We all are different. When my mother would visit me in Louisiana, we would tour the elegant plantations, and she loved them--the costumed docents, the beautiful antiques, the glimpse into privileged lives of the past. My father (who owned a hardware store and built furniture as a hobby) was fascinated with the tools and workshops of the past. On his first visit to the French Quarter in New Orleans, my father-in-law wondered why they didn't tear down all those crummy old buildings and build a parking lot (so we wouldn't have to walk so far.) None of them ever quite understood why places like this fascinate me.
