One person’s trash is another’s treasure. This maxim is an undeniable truth in my life. In the early 1960’s, my mother called for me to investigate a strange object she could see in the yard. I went to see what it was with the expectation, as she had suggested, that it might be a turtle (tortoise). What it proved to be was a homemade Baba Looey which was made from a pre-printed fabric, cut and then suffed with what I later found to be ruined stockings. It was probably dropped there when the gargage collectors were emptying the neighbourhood bins [back then they emptied the metal cans into large burlap sheets and bundled them like Santa sacks to take them to the “garbage truck”]. It was, however, in my pre-school aged mind a present directly from God. My mom wasn’t keen, but the necessary washings and repairs were made and this little doll became my constant sleep companion at night, even continuing with me [albeit in my pillow case] into my teenage years. Later when i went into the forces and married it was kept safe in my parent’s home until I was nearly 60. Now the Hanna-Barbera superstar resides on my dressing table. Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.