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Aww, that's lovely, and I know exactly what you mean in that last paragraph.

I keep meaning on pinching my dad's old New Zealand flight plan maps from when he and my ma went adventuring (and learnt how to fly light aircraft, apparently) in the sixties. Beautiful, big, irregular-shaped maps covered in hand-drawn notes and measurements and things. Every single line a little bit of their history.

Rick Monro

Beautiful, Richard. My own Dad was a joiner by trade, created some really beautiful things during his life that remain with us (although not enough of them). I similarly can remember various tools that took on a kind of character, the shed was full of them. One huge regret I have is that we gave all of Dad’s tools away after he died, in a knee-jerk reaction to try and unburden Mum of the task of clearing out his things. I was younger then, never gave a second thought to it. But I dearly wish I’d given it more thought at the time.


I can understand that Rick. Might have done the same thing if I was in that position at a certain point in my life. My Dad's health is declining slowly so now, these things are taking on meaning they didn't have before.

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