Shame No Cane

 Used to be centuries ago, that walking sticks were very fashionable. Both sexes held them, not due to aging situations, but as an accessory. They were very visible and decorated elaborately. In Louis The Fourteenth's day they were bejewelled and their taps on marble floors were considered  the rock music of the day. When grandmother wanted a cup of tea, she struck her stick on the carpet and the heirs came running. Most were sported by the elderly and respected as sensible, useful additions that  helped persons go about in a dignified manner. That was then. These days of replacement surgery at a wink, canes are largely used only during rehabilitation after surgery. Those of us who abhor surgical procedures unless absolutely necessary, use canes and we are very grateful for them I will have you know. But there are people such as rather close friends, who look askance secretly at being seen in the company of a caned individual. If their aging situation is not the same. One lady, who fancies her golf sporting skills, however limited, considers it embarrassing to be with other ladies who carry canes. She is able to skip along lithely she thinks. And more power to her. This person's aging challenges are of the hearing and seeing variety. These don't require highly visible aids such as canes or walkers. Thus, they can hide their hearing aids and wear fancy eyeglasses and feel somewhat superior. Canes are a great assist to one's self - confidence just as hidden hearing aids or contact lenses. In either case, a fall can become a serious problem. I have a wardrobe of canes and walking sticks and feel no shame in their use. I happen to have nothing wrong with eyes or ears but I have one bad knee that I've been assigned in my particular aging repertoire. I've already had one minor operation on the thing, but now other conditions have arisen. Surgery, however, to me, is a last resort. Most of my friends are astounded that I don't just dash in and get my knee bones sawed off and a piece of metal stuck into what's left. They tell me they did it and look at them. Apparently, in many instances, once is not enough. A second hip or knee could be necessary to continue age marathoning. I prefer to keep my bones intact until the situation becomes desperate in spite of all their enthusiasm saying "why not just take the surgery and be done with it." My first cane was a joke. I was the family eldest at a reunion, and on the last day, the relatives presented me with a cane. Lots of laughter about it. But I am really smiling now because it's a boon to lean on the same cane, a rather sensible black one but a jolly nuisance, too. It isn't the cane so much as its proclivity in falling over with a loud smack when parked.  Also my deaf and half-blind pals who skip around like teens find it embarrassing to be with someone caned who looks "old". They are in fact older than I am. The other day, I went to my garage storage cage and there was my mothers walker. I took it for a spin and wow. The walker, compared to a cane, is like a jet plane compared to a red wagon. I can walk straight up and sit down when I please and roll along at a good clip. And no falling stick that makes everyone jump when it hits the floor. Good-bye cane, hello walker. Maybe.