I have a cane, Llara

Rick gave me a cane for Christmas, which may mean that my daughter and he will have a long conversation.

It started on my 61st birthday. Llara and I went to Chamonix to celebrate. After a wonderful long hike we were sitting in a café next to a burbling brook. Along the rail separating the terrace were boxes filled with pink and red geraniums.

A woman about my age was helping a much older woman walk with a cane and settled her at a table near ours.

"That could be us in 20 or 30 years," I said to my daughter.

She nodded.

I had an idea. "I'd love a cane?"

My daughter is much more conservative than I am.  She also worries when I come up with ideas she considers strange. "Whhyyyy?"

"Think about it. I could be on a bus or even on a street. A handsome young man comes by."

"Sooooooooooooo?" She still looked suspicious.

"I could poke him in the buns. Poke, poke, poke. They'd never suspect an old lady of molestation."

Her MOTHER was drawn out into several syllables. "You are NOT getting a cane."

"How about a walker? I could pin handsome young men to the wall."

"No walker. I don't know enough French to get you out of jail."

It became a family joke much like our Scooby games. No cane. No walker. And I kept asking.

I suppose she and Rick will discuss this. She will probably say I'm his responsibility. She tried to prevent any problems. Of course, his French isn't at the level to get me out of jail either....