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...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 6, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
1991: We may have moved in, but the house is not finished. Every morning, trucks line the driveway and the street. I must be fully dressed when I come downstairs. Before I start the coffee, I can smell the possibility and hope. I can see all the light and the unfilled...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 5, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
1990: Another new decade. Over the last couple of years, Cal and I talked about building a house, then we bought a lot, hired an architect, bid it out, and selected a builder. But it’s not until February when we break ground that I understand we’re really...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 4, 2017 | 60 to 60, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
One thing this project is doing is reinforcing the relentless nature of time. I can barely catch my breath. Each day, another year gone. 1989: I’m pregnant again. On Valentine’s Day, after a belated 8th birthday/skating party for Kathleen, I’m...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 3, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
It’s only when I begin to write today’s post that I remember that in 1987 we moved into a bigger house. So I add that to yesterdays’ post. 1988: The shoulder pad trend continues. Kathleen turns seven. It snows in Columbus. Cal goes on his annual golf...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 2, 2017 | 60 to 60, continuous life, life, memory, time, truth |
1987: My sisters and brother send me a box of death-themed, life-is-over-at-30 gifts–a mug and a towel, plates and napkins… Cal and I go to San Francisco. We eat breakfast at Sears. I have a piece of sausage left, which he wraps in toast and then in a...
