Hand Me Down My Walking Stick

People who know me -- and people who see me out walking often -- include my walking stick in their mental picture. Years ago, when my husband and I tackled steep hillsides and even small canyons, I learned the advantages of a third "foot" in preventing spills and squeaking past scary footing.

But I have a problem. When I walk downtown, running various errands, it's easy to misplace my beloved, lightweight, expensive pointy-tipped staff. Every time this has happened, I've recovered the stick. Except the last time. It's gone.

So I had to quickly come up with a new stick. Not a cane, mind you, but a tall hiking staff. Aha! Look in the basement. My husband had an inexpensive alternative to my pricey black stick: either one of a pair of ski poles he bought at a late lamented second hand shop for a couple of bucks.

Never one to worry about appearances, he left whichever pole he used in its original configuration, complete to the dingus at the bottom, which has something to do with staying atop snow, I presume.

Not me. I'm a city walker these days -- appearances count. I used my fine new clippers to trim it off.

Turned out that the leather strap was weak, as well, so I added this fine red replacement. Test drove the walking stick this afternoon and all's A-OK, though I think a spray can of black paint is in order. And I wouldn't mind a slightly pointier tip.

If you want a similar walking stick, go to the back room of the Salvation Army thrift shop and rummage through the box of ski cast-offs. I see a couple of candidates right there in that picture I took last week.