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 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 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...
