I can trace my collecting tendencies back to the age of just two. One of my earliest memories was babysitting a woman who didn't have much interest in her job. Every day I burst into hysterical tears as my mother carried my stroller to the babysitter's door. The rest of my day consisted of having my beloved stuffed dog snatched out of my hands and his ears ripped off by a gang of rowdy, unsupervised kids. And when my mother had to work late, the traumatic days were punctuated by the babysitter's grumpy husband screaming at the dinner table. Even at that early age, I understood my family's situation and the value of affordable child care. Every night my mother patiently sewed or glued felt ears onto my stuffed animal companion. Things soon changed when my mother divorced my father and moved us back to the farm with her parents. There aren't enough words to describe my grandfather's incredible character. This is evidenced by the vivid memories imprinted in my mind at that tender, young age. His battle with cancer ended tragically when I was five; but not before nurturing a life of curiosity, independence and humor in her adoring granddaughter. My grandparents' house was full of fascinating and delicate objects dangerously displayed right within the reach of my curious hands. I learned to ask permission to handle the heavy glass paperweight so I could contemplate how the colorful swirls got inside. Although my grandmother was irritable at times, there was no one to torment me anymore. My grandfather, however, began to fill my days with a kind of extreme joy that I have rarely experienced since. He took me for rides on his horse and allowed me to follow him on his antique tractor while... in the center of the paper... I glimpsed the child behind my grandfather's eyes for a moment. My long visits ended when Grandma became his nurse and could no longer handle both of us. The last time I saw him he was just a fragile ghost of his former self. “Magic Marbles” no longer existed. Not long afterward he died from complications of heart surgery, leaving a great void where laughter and amazement once reigned. Many years passed before anyone was able to convince me that jawbreakers weren't really geriatric marbles. As I reflect on my obsession with finding hidden treasures, it becomes clear that my grandfather was responsible for its birth. It taught me that incredible things can be found in unusual places, that nature gives us nourishment and that things are not always as they appear. For these lessons and the joy he gave me, I will be eternally grateful. I miss you, grandfather.