“My mother walked. Every day. Five miles. Sometimes ten. Rain never stopped her. Nor 110-degree temps. There’s Martha, people said, from as far away as three hundred feet. Her gait was unmistakable. Flat-footed, she slapped the stiff soles of her red orthopedic shoes against the asphalt. Short in stature, yet formidable in spirit, she held one hand on her aching hip, the other punched forward like a bird with a broken wing determined to get wherever the hell she was going.”