Story about a thing

What makes an inanimate object special? It's just a thing. Just molecules arranged together in a particular way. Yet we all have treasured possessions. That thing we could live without but choose not to. It has no other function than to tell a story; and it's the story that gives the thing importance. Life, even.

I've had mine since I was 5. I had others. Lots of them. But this one I venerated for over 20 years. The others, to me, were just things. Disposable. Replaceable. And so was this thing in theory. But not to me.

It came from Scotland. My Grandfather was on a trip with his friends; Wales were playing Scotland in the Rugby League so they went on tour. It's the longest I remember him being away. And the longest I had to wait for a gift on his return. I knew there would be something. He'd regularly drive down to Cornwall during the week to work and bring home Cornish Pasties. He'd work in Kendall and return with every variety of Kendall Mint Cake. Always something. I never became ungrateful but this time I was expecting something special, because he'd never been so far from me.

He came home with tales of proud Welsh victory, drunken nights and how he got the thing. Now most presents are just given. But this time I was made to sit and listen to where the thing came from. He described the street where he found the shop, under an ancient iron bridge that crossed a wide river. Told me about the lady that made the thing, how she made it, that there were lots of others but none exactly like this. I listened to how he had a thing like this when he was little and so did his Grandad. How they're made by a person and not a machine; like all the other things I broke and threw away.

I felt like this had been made for me. It was mine and no one Else's. It by no means looked completely unique on the surface but it definitely felt it. It became more valuable and precious than anything I had laid hands on and still is to this day.

And it was this that made me want to make for others. To give someone a thing. A thing that can be treasured, talked about, shown off, handed down, appreciated. Making something by hand does that. When you see something emerge before you it makes you want to tell others about it's story. To give it life. To make it so much more than just a thing.

Every thing is just a thing. Our only necessity is food, water and air. Everything else is just stuff. It's just the stories that make them dear.

It's the learning of the stories that make us live more conscientiously. To appreciate the things we chose to surround ourselves with. To love them and never take them for granted. It sounds like a better way to me.

This is Mac, the bear that came from scotland: