I can trace my collecting tendencies back to just the age of two. One of my earliest memories is of being “babied” by a woman who didn’t have much interest in her work. Every day I burst into hysterical tears as my mother wheeled my stroller to the babysitter's door. The rest of my day consisted of having my beloved stuffed pooch snatched away and his ears ripped off by a gang of rowdy, unsupervised boys. And when my mother had to work late, the traumatic days were punctuated by the cries of the babysitter's surly husband at the dinner table. Even at that young age, I understood my family's situation and the value of affordable child care. Every night, my mother patiently sewed or glued the felt ears onto my stuffed companion. Things changed quickly when my mother divorced my father and moved us back to the farm with her parents. There aren't enough words to describe how incredible my grandfather was. This is evidenced by the vivid memories imprinted in my mind at that young and tender age. His battle with cancer ended tragically when I was five; but not before fueling a lifetime of curiosity, independence and humor in her beloved granddaughter. My grandparents' house was filled with fascinating and delicate objects dangerously displayed within reach of my curious hands. I learned to ask permission to handle the heavy glass paperweight so I could contemplate how the colorful swirls flowed inside. Even though my grandmother was sometimes grumpy, there was no one to torment me anymore. Instead, my grandfather began to fill my days with a kind of extreme joy that I have rarely experienced since. He took me for horseback rides and he let me follow him on his antique tractor like ...... middle of paper ...... a momentary glimpse of the child behind my grandfather. My long visits ended when Grandma became his nurse and could no longer care for both of us. The last time I saw him, he was a frail ghost of his former self. There were no more “magic marbles”. Shortly after, he died following a heart operation, leaving a great void where laughter and astonishment once reigned. Many years passed before anyone could convince me that the jaws 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 creation. He taught me that incredible things can be found in unusual places, that nature gives us food, and that things are not always as they seem. For these lessons and the joy he gave me, I am eternally grateful. I miss you Grandpa.