Nguyen bought me a cane today. It isn't a cool one. It is a dorky adjustable model from the Walmart pharmacy. In hideous copper. With a padded handle.
My grandmother had a great cane. It was a branch from a red cedar tree from her place in Georgian Bay, Onterio. A huge wind storm tore down half the trees one year. In the midst of the grief over losing old friends, my dad salvaged at least a bit of a memory by fashioning a walking stick for her from one of the branches. He even fitted the tip with a little rubber stop so it wouldn't mar floors... or worse, slip. Her cane smelled of the island it came from- all cedary and woodsy. The bark began to peel immdediately, but there were little stubborn spots that stuck. She looked beautiful carrying that cane.
Mine is industrial. It works. I can now get up from chairs without too much effort. But it ain't nothin' like Granny's.
My kids want to put up a sign in the living room that shows a sillouette of a woman holding a cane that says: