This Walking Stick

On Valentine’s Day I bought myself a walking stick – in anticipation of my upcoming eightieth birthday in mid-May. I tell myself I don’t really NEED a walking stick right now. But I couldn’t resist this one. I saw it at the open-air market at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference that day. It called to me.

As most of my WOW readers know by now, 2025 marks the tenth year I’ve lived in beautiful San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, after having attended my first Writers’ Conference in 2015 and deciding to retire here at the age of seventy. In these ten years, I and my SMA friends have been watching each other grow older and older at close range.

The response to “How are you doing?” over lunch can fill the allotted hour – not with complaints so much; it’s more like reportage. But even these “organ recitals,” as we joshingly call them, recitations of our diminishments, make a pleasant change from discussing the horrifying world news these days. 

We commiserate over each others’ reports of failing eyesight, failing hearing, failing stamina and vitality, and more. We all have aging issues, but some of my friends choose to merrily toss theirs off as “better than the alternative.” 

My issue is mainly digestive: the less I eat, the better I feel. So I’ve become a stick figure in my old age. I’m a modern-day Twiggy.

I’m reminded of the passage in Atul Gawande’s best-selling book BEING MORTAL — a meditation on how people can better live with age-related frailty — that has stuck fast with me since I first read it some years ago: “Some people shrink to twigs as they age. Others become trunks.” I’ve become a twig.  As such, I think I’ll soon need the help of a stick to prop me up.

Gracias a dios, as Mexicans always say, I can still SEE and HEAR and THINK and WALK. I don’t own a car, so I walk a lot. I walk an average of three miles a day – down into el centro, all around town, and part-way home (I usually take a bus back up the hill) to my sweet apartment in Colonia Independencia. I love to walk in this exquisite, color-filled city, under the normally clear, cobalt-blue skies, in the almost-always temperate climate, away from the demanding, unremitting grip of screens. Walking stretches my soul.

But it’s also true that some of the things that make this charming old colonial city in the central mountains of Mexico so charming are the same things that make it somewhat treacherous for getting around on foot: the hilly terrain; the narrow, cobblestone streets; and the uneven, slender, and oftentimes slippery old stone sidewalks in el centro.

(Calle Aldama, with SMA’s iconic Parroquia church in the background)

Most visitors and all residents are aware of these pitfalls and dress their feet accordingly. Sturdy walking shoes are de rigueur. But spills still happen, especially to older women who’ve grown a bit wobbly. There’s even a jokey name for a so-called exclusive club — “The Fallen Women of San Miguel” – a club I hope never to join.

“Each year,” says Gawande in BEING MORTAL (this book came out in 2014, but I’ve recently reread it), “about 350,000 Americans fall and break a hip. Of these, 40 percent end up in a nursing home, and 20 percent are never able to walk again.” Oh, boy! I think. Oh, no! Not me! The day I can no longer walk again is the day I’ll opt for the alternative.

So this Valentine’s Day I overcame my reticence, my fear of looking like a proverbial “old lady,” my, yes, let’s face it, pride, and I bought myself a walking stick. But this is no ordinary walking stick. This walking stick is a one-of-a-kind work of art. This walking stick, I like to think, has magical powers. Already, even before using it much, it’s made me less anxious about turning eighty. It’s given me something solid to hold on to.

 (With my new walking stick and my friend Sher Davidson at the Writers’ Conference — photo by Patrice Wynne)

(“Twiggy” strutting with her new walking stick — photo by Sher Davidson)

This week I visited the man who made my “magical” walking stick, Ernesto Perez, at his studio here in SMA to learn more about him and his art. A retired attorney originally from Santa Barbara, California, Ernesto has been painting primarily on wood surfaces – chairs, tables, cabinets, and such — for only five years. The newest addition to his oeuvre, only in the last couple of months, is walking sticks made of super-sturdy mescite wood.

 (Ernesto in his studio working on a walking stick)

Some have described Ernesto’s style — painting with small, distinct dots — to 19th century European Pointillism. But, as he explained to me, what he does is actually an homage to Mexico, a fusion of two ancient Mexican styles: alebrijes from Oaxaca (the dots) and huichol from Jalisco (the surrounding line designs). He paints with acrylics in four-to-six layers, choosing from 52 colors, then varnishes the stick with boat varnish in three layers. Each walking stick takes about five days in all to paint. Each is unique.

“Yes, it takes patience and time,” he told me. “But now that I’m older, I have the time.”

Again, I turn to Atul Gawande’s BEING MORTAL for inspiration: “The battle of being mortal is the battle of one’s life,” he writes, “ – to avoid becoming so diminished or dissipated or subjugated that who you are becomes disconnected from who you were or who you want to be.”

Personally, I want to be a stubbornly independent eighty-year-old woman who walks fearlessly into the future. And I trust that this beautiful, colorful, sturdy, “magical” walking stick made by Ernesto Perez with love and patience and care will help me to do just that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

For more information about Ernesto’s hand-painted walking sticks and other art objects, please contact his wife Patrice Wynne at sanmiguelpatrice@mac.com – or, if and when you’re in San Miguel, you can find them at Patrice’s charming store, Abrazos, on Zacateros 24. Ernesto’s work is also available in Mexico City at the Museo Franz Meyer, and at the Hotel La Fonda, in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

(Some of Ernesto’s walking sticks at Abrazos)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Atul Gawande, author of BEING MORTAL and other best-sellers, is a renowned American surgeon, writer, and public health researcher. He ran USAID’s Bureau for Global Health during the Biden Administration. Here is his latest article for The New Yorker: 

https://www.newyorker.com/news/the-lede/behind-the-chaotic-attempt-to-freeze-federal-assistance

20 thoughts on “This Walking Stick”

  1. What a wonderful story. Loved it! That might be the next on my list for Writer’s Workshops. Thank you. Is the cost of living there going up like it is here in the US? Stay well and have fun with that gorgeous walking stick. Susan Nunn

    1. Thank you, Susan. Yes, the annual San Miguel Writers’ Conference has become world famous in the 20 years since it began. It lasts for four days and draws thousands of attendees. As for the cost of living here in SMA, I choose to live very, very simply, so I’m able to live on Social Security here — something I could NEVER do in the USA. Prices may be rising here a bit, but since I don’t shop much, I don’t feel it. Viva Mexico! 🙂

  2. Hi Bonnie, te ves fabulosa! 80 is the new 70! I think good health is so important as we age, with friends now that we have reached 60, we wonder if there was a way to ride old age as it comes or perhaps it’s hard to prepare for it. The book you mentioned sounds interesting. My mother is 88yo and I always remind her of avoiding a fall, as you wrote on your blog, once we lose our mobility and independence, the alternative is appealing. I like the walking stick, one must keep one’s dugnity till the last breath. Un abrazo. Amparo

  3. Bonnie, what a lovely post! It makes me miss the blue skies and warm temps of SMA. I am sad we didn’t make it there this winter. … love your new stick and Happy 80!

  4. Thanks for the reminders of safe walking and for the distraction from horrible political events. As always, your essay is a lovely combination of beautiful images and common sense. An excuse to drive from Arizona to New Mexico for a walking stick is an added bonus.

    1. Thanks so much, Marie! But before you drive from Arizona to New Mexico, I suggest you contact La Fonda in Santa Fe to see whether they have Ernesto’s walking sticks there yet. He’s just begun making them, and perhaps they haven’t made it to NM yet. OR you might contact Patrice Wynne at Abrazos in SMA (link provided in blogpost) and have one shipped to you from here. Just a thought. — Best, BB

  5. Hola, “Twiggy”!
    Great article, once again! I’m going to take a look at these artisanal walking sticks, perhaps adding to my collection of commercially made glitzy “pimp canes.”

  6. You found the perfect magical stick that matches you beautifully: thin and long, rare and strong, classic and beautiful. I applaud every wish to express and I know the future will be brighter with your new journey companion. I hope to walk those cobblestones with you in the coming year. I’ve waited long enough! Love you.

    1. OMG, MM. How do I love thee? In countless ways!!! 🙂 Yes, you have waited long enough to visit me in SMA. 2025 is the perfect year to plan your trip here. I’m holding my breath… — xoxoxoxo

  7. Wonderful essay and charming photos, Bonnie. SMA is indeed a teeter-totter of blessings and precarious obstacles when navigating the cobblestones and steep inclines. I love your artful stick! Plus, any good tool is a also weapon when wielded right. I absolutely love the closeup of Ernesto painting. That one is worth printing and framing!

    1. Thank you, dear Kharin, for your kind words. I’m so glad you like my photo of Ernesto at his work table. I did want to feature his strong hands. And, yes, my “magic wand” will come in handy if a big, angry dog should approach me menacingly! 🙂

  8. Dear Bon,
    How I admire you for walking three miles a day. I have been walking almost every day for the past six months, but I walk less than a mile. I do think you look beautiful and slim! I’ve lost weight since I retired, too. I’m actually back to my New York weight, so it doesn’t really seem like so much of a change. I think your stick is wonderful. I can’t tell you how often I warn myself, “Don’t fall,” and I extend the same thought to you. Any New Englander would tell you to beware those cobblestones. They can be treacherous. I’m proud of your aspiration to be an independent eighty-year-old. It’s an aspiration we share.
    Much love,
    Paul

    1. Thank you, Paul dear! So good to hear from you and to know you’re “addicted” to walking every day too. 🙂 I feel fortunate to be so mobile. And with my new, beautiful walking stick — which I’ll start to use in earnest after my 80th birthday — I’ll be even steadier. Stay strong! — Mucho love, BB xx

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