When I was very young, maybe 5 or 6 years old and we spent a long time along the Ards peninsula, my Nangor (grandfather) and I would spend a lot of time along the shoreline foraging and beachcombing for whatever came our way. Well my Nangor had 2 walking sticks, a good one and a bendy damaged one which I always disliked and whenever we went on one of our expeditions that was the one he always made me use, I used to hate the aul thing, throw it around, treat it badly, have no respect for it. Well over the years my Nangor passed on and the walking sticks disappeared but were always talked about in our family and fondly reminisced over. As I grew I started making my own walking sticks and always tried to make them as perfect as I could, yet in the back of my mind I liked the ones that had a dog leg, or a wind rub or were just a little imperfect, they appealed to me in a way I couldn't fathom until it was pointed out to me it was probably a reflection of the stick my Nangor made me carry.
I liked that thought and I've come to accept that the attraction in something is often due to its imperfections and these have as much validity as anything that is perceived to be perfect.
Those memories of walks along the beach over 50 years ago with my grandfather hit me hard a few weeks ago when my mother turned up with a present for me, my aunt had found something when clearing out her garage and thought I might like it, it was my Nangors stick, the bendy damaged one I always hated and that now means more to me than I can possibly express, I say without shame that tears ran down my cheeks when I saw it.
Simple little things can have a big impact on ones life and none more so than those imperfect things of creation that were lost but now are found.
