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A Good Year by Cornelia J. Glynn

Thank you to Open Age member and writer Cornelia J. Glynn for sharing her heart-warming and uplifting piece of writing:

‘A Good Year’ on our blog today…

You can see more of Cornelia’s wonderful and inspirational work at :

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The Power of Love A Transformational Guide to Living from the Heart

A GOOD YEAR

2014 had been a difficult year to get through and didn’t rank high on my list of years to repeat in a hurry, if at all. Some years are just like that. They come to an end and all you want to say is “Good bye and good riddance!” That isn’t to say that it wasn’t interspersed with joyful interludes and light hearted conversations, because it was, but they had been a mere sprinkle by comparison with some of the traumatic events that presented themselves not just to me, but also to people I cherished. With sickness, mine and other people’s, and death reaching out with his cold bony hands snatching relatives of those dear to me, he hadn’t succeeded in snatching my seven year old great nephew, but did succeed in taking yet another close friend of mine and a neighbour to his kingdom. I was in mourning and couldn’t wait for the year to disappear.

Returning from Germany on New Year’s eve where I usually spend Christmas, my flat felt strangely empty and quiet. The previous owners of the cat that had been in my care for over two years and of which I had grown very fond, had been looking after her while I was away and decided they were going to keep her after all.

My mood was reflective and somewhat glum as I cast my mind back over 2014, and 2013 which hadn’t been much better either.  Tired and sad, I apprehensively wondered what 2015 would bring. I didn’t expect problems to magically disappear. They rarely do. But I did hope for fewer trials and tribulations and more jubilations and fun.

I had gone to bed at 11.00, switched on the radio and was dozing a bit, half awake and only dimly aware of the presenter at the radio station starting the count down to midnight before broadcasting the bell of Big Ben. Then something quite extraordinary happened. As Big Ben struck for the first time, my alarm clock started to beep in unison. It wasn’t turned on and even if it had been, it was set for 8.30 in the morning. When the bell had struck for the last time and my alarm clock had stopped beeping, fireworks went off in a garden nearby. I got out of bed, pushed open the curtain and watched the most spectacular display from my bedroom window, letting out several oohs and aahhs. Suddenly, there was a warm glow of elation inside me and I was at peace. I curled up under my duvet and had a smile on my face.  “It’s going to be good year” I thought. “It’s going to be a good year”.

© Cornelia J. Glynn

http://www.thepoweroflove.co.uk/main.htm

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‘It had been years since I’d felt so excited’ by Dorothy Adibi

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Many thanks to Open Age member and writer Dorothy Adibi for contributing her wonderful, inspiring story to Wordwise – about the meeting of an old love:

“It had been years since I’d felt so excited”

It had been years since I’d felt so excited. I was going to see him again. We were now old people, and then, then we’d been misty young lovers. I suddenly felt anxious – would he even recognize me? Now I wished I had given him my address, and he’d have come to the flat and there wouldn’t have been any possibility of error. But sitting here in a café? But then I thought, “No, it’s all right, I’m the only elderly woman here.” But again I wondered anxiously if his memory of me would lead him to expect the same pretty girl he’d known? But surely I’d remember him and recognize him immediately, even though he’d grown just as old as I had.

I looked around, wondering if he’d arrived before me, but there was thank goodness nobody who could have possibly been him.

The café door opened, but it was only a stout woman carrying a bunch of flowers. Would he bring me flowers? I hoped not, because there’d be all that fuss about getting them into water, and I wanted us just to sit there over a cup of tea and talk. Talk about what? Well, of course, about what each of us have been doing since we parted. “Parted” – that’s a semi-poetic word. But it fits the situation. I remembered it so well. “Tell your parents,” he had said. Or would we talk about the old days, our time together, when we were in love? At least I had been, I know that for a solid-gold fact. I remember how for a long time my every thought ended with him. I likened it to a tram that runs along its lines and always ends up at the same spot.

The door opened again and this time, this time an elderly man came in. He wasn’t carrying any flowers, but there no doubt in my mind. I was sure I’d have known him even if we were rushing past each other at a station or something. The man looked round and I half-stood up. He looked at me and began slowly walking towards me. I was suddenly acutely aware of my clothes. A very ordinary blue trouser-suit, but obviously chosen with great care from the wardrobe. I was even wearing matching shoes and gloves, bought specially for the occasion the day before.

He reached my table and smiled in a sort of perfunctory way, and said with a question-mark “Laura?” I have what I hoped was a dazzling smile back and said “Oh, Jean, how lovely to see you again after all these years.”

He sat down at the table and immediately looked round for a waitress. I felt a bit put out, that his first through would be about getting some tea, and not about drowning in my eyes or something. He ordered coffee and brought his attention back. “I wasn’t sure I’d recognize you, it’s good that you recognized me when I came in.” That wasn’t quite right, somehow, but his voice hadn’t changed, although his accent was less pronounced than I remembered. “But of course, I’d have known you anywhere,” I gushed, at the same time feeling even more put out.

“Anyway, how are you? How’s your family?” because in the last letter I’d had from him all those years ago he’d informed me that he was married and had a child.

“Everyone’s fine, look, I’ve got some photographs.” This was dreadful, two old buddies now. I glanced at the photos, two little girls who should have been mine, and a fair-haired woman who was, I had to concede, quite good-looking, although she didn’t look a bit like me.

“Oh, they’re lovely, I didn’t have any children.” I didn’t explain that the abortion had left me unable to have children.

© Dorothy Adibi

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