In our Larson household during the 1960s, better was better than best.

Others shopped Marshall Fields. We shopped Sears Roebuck & Co. My dad Henry worked there. It cost less. We got more. Better.

Mickey Mouse ruled Disneyland. We watched Mighty Mouse cartoons. This steriod-pumped rodent with biceps could fly. Way better.

Barbie had her Ken dolly-boy. My Mitzy clone, sold at SEARS by the way, had no boyfriend and mousy hair. This made her more like me. Better.

Nancy Drew was cool. I received the entire series of Trixie Belden mysteries. WHY I received them instead I don’t recall. Maybe it’s better I don’t.

The Beatles were unattainable but the Dave Clark Five were foot-stomping noisy and, therefore, sexy. Better.

Rosary College’s postcard-pretty campus had students who could spell “cotillion.” I went to Mundelein College where the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary mortgaged their motherhouse to keep us in classes, showing us what women can be. Better.

Real writers courted fame in the famous Writer’s Workshop at University of Iowa, where I grad-schooled in Journalism. I landed a job. That was better.

Glorious Hinsdale is such a pretty town, people drive there to look at it. My husband Rich and I settled next door for two decades with our son in Westmont, Illinois, known only for the fact that Muddy Waters once lived there. MUCH better.