Two doors down and laughing and drinking and having a party

Two doors down from my building, Berkley on Highland, lives my friend, Norma Brady.  I met Norma in 2004 shortly after I moved to bohemian Five Points South.  There is a bench outside her building where she likes to sit each afternoon from March until October.  I see her there when I take Jubal out.  Norma somehow manages to work the word hell into all her sentences.  When I first met her, I asked if she had children and she replied, "Hell no!  I never wanted any."  She asked about my occupation.  I told her I went to work for the Feds because teaching school seemed to exacerbate migraines.  She said, "Hell, who could blame you?"

Norma turned 85 in August.  I baked her some cupcakes (24) for her birthday and walked down to deliver them to her.  She asked, "Hell, why did you bring so many?"

Norma still colors her hair red and always wears makeup.  She could easily pass for age 70.  She worked as a clerk for the Birmingham Police Department before she retired.  Norma stopped driving a few years back and now walks to our nearby Western Supermarket to purchase her groceries.  Her doctor is at The Kirklin Clinic, which is also within walking distance.

I last saw Norma sitting on the bench in early November.  I realized with winter coming on that I might not be seeing her outside for awhile.  I gave her my phone number in case she ever needed me to drive her to the doctor.

It was 70 degrees in The Magic City today.  I came out of hibernation and decided to take a walk.  Norma was sitting out on her bench.  When she saw me, she sprang to her feet and exclaimed, "Let's walk up to the Vulcan!"

The good news is:  The Vulcan is just a little over a mile from my apartment.  The bad news is:  That mile is straight up Red Mountain.

As we started up the mountain, Norma told me she walks on her treadmill for 45 minutes each morning using the incline.  Unfortunately, for the last three months I have been on the sofa reading one book after the other, slowly but surely turning into a marshmallow.  Halfway up the mountain it became apparent that her goal was to get a little exercise, while my only goal was just to live.  I was gasping for breath and sounded as if I were having an asthma attack.  When we reached the summit, Norma said, "Stop worrying about taking me to the doctor.  Hell, give me your car keys and I'll drive YOU to the doctor."
- Sandra Gibson