by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 11, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
1996: Kathleen gets her learner’s license. I pay someone to plant daffodils in the yard–yes, pay. I have free time again–seven days this year, six in February and one in May. And I write on our new computer. I start a story about a woman who wants... 
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 10, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, memory, time, truth |
When I’m tired, my memory is less sharp. This is perhaps obvious and yet it surprises me. This morning, I remember that 1994 was the year my grandmother had a stroke and the year Sam and I began our Tuesday visits with her. This evening, as I’m writing... 
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 9, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
I wake up realizing that completely absent from my mind when I wrote yesterday’s post was the fact that Sam was born on our anniversary. It seems impossible I could ever forget that. 1994: We all go skiing except Sam. Cal’s mother and the housekeeper take... 
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 8, 2017 | 60 to 60, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
1993: Bill Clinton is sworn in as President. Kathleen stars in a play. Cal and I go to Bermuda. For the first time, we can know the sex of the baby before he or she is born. I want to know; Cal doesn’t. So they tell me, and I keep it a secret. The baby is due... 
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 7, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
1992: Late one night, when Cal arrives home from a business trip, he comes into the bedroom holding a scrap of paper. “You have to get this book,” he says, handing me the paper. “I heard her on NPR.” On the paper, Pam Houston, Cowboys Are My...