Sticking it to Me

Every now and then, I think about walking sticks as an accessory but find myself quite hesitant to pull the trigger and get one.  Style is style but somehow in this day and age, a walking stick is quite an affectation- especially if one is able to walk properly.  Now, going for a walk or hike in the country is another thing, but how often do I go out to the country? The answer, which will surprise nobody, is that it is as rare as a visit to the hated beach in the height of hellish summer.  Perhaps I should make more jaunts to the country- that is, if I do declare my disallegiance to the city (or town as some call it, though not I, at least not just yet).  So, I suspect that on my upcoming trip, when I will surely visit the halls of the grand houses which still manufacture the beloved walking stick, I will be very much seduced and may fall into temptation.

The following is from that store in New Orleans whose name escapes me but which is known in history as the site of the pharmacy which originated the cocktail.

En garde (at least for some)