... no, not my past, but Alice's (and yours too, Connie!). She took me on an Ann Arbor tour of Places She Had Lived - and various ethereal stories then took form ("so ... that's the place you had those neighbors!"). I've done this, of course, with her in tow, in Oxford. It's very strange indeed, visiting a site that you know has to be absolutely crammed full of other people's memories (good, bad, indifferent, quotidian); that housed their cats; that had birthdays and Thanksgivings and dinners in them - all before you knew they existed. Or rather - given that I have copy of a very early piece of Alice's in Powers of Desire that has my markings in the margin - before you knew that they were a real human being, and not just an author-function.