Chic Canery

 No, it's not a misspelling.  A cane is generally not considered, in this day, chic. There was a time when a walking stick was not a necessity, but a fashion statement and both ladies and gentlemen, sported them. These times, indicate a rather unhealthy climate of attempting to remain youthful forever. But when you reach the venerable state, that ambition is out of the question. The one I see in the mirror is well past any human ability to gussy it up to anything near "youth". When people say you-don't-look-a-day-over-sixty and you take it as an extreme compliment, it's proven. The best one can do at this stage, the one I presently own, is to dab on a bit of make-up, shower regularly and submit to the ravages of aging with grace, but not too much. The "ravages" include such experiences as arthritis, especially if, in your younger days, you used whatever joint it's in, far too enthusiastically. My joint happens to be my right knee. Kneeling is not possible, walking and bending are seriously to be considered, and running is but a dream. A secret cane is helpful, but not in public, we think.  There comes a time, when you can no longer hide the cane that you use around the house only. One must see the dentist or go to a restaurant or a store when the item is not found on line with delivery. Something has to be done! Your friends delight in showing you their knee surgery scars, be they linear or little pimply things they say are laparoscopic and it-didn't-hurt-for-long. "You really must get your knee 'done' dear," they say, "I did".  To emphasize their point, they give themselves a little hop, not far off the floor, but close. When you press them, they do admit to wearing a brace on their knee if they are going for a nice, long walk. They also don't reveal the pain pills they are sure to take before going on the nice long walk. Taking the advice of other surgeried, elders in my midst, I called my favorite doctor who is available for the most part, on the telephone. He offered me a buffet of choices for "bad knees". I opted for the ointment as a first choice, being that going to a hospital where viruses are rampant, was not a safe destination. And seeing a specialist in the osteo field is perhaps a year or two away at best and frankly, I am not sure if I can afford the time. The informative pharmacist called me about the ointment I could slather on,  and I learned that using it would give me perhaps a half hour relief from pain. Factoring it all out, timewise, I surmised that the ointment solution, would get me halfway into the mall but not back out to my car with any degree of comfort. Scrub that fix. My bamboo dragon carved cane, that is older than I am, and needs a  new tip, begins to take on appeal. A new tip costs pennies and a tiny blue pill will give me twelve free of pain hours, according to its label.  I deem to wait until I can get a shot in the knee of some kind of goo as a second step choice solution. And really, the cane is rather attractive. I shall wear it with pride, and keep in mind from now on, that with retro fashions abounding, its use might even come back in style.