by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 20, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, Dani Shapiro, life, marriage, memory, reading, time, truth |
2005: In January I attend the San Diego State Agent Conference. Ten minutes with each agent. Speed dating. Bobby’s a junior and thinks he wants to go to the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. We plan a visit for spring break–all of us except Kathleen,...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 19, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, reading, time, truth |
And just like that… I’m almost 50. 2004: My stomach issues post-hysterectomy require a trip to the Mayo Clinic. From there I go straight to Miraval–one of their ads caught my attention–but for my next spa visit, I will return to Canyon Ranch....
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 18, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, reading, time, truth |
2003: I try the Golden Door Spa, but it feels like famine. While I’m there, I do a silent meditation walk, and before I can stop myself, I’m judging the way people walk. We listen to Dave Matthews as Bobby learns how to drive–Ants Marching,...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 17, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
2002: For her 21st birthday, I take Kathleen to Canyon Ranch. It’s snowing as we board the plane in Atlanta. As the boarding process continues, it snows harder. We pull back and sit on the runway. The captain comes on and says, “I have bad news and worse...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 16, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, life, marriage, memory, time, truth |
While I sleep, my memory plays. This morning, I remembered something I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I added it where it belonged–to the beginning of yesterday’s post. 2001: In January I read Mary Gordon’s The Rest of Life, which will be...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 15, 2017 | 60 to 60, Columbus GA, continuous life, marriage, memory, reading, time, truth |
At dinner one new year’s eve, my father told us that one day it wouldn’t be 19 anything; it would be 2000. And when it was the year 2000, he said, he would be 67. He laughed, as if that were something he didn’t believe possible. Then he went around...