Headhunters sent my husband a glowing description of a job in a new town. We read it with envy; the perfect place, but the more we read, the more familiar it sounded. "Gosh," I said, "It's our home town! Bloomington, Indiana." "Tempted?" he asked. "I would be if we didn't live here." "Me too," he said, but I'd already had a vision of the horror of moving and it already had chosen its image. Here our chateau full of fine furniture and artifacts (we actually live in a renovated chicken coop furnished with comfortable yard sale rubbish) is being transported to a new location.