I love discovering an old purse in my closet that has been filled with maracas, a train, some plastic dinosaurs, a shoelace, and a couch from the dollhouse. I love imagining the make-believe scenario that brought these small objects together and where they were traveling in a tacky crocheted satchel. I love being the guardian of the imagination that concocted that scenario. I love that I don’t really need to know what it was all about, and that it has already passed – a moment in playtime – leaving behind just the artifacts of its existence, pieces of plastic and wood worn by time and little hands, pieces that I will put back in their colored bins after bedtime, trains with trains, blocks with blocks, in the way that makes sense to me but not to them.