Have Cane Will Travel

Breakfast preparation for Mother in law is often delayed because she can't locate her cane. Typically, she appears in the dining room about 8:30 am explaining her tardiness with the remark, "I've been searching all over for my cane and I can't find it anywhere! Have you seen it?" "Take a look in the dining room," I suggest, knowing it's on the back of a chair.

Mother in law actually has two canes: a slender telescoping model in a subdued neutral gray as well as a high tech quad variation featuring outspread feet with non-slip rubber grips on the bottom of each. This is the mobility equivalent of four-wheel drive for octogenarians. Our driveway is one of the steepest around, approaching a 20% grade. I've suggested to Mother in law she could scale it with her quad cane and fetch the morning newspaper while I'm busy grinding the coffee beans (see my 04/02/10 post).

Invariably, both canes are in one of two places: hanging from a drawer pull on her clothes chest across from the bed or positioned on the edge of the dining room table or a nearby chair back. I can't recall either cane being abandoned in a wayward location. This leads to an observation for Mother in law: If not at location A, I should stop searching there and hustle out to location B. So far, this doesn't seem to be clicking.

When breakfast has concluded and she's had a chance to restock her Kleenex supply - one, sometimes two, in each sweater pocket, another up each sweater sleeve, and a backup in her waistband - we are ready to embark for the Lutheran senior center a few miles away. First, we execute an approach to the car parked in the driveway and distanced from the house by two sets of steps. As we maneuver into position for a step down from entry way to front porch, Mother in law shifts her cloth-handled bag and telescoping cane from hand to hand looking for optimum purchase. I extend another hand to ensure a secure transition.

With both feet planted on the porch, Mother in law pauses a few seconds to make sure no essential item has been left behind. "Do I have my coat?" she asks. "You're wearing it," I say helpfully. "Where's my cane?" she adds in a worried tone. "It's hooked over your left arm," I reply while pointing with my free hand.

Next, we climb three steps from porch to driveway. Stepping up is comparatively easy. I open the car door and motion for her to approach. Mother in law takes a few steps then pivots her backside toward the seat. Slowly, very slowly, she lowers herself into the car until she can bend no further. With a relaxed - plop! - she drops the remaining six inches into the seat. Cautiously she swivels the left foot over the door sill, then the right foot. Keeping an eye out for errant appendages, I close the door, walk around to the driver's side, and position myself behind the steering wheel. Together, we wrangle the buckle on the seatbelt into the catch at the side of the cushion while dodging the curved handle of her cane. "Nobody ever said I was graceful," she remarks. I place the transmission in reverse and gun the Jetta up the driveway to the street. Mother in law is off on her next adventure.