He spent his life in the margins. Living between times. His real passion, his real life occurred only in the summers. The rest of the year was spent anticipating. And finding financing. Courting the rich with the romance of the past.

The desert stole his youth. He went there to find another past, not his own. His never would've stood the scrutiny. Just a normal youth. School, family, football, cricket, England.

With the tools of the trade- sable brushes, trowels, and shovels, he dug into eternity. Not his own.

The discoveries were made by others. But he read about them and dreamed of finding something that would make every summer spent in the pursuit worthwhile. And that would make all of those anticipatory seasons vanish in the blaze of the glory of eternity.

Everyone remembers Howard Carter, right?

(it's Egypt night on Discovery. FYI)