In the beginning—time still untarnished by tongues of friends telling tales of unrequited passion and by knowledge yet to be understood—pockets and purses held the roots of recollection: tickets torn to their stubs, clovers plucked for their leaves of luck, valentines pasted with tinseled love, prized dance cards, dutifully, if not lovingly, signed by Curt, by Joe and … More Bones of Memory