This relates to a recent Daily Post topic, Pride and Joy, and this is one of mine. My grand old cane has frequently  become my inanimate companion.  I found it in an antique shop, actually years before I even needed it. It felt good in my hand. I loved the intricacies of the carving, and I wondered for whom, by whom, when and where it had been made? Questions I have that just add to its charm.

Well, now I need it as a result of a replaced right knee (which is great), and a bum left knee that isn’t. At 75, my balance on uneven terrain, and the challenge of certain steps has prompted me to take it wherever I go. It makes a terrible racket when it falls on a hard surface, I have to look for a place to put it in a restaurant and I’ve left it in numerous grocery carts – but it’s like a boomerang. it always comes back to hold me up and steady my course.

Unlike the well advertised miracle cane, mine does not fold up in my bag; I can’t magically flip it out as I exit a booth and it doesn’t have a three pronged flexible base. The one attribute of the Hurry Cane that I covet is its ability to stand alone while I shop.

My beautiful old cane has gone to some amazing places with me: great hockey games, the Harvard Museum of Natural History, and my nephew Matt’s graduation from West Point. It’s served me well and receives many compliments on the way –  though hurry, it does NOT.

But neither do I so it suits me just fine.