'd like to revisit...].

Even if I don't ever move back to Michigan, I'm definitely going to come
back, over and over, to visit!!

 :-)

What about the rest of you, where would you like to visit again?

I didn't exactly visit these places, but I wish I could have.

First, I think I'd like to live in Paris in the 20s and 30s. It would
have been a great kick to live there when Gerturde Stein, Hemingway,
Picasso and others were doing their thing.

I also think it would be interesting to have lived in San Francisco
during the "beat" era.

This hasn't been touched in a _very_ long time, but I couldn't pass it up!

I join the last entry, if I could visit a place I feel I've been, but have
no way of knowing, I'd go back to visit Renaissance England.  

To go back to some place I've actually been I'd go back to London, England.
I lived there for a year and it was home to me.  Though born and raised in
the United States (MI), I never felt I belonged here, and after returning, I
still feel I am supposed to be at my _real_home...England.  One of my favourite
places/memories is sitting on Tower Bridge very late at night, looking out
over the Thames, seeing the ghosts of The Tower looming through the mist, while
faintly, very faintly Big Ben echoes and drifts off the waters.  This is my
solitude.  
My other favourite spot/memory was sitting beside the "moat" surrounding Leeds
Castle (Leeds, Kent, England) as sunset as 20 hotair balloons took flight
simultaneously over the Castle while I supped on fine wine, fresh bread and
cheeses.  The warm summer breeze enveloped me and once again, I knew where I
belonged.

I hated returning to the USA, but I know that someday I will return.  I hope
these things won't change too much, for I hope to share them with my new
family someday.

You really evoked the feel of England -- I've never been but would
love to.  I don't know if I'd like th reality.  What I want is the 
England of Dorothy Sayers, Marjorie Allingham and Agatha Christie.  
Not only is it probably not there now, I wonder if it ever was.

I think any type of England you want, you can find somewhere.  One day I felt
I was truly in a part of 1960s London while I wandered aimlessly through some
backstreets of SoHo and eventually down near King's Road area.  I was away
from the way the streets are today, into some out of the way areas, and felt
transported.  I even found a smokey jazz club!  The very next night I was
wandering SoHo again, and found I was walking the pathways where Jack the
Ripper had murdered his victims.  It still has the original cobblestones,
the flame/torch streetlamps, and the mists rising up out of the sewers.  I
was wearing a flowing skirts and cape, and actually felt myself being afraid
of the shadows.  While England is continually evolving, they preserve the
feel of their history so well, I think you could eventually find a little bit
of any time somewhere in the country.

I love England. I'd love to see Paris and rome too. 

Places to revisit if I could:  Varous places down south!  :-)

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