They may have selected their new home as an act of memory, its features reminiscent of the home they were leaving. The sensory impressions that said San Pedro to me said Liguria to them. Writing a memoir is perhaps one of the most extended acts of remembering. When we read an account of someone's life, we imagine it to have been written it in one long, unbroken act. Nothing could be further from the way memory works.
Memory emerges the way an oil painting goes on in layers.
First the rough sketch, then a deepening of light and dark. Each layer focuses on a different aspect, color and detail slowly fill in. Siblings are useful for reminding you of the sketchiness of memory. You think you have perfectly recalled that family Thanksgiving in 1957 in Fullerton, when you first met your deaf cousin Susie. Then your brother says you have merged two separate Thanksgiving dinners.