It is extraordinarily hard to find any good ones, esp if I have to sort through scores of bad ones tinged with various versions of craziness.

Honest to god, the good memories are ones of me by myself. . . . sometimes they are of me playing my piano or walking in the woods, or cooking blackberry cobbler for everyone else while I was home alone, . . . of reading all of Ulysses on the beach one summer between college semesters just for fun, of writing in my diary when I was in grade school/middle school . . . . at 16 yrs old of driving across the county to teach piano lessons to the kids of a wealthy family and of also getting get paid to read to their blind grandmother.

I liked "working" in the public library when I was 15.
I was actually volunteering because I was too young to get paid and because Mom inisisted that I be gone for parts of the day because she did not want me around the house during the summer.
But Mom and I had a few fights about transportation until I was finally 16 and had the use of a car so the library is only a "medium" happy memory.

I remember a high school boyfriend fondly. We did not break up. We said goodbye when my family moved four states away.


M