I am not conscious of any analogous reaction to my high school, not even when I'm trying to describe nasty places. From the first semester, Gustavus was mine in a way Ralston High wasn't, because I chose Gustavus for myself, and it chose me. And also I think I am wired to have a stronger memory of the good stuff than the bad. Our shabby old apartments are similarly not particularly strong components of my subconscious landscape.
(Which reminds me that my cousin was telling me that there were lots of people from RHS on Facebook, for good and ill. Do I want a Facebook page? I kind of think I don't, but if you have any knowledge of anything good that comes of it, do let me know in the comments section or on e-mail. I'd like to think I'm not closed-minded about these things.)
Anyway. I don't think this is to the point where I need to institute a sandy tan stone ban; it's unlikely to annoy even the most dedicated of readers at the current level of frequency. Still, it's odd to read what I've written and think, "Oh. Um. Well, that. Again. Yes." Some people have a thing for parent/child tropes, some people always write redheaded heroines who toss their curls. Me, I've got rocks in my head. Grainy pale ones.