May 26, 2013, as I waited in the Smith College chapel for the start of a Service of Remembrance for deceased alumnae, I read through the program and saw Cynthia’s name - time stopped for me. We sang Morning Has Broken and heard from Ecclesiastes “for everything there is a season . . .”, and memories of her flooded me. Cynthia first came into my life in McLean, VA, in 1955 or 1956 when she asked me to babysit for her children, Rob, Terry and Pam. I remember her beautiful gown for Eisenhower’s second inaugural ball and that she gave me tickets for the inaugural parade. And her vitality! The five of us spent summer 1957 together in Palm Beach and I came to count on her as a dear friend. She taught me to love reading aloud, especially Eloise, and to enjoy working wooden jigsaw puzzles, pleasures I now share with my grandchildren. She teased me endlessly about admiring JFK. She counseled me when I was mistreated by a young man. She endured my terror of the giant roaches that were inevitable in Florida, even, upon my return to McLean, sending me an envelope marked on the flap “you forgot something” and containing a dead roach! She let me attend an adult party with her at the swim club, bought me a gown to wear, and gave me my first taste of liquor – a stinger of all things. Another thoughtfulness – when my Dad said I was too young to visit a friend who lived in Cuba, she took me to Nassau with her for a few days. How kind she was! We went to the Republican State Convention in Virginia together and also to Wayzata, where I met the Dalrymple’s and the Pillsbury’s, (and began a strong attraction to “Tex” Hull, her nephew). More than broadened horizons and many valuable lessons about child rearing, what I most appreciated about Cynthia was her irrepressible enthusiasm for life. She was smart and funny, loving and joyful. She loved games. In 1963 she and Newt hosted a magnificent pre-wedding party for me, complete with a contest to match the names of famous lovers throughout history. I remember another party at Half Moon Drive, where guests were invited to come as what they wanted for Christmas. She was dressed as a sports car, with working headlights on her breasts! At the same time she had strict standards. She told me firmly that I must not have any public displays of affection with my boyfriend, or sit too close to him in the car. And all kitchen utensils must be loaded into the dishwasher handles up to keep them germ-free. Her Christmas cards were always put on the top on my stack because they were quintessential Cynthia – elaborate fold outs or moving parts, and always accompanied by a fabulous description of the previous year. She so delighted in all her children and grandchildren and made them come alive for me with her notes and pictures. She also planned my first trip to Italy and, at her suggestion, I stayed at the place she and Newt had honey-mooned on Lake Maggiore. How they loved each other! I will always be grateful to Cynthia for her behind-the-scenes efforts to see that I was accepted by and given a scholarship to her alma mater Smith College. In that, and so many other ways, she opened the wider world to me and enriched my life enormously. After a time of silence for us to remember those we loved who had died in the previous year, the names of the deceased from the Class of 1963 were read aloud from the pulpit. Then those of us in attendance were invited to add names of others we wanted to remember. I was proud to be there to announce “Cynthia Dalrymple Newman, Class of 1943”.