I saw my old apartment listed on Craigslist the other day - the landlord made it look way better than it was. But I guess perpetual bad smells can't be photographed...

I once caught a little program that went with William Shatner to his first childhood home. It was pretty interesting.

And I used to have really vivid dreams about sneaking back into my last apartment and being shocked at the state of the art renovations.

I've lived in exactly four places in my life. The family house is still in the family and I have no desire to see the two places I lived in before my current place.

I can understand the attraction, both at the strong sentimental end of the scale as well as the idle curiosity end, but it's not something I'd bother with myself.

I revisited my former house in Pennsylvania recently... the new owners did a fabulous job with the landscaping! Much better than I was able to accomplish... but I was a little peeved that they moved the pear tree I had planted...

Some years back I went to see the house where my family lived when I was in High School...

What a disappointment: Most of the trees that my parents and I planted had for shade and fruit been ripped out - including beautiful big Magnolia and Ginko trees in the front yard and an Apple tree that produced wonderful fruit in the back yard - part of the side yard had been paved over, a bay window that we'd installed in the dining area had been removed and the current occupant had apparently backed their car into the side of the house by the garage leaving crumbling brickwork, etc.

No need to go back there again.

personally only from the outside, I've been with my grandmother to visit her old home, after half of it had been converted to a pool showroom..., but it seems like only odd strangers come to the door asking to look, does this happen to other people?

my friends moved into my last apartment when i left, and it looks amazing now.

The people who bought my childhood home from my parents painted it a HIDEOUS color. My best friend still lives in that neighborhood so I still drive by my old house. A few years after the ugly paint, they tore down the screened in porch that my father had handbuilt (and if I may toot his horn, did a pretty sweet job of.) and I was pretty upset.

oh, i go back and see my sorority house every few years which has changed quite a bit with the advent of laptops. everything about how students live has changed since we were there in the early '90s. everyone in a quad-room, shoulder to shoulder on their computers. like it was a computer lab. this was a room where my friends and i hung out and talked, watched tv, played cards and cranked out papers on a wordprocessor.

it was sad.

nope. but then, in the past twenty years I've lived in more places than I care to count and in four different countries, so that makes it a lot harder. Plus my folks moved halfway across the country in the meantime, so the so-called 'childhood home' (that I moved into aged 11 and moved out of aged 17) is no more. Home is where I am right now; I don't really need to go back to the old places. I might feel very different if there was a family home that had been part of the famly for more than one generation, but there isn't.

I made a trip to see (and possibly buy) the beautiful rambling Victorian I spent the best years of my childhood, only to find it is now a wreck being used as a halfway house, with holes in the walls, mildew, and destroyed woodwork.

I wish I just didn't know.

Seems like most of the time the result is disappointing, even depressing. I know I wouldn't wan't to see former homes, for me it's kind of like finding some of your old family belongings at a charity thrift sale.

I recently went back to see the house I'd grown up in. It's only one owner removed from my family; my mother was the original owner of the house and owned it for more than 30 years, and when she retired and moved she sold it to a family who sold it to the current owners.

They let me wander through the house, and as it turns out I was able to tell them a whole bunch of things about the house they didn't know -- like, for example, that my grandfather had built the porch on the back, and that he and my father together had built the beautiful built-in shelves in the den. (I was so happy to see those were still there and still in good condition!) Also, the shutters my mother had had custom-made for the strangely shaped windows in the upstairs dormers were still there as well.

They had redone the kitchen (which desperately needed it), but that was basically the only change that had been made. But it was a beautiful house to begin with.

I always drive by my old places when I am in town, but never get to seek the inside. In apartment I live now, I know the past 3 previous residents going back 20 years (hey, it's rent stabilized and has been kept in the "family"). My current boyfriend's ex-girlfriend lived here in the early to mid 90's. She saw it just this morning, and couldn't believe the changes. During the renovations when I moved in, a new closet was built, the floors refinished and/or replaced, a storage loft built, and new kitchen cabinets installed. She was amazed.

You can (or should) never go home again.

My parents sold my childhood home after living there 30 years. It was so pretty with enormous 100 year old orange trees in the backyard from when the land used to be a producing orange grove. It changed hands a couple of times after they moved. Last year, I noticed that it was on the market again (for $800,000 more than my folks sold it for - hello housing bubble!). The people had done god-awful things to the inside that were completely not in keeping with the style of the house. It was horrific with electric green, orange, and blue paint. They ripped out 5 original wood french doors to put in vinyl sliders, took out hardwood floors to put in ugly cheap tile, and worst of all in my book, cut down the orange trees.

I would have been better off with the memories than seeing my mom cry at what had been done to "her house". Don't go back if you loved it. It rarely gets better in the hands of others.

i've only lived in two places. my current apartment and the house a grew up in.

my parents still own the place i grew up in so i'm able to drop by whenever i please. nothing ever changes though, in the 30 odd years they've been living there all that has changed is the floors and possibly the paint in their bedroom.

my favourite part is the bar with beaten copper top and textured/metallic bamboo wallpaper. as a child we also had modular seating upholstered with a matching bamboo pattern.

there is actually a house around the corner from my parents that was built using the same design, though you can't really tell from the front because they are built onto the sides of a hill. when the twin house was open for inspection we went and poked around. it was pretty amazing to walk around a house the same as yours but completely different at the same time. the agent was really confused that we knew exactly where everything was - probably more confused when we referred to the 'hidden' basement as the dungeon and knew it was there too ;)

Goosebucket - We're in similar boats.

My childhood home was painted cream and green (to look like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland) and my parents kept it in pristine condition. Dad even carved hearts in the top of the yard gates when I was really little.

A relative who lived close by passed away a year ago, so I've been past the house several times. Whoever owns it now has painted it a hideous color, let my mom's roses die, replaced the gates, and generally neglected it. I almost want to shake them.

I once went on a real bender and stumbled right into my old apartment at about 2 in the morning. Guess my old key still worked.

I remember asking the new tenents who the hell they were and why they had rearranged all my shhhhtuff. They were not amused.

Does that count?

I went back to my old neighborhood in Portland a couple months ago, but didn't actually see the house because it's up a long drive. I hope the current owners have treated it well, though. I was so upset when my parents sold that house. It had so much personality - built around 1901, hardwood floors and old wavy windows, and even a full, unfinished walk in attic on the third floor with a tiny little window looking out. When I was little I wanted to move my bed into the attic, but my parents wouldn't let me!

I've checked out the house I grew up in on Google Earth a couple of times, and drove by it about 5 years or so ago. It's now painted in lovely primer gray, and they've chopped down all the trees in the back yard and most of the trees in the front yard.

All it's missing are cars parked on the lawn.

But at least now it matches the rest of the neighborhood, which went to utter sh*t not long after we got out.

Recently a sweet little house with beautiful landscaping that took the owners ages to work on was sold. And the new owners ripped out flower beds and put in grass and haven't weeded, and so on. I often wonder if the owners come by and stop in dismay.

Similarly, my mother has denuded our property over the last 20 years or so, much to my own dismay. It's like she has a vendetta against nature. Not a single thing has remained, including the four-story-high blue spruce trees that dominated our front yard. We've replanted here and there, but it's not the same.

I've Google Mapped my two apartments, yes, but it doesn't show my grandfather's house, which I'd love to see again.

From what I've heard the Chastleton has undergone a huge renovation over the past few years. It looks great from the outside. I definitely admire it when I ride by it on the bus.

I've seen the outside of a few DC area places I've lived but not inside. It's weird enough driving by and wondering about who's living there now.