Norma Faye never met a stranger.
She would talk to anybody about anything.
Not surprising, really. She was the 10th of 14 children born to Preston and Mabel Hunt up in Point Cedar. Lots a talkers in that house.
The five children she had with Bill Becker were probably a compromise. Can we cut the people around here by a third, maybe?
Her children loved to hear her talk, but sometimes she'd come up with a head scratcher just to quiet everybody down.
"Where'd you get that, mama?"
"At the gettin place," she'd say.
She would talk to anybody about anything, and if there was no one around, there was always a dog, Boppie Lou or Big Boy or Bismark, to talk to.
Norma was a rollin stone, and she traveled all over the damn place, all over the world, really.
When she traveled near home, she'd always have a shovel and a bag in the trunk of her car in case she saw anything interesting growing by the side of the road. Poke sallet, water cress, sassafras all went into her bag. She loved all growing things, and her garden in Little Rock was a riot of cactus and wildflowers and blackberries. The bushes were so big she could make a cobbler every day the month of July, if somebody'd go out an pick 'em.
She liked to drink a cold beer of a hot evening, but I never heard her take the Lord's name in vain.
Norma Faye Becker never met a stranger, but she has met her maker at the age of 86. She passed on March 11, in the arms of her daughters.
She was a good 'un.
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