Feeling Groovy
How a white cane shows the way
My name is Groovy, and I am a white support cane for the blind. I serve as a navigational tool for my 73-year-old retired nurse owner Kathy. I stand proudly at 50 inches high and maintain a trim weight of under a pound, since I am made of lightweight fiberglass custom fit for her height requirements.
Kathy and I met when Kathy began losing substantial vision due to the progression of a condition called Retinopathy of Prematurity, she sought out services at the Department for Rehabilitation (VOC rehab for short). Her counselor made a referral to the local Lighthouse for the Blind to complete their Orientation and Mobility program, where Kathy would become intimately acquainted with using a white cane.
In February 2020, just before Covid-19 emerged, Kathy enrolled in a residential program titled, “Changing Vision, Changing Lives,” at her local Lighthouse for the Blind. During this program, an orientation and mobility (O&M) instructor taught clients how to use a cane, kitchen skills, and technology enhancements — all aimed to improve the quality of life for visually impaired clients.
When the O&M instructor commented on Kathy’s skillful and adroit handling of her cane around grooves, Kathy had an epiphany and affectionately named me Groovy. Unfortunately, after finishing the program, Kathy allowed me to languish, as she put me away and favored using her husband Ted instead as a sighted guide.
One day, Kathy enters the laundry room and opens the drawer where I have been hidden for many years, alongside the shoe polish, shoe brushes, screwdrivers, and rags. I am so excited to be inhaling some fresh air that I jump out of the drawer and land with a thud on the tile floor. Kathy previously suffered a condition called ‘Cane Shame,’ which affects some blind people who are hesitant to use navigational tools. I’m pleased that she has a new attitude towards me and is excited about becoming my friend and seeing what I can offer her.
Let us begin with a casual stroll around Kathy’s residential neighborhood. After crossing the threshold, Kathy grabs the iron rail of the stairs on the left, cradles me in her right hand, and climbs the fourteen stairs to her driveway. At the top, she opens my five folded segments and extends them in front of her. At my very tip, I have a red roller joint that keeps constant contact with the sidewalks, pavement, or driveways that we encounter.
To navigate, she places her index finger and thumb around the black rubber grip at the top of my body. She enthusiastically says, “Let’s go, Groovy!” Next, she positions me in front of her feet and moves in a back and forth motion from right to left. She is creating what is called an arc in front of her, which corresponds to the width of her shoulders. She gets into a rhythm where, when she moves me to the right, her left foot moves forward and vice versa.
Once Kathy’s in a good rhythm with me, she trails ridges and changes of pavement, which helps to orient her to the landmarks of the street. Kathy enjoys staying in the middle of her quiet street, more often than on the sidewalk. She turns onto the cross street, by identifying the sidewalk and plants my tip near its edge, landing firmly on the concrete.
As she and I move along, my roller tip encounters many different surfaces: utility covers, driveways that slant, and even occasional grooves where the pavement has lifted and created an elevation change. Sometimes I am scared that Kathy will trip when she catches a groove, but that hasn’t happened yet.
Moving down street, Kathy encounters a three-foot by five-foot bright, yellow rectangle on the sidewalk, with many circular raised surfaces, which are called truncated domes. She proceeds to its edge, plants me where the sidewalk and street meet, and then proceeds to cross when she hears no cars coming. It becomes a bumpy ride as she moves me across this yellow patch, and I’m glad that I don’t get nauseated.
When she turns right, a dark-colored Sedan approaches, and Kathy waves me around, back and forth three times, to alert the driver that I’m getting ready to cross. This maneuver is called flagging. Kathy plants her cane near her right foot and the curb, and steps off it to cross the intersection. Suddenly, without warning, I hear Kathy start to sing a song called “Feeling Groovy,” by Simon and Garfunkel. I feel infused with glee as I hear Kathy sing, “Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy.”
Kathy and I continue our leisurely stroll through her neighborhood for thirty minutes. She reports to me that there are many utility covers for PG&E, AT&T, and other utilities, as described to her by her husband, Ted, on previous walks. Unlike you humans who complain of arthritic joints and have a need for hip replacements, I remain resilient without aches or pains.
My four collapsible segments are held firmly in place by a very strong black elastic cord, so I am less prone to the aging of human bones. Kathy can distinguish the difference between concrete and metal devices, one time even hitting a white fire hydrant firmly on its side. Another time she moved me from left to right on a metal grill, and it sounded like she was strumming a xylophone, which sounded good to my ears. We encounter few other walkers on the street other than dog owners walking their pets.
As we return home, Kathy trails the rim of the driveway and moves me methodically to the stair’s edge. Now, in reverse to how she came up the stairs, she lifts me with her left hand and grasps the rail with her right until we get to the front door. Once inside, Kathy wipes me down with a dilute bleach sanitizer, including my tip. It feels refreshing though I can’t say I built up a sweat with our leisurely pace.
She deconstructs my four segments until I am completely collapsed. She wraps two elastic bands around me, something like what humans wrap their ponytails in. Once Kathy deconstructs me, she positions me on the grey slate near the front door. The slate is cold, uncomfortable, and hard, and I wish I had the luxury of a pillow on which I could rest myself. Now it is my time to soothe myself to sleep with the prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…”
Even though I am resting now, I look forward to our next trip together, maybe shopping, maybe the beach, or maybe even guiding Kathy to your swim lanes at the club, and the jacuzzi afterwards. I enjoy being outside your purse, fulfilling your wishes and dreams for your next steps instead of being stifled and ignored in your purse or the laundry room drawer.
Until our next stroll together, your dependable friend,
Groovy
