Just the other night, I was twenty,
a young girl clinging to my side.
We were walking at dusk,
scattering in the wind
our excess of torments.
The child and I walked on a path
our four green eyes visibly moist.
I loved the rain that washed our tears,
the misty horizon, its pierced clouds.
Prisoner of an unimaginable poem,
my poor mind searching for ideas,
marvellous escapes, golden islands.
A tale of despair almost impossible to share.
On my hip, half-asleep,
the child nuzzles my neck.
Her small arms hanging,
her thin legs dangling.
My heart, my arms, my legs,
my entire body, floating reeds.
My follies, my dreams, my desires,
the extravagances of yesteryear.
Fleeing the vicious man,
We hoped to reach the open sea.
Descending towards the great ocean,
like the ancestor in his barge.
On a road aimlessly traced,
worry stops me from advancing.
Wolfs howl and owls who.
The ocean black, its waves raging.
Falling leaves, flying feathers,
all my beautiful certitudes disappear.
All that remains is an untellable tale,
an almost inconceivable run-for-your-life!
The spiteful man is unforgivably handsome,
his evil heart tawdrily dressed.
A few lines come to me in fragments.
His mother, his sister, a few sisters-in-law.
The city lights go dark.
The horizon falls into the void before us.
The child covered suddenly in frost
seeks the door to my belly.
Again tonight, reality’s cruelty
obstructs our path to the moon,
prevents us from catching a star,
sliding over the tops of clouds,
and jumping into the ocean blue.
“I’m on a stroll,” my body tells itself.
Up there, on a cloud, the yellow star dazzles me.
The light slips between my ten fingers.
It streams down the little girl’s neck.
And I write!
— “Mom!,” she cries out.
Cora
❤
I dillydally, I have fun, I ramble on. I often feel like I’m writing as if I were taking my final breaths; as if I want to write everything before departing, dry up my well of nicely written sentences and then escape. The flesh of words has always been my motherland, where reality is born, where, this morning, my worn fingers try to sow torn hopes together; a life story that’s been patched a thousand times.
I keep going and plead with Chronos, the god of passing hours. From the depths of time, will this son of Zeus answer me? I bow and beg all the divine beings of the Pantheon. My black inked lines form a long appeal, a prayer for my heart parched for love.
Once I wanted to love and had to cross over the wailing wall with its barbed wire. I searched for a bit of affection in my own way. Thank heavens, I was blessed with the drive to push straight ahead in my studies and business. It seems heaven has watched over me so I never feel alone on earth. A few angels unfailingly unfurl a flying carpet, an eagle throws a few feathers my way and I write my truth.
I’m glad to leave the kingdom of dreams. I love the rosy face of dawn. In my large kitchen, I count my blessings. I’m amazed. How many days do I have left to hastily paint my last desires? I kneel and pray for the great reaper to forget me, not take me. My heart slides between the lines, my ardour arranges the rhymes.
I dillydally, I have fun, I imagine my outrageously withered body swimming in the ocean. Who will take it to the paradisiacal shore of eternity? A whale could snack on my flesh. I tremble and worry that it may also swallow my heart. Please throw me in the earth as pittance, hide my words in the veins of streams!
My fingers shiver, but they charge into these blissful mornings of writing. They throw back the hands of time as they see fit. They use the hours like free minutes in a parking meter. In a big bowl, time mixes the chapters of my busy life.
When I turn on my tablet, a spray of sparks shoots from a half-complete sentence. It’s a trick I use so I never lose the trail of a story I started the day before. And so this morning, I hurry to describe the last volcanic flows of my heart. A fiery cloud of desire dries up the black ink of my words. I imagine leaving this world without anything holding me back – no regrets, no cadaver and no notepads.
I ponder in front of the glowing page. This morning like every morning, my mute fingers fold and unfold dozens of drafts. They strikethrough, erase and then tap and tap away until emptying the dawn of all its waking dreams.
Without fail, new sentences hover and fly between the clouds. They touch the peaks of mountains, brush against eagles, knock at the doors of angels and ask the heavens’ blessing. When will I be able to fly away? The globe turns and turns, but life can only ever be lived once.
Cora
❤
After my letter appeared recounting my shopping spree at the town’s grocery store (published on February 18), many well-intentioned readers reached out to console me. I always read all your comments, and this time, I almost wept.
That night, I was in a bit of a funk. I hadn’t eaten lunch and was starving, but nothing tempted me. The weather was mild, so I thought I might drive to the nearby Asian or Italian restaurant. My Mini Cooper, however, decided otherwise and drove me to a long-time acquaintance, the town’s grocer, for one of our usual chats. I arrived only to discover he had left for the evening. I felt like I had been left high and dry.
This morning, I turn to your comments, which I find so delicious, and have decided to share a few with you here!
Sylvie Choquette, a regular reader, consoled me by writing in her comment that she also felt morose that night in the aisles of her local grocery store. She realized it was a new moon. This celestial body that, according to her, turns our emotions upside down. “Let’s stay strong,” she urges! Many thanks, dear Sylvie.
Nadia Lesage shared this precious advice: “If you want to find hope again and convince yourself that it’s never too late, read my book entitled J’ai attrapé le bonheur au vol (“I caught happiness on the fly”). Dear Nadia, I love everything that flies in the sky: bees, butterflies, birds, planes, and most likely, your book that I’ll read attentively.
“Thank you for taking us with you to the grocery store. Many of us are alone, without a companion at the moment. We must keep up hope; our companion will arrive when we’re ready to welcome them. These blues you’re talking about often visit me too.” Dear Lilianne Blondeau, we’re all mature and magnificent women. Let’s stay positive.
Michel Tanguay, another one of my Sunday letter regulars, quizzes me in his comment. “Is the word AVAILABLE starting to appear on your forehead?” What a surprising question, dear Michel! As someone who still believes that all men of a loving age choose to skip their turn when they meet me, perhaps I should embroider the magic word on my jacket?
Sylvie Chamberland wrote: “Madame Cora, walking by your side in the grocery aisles was delicious and moving at the same time. I felt so much love in your moment of melancholy. I have to admit that I sometimes think of you as my grandmother.” What joy it would be to run our errands together, dear Sylvie! We could even cook together if we were neighbours.
Maria Domenica Sabelli is another very loyal reader. For her, reading my letters is “such pleasure! Your descriptions inside the grocery store make my mouth water.”
Thank you, Johanne Simard Pomerleau, who suggests I innocently drop a can of soup just like we dropped a handkerchief in the old days to catch someone’s eye. What a good idea, dear Joanne! Perhaps I could try to reach for a box of cereal on the highest shelf and a handsome fellow might appear to assist me?
“Madame Cora, don’t despair. Your man is nearby, just keep your eyes open. Perhaps he’s a mechanic or a doctor?” Dear Rachel Lavoie, I would prefer the mechanic who could cook for me and maybe wash my car on occasion.
“This morning, your melancholy hit me straight in the heart. Not the bit about not having a man in my life – for me that’s a done deal – rather the fact that I eat alone, that I go grocery shopping for one. It’s the biggest regret of my life as a single person.” Dearest Diane Gagné, I understand you so well. In an ideal world, we’d be the best of friends. We could share recipes and, from time to time, we’d eat together.
“Dear Cora, it’s so peaceful to no longer dream about men. We don’t die from it. Quite the opposite! We are reborn to life and to others.” Dear Michèle Paré, perhaps you’re right, but I still have hope! I only knew one man, and he wasn’t a good model. Please, let me hope! Let me dream of a nice white-haired head on my pillow.
“You describe the feelings I experience too well. Where’s the man who’s my perfect match? Should we resign ourselves to being married to celibacy until the very end? Let’s not lose hope!” I agree with you, dear Suzanne Duchaîne. We won’t give up.
“There’s a lot of emotion in this text and, as usual, I’m very moved by your words. I understand your sadness. There are days when even the sun isn’t able to warm our hearts. But love takes many forms and sometimes it hides in the unexpected. I wish it for you from the bottom of my heart.” Thank you, dear Danielle Locas.
“Madame Cora, I have an idea. Maybe you should invent an imaginary boyfriend, your ideal man and, by writing him sweet love letters, he’ll appear. Like a visualization exercise.” I will think about it, dear Lucie Beauregard! I love to write and my heart would be able to describe him. But would I have the pluck to publish his description in a letter? Probably. What do I have to lose anyway?
“Happy Sunday, Aunt Cora. You should come visit the ready-to-eat counter at the grocery store where I work. Maybe that’s where your Romeo is hiding.” Thank you, Ann Mary. I will certainly visit you!
“I so hope you find a nice man to warm your heart and your bed very soon! In the meantime, cook yourself something nice and enjoy every morsel with a small glass of that spicy rum.” That’s some very sound advice. Thank you, Louise Gagne.
“Madame Cora! We love your weekly musings. How I wish I were your neighbour. We could shop and eat together,” declares Jayne Amero Cogswell. We totally would!
“A sad read this morning. February blues, perhaps? Chin up, Cora. The sun will come out tomorrow.” Rest assured, dear Gayle Ginger, that the gloom has passed and the sun shines again.
“It’s so comforting to read you, even through the maze of your gloomy thoughts,” writes Paulie L’Italien.
“Those handsome and mysterious greying gents are just waiting for us around the corner,” assures me Katerine Ka.
“Love comes with its suitcase full of tears,” reflects Lorraine Bowles (91).
Thank you so much for being by my side so faithfully through this amusing adventure. I dillydally and have fun, interspersed with the occasional moment of doubt. I hope you’ve appreciated these inspiring words as much as I have.
Cora
❤
I need you, dear readers! This is the 211th letter that’s being published and I wonder if I’ve told you everything. I can’t make things out clearly in this huge warehouse of my memory. I imagine mice dancing under the bottom shelves while crows scavenge and dig up old things on the top ones.
Like the crows in the warehouse, I open my notepad filled with quotes I copied from famous people and fall upon a few lines by Mahatma Gandhi: “As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world — this is the myth of the atomic age — as in being able to remake ourselves.” As I reflect upon this sentence, my courage returns. I thought I was depleted, but realize it’s never too late to recreate myself.
It’s never too late…to sort through my life, to keep what is precious and get rid of the clutter.
It’s never too late…to listen to my heart more often because it knows things my mind doesn’t comprehend.
It’s never too late…to want to care for a pet. A cat or a dog would teach me to be more sensitive and affectionate. Everyone says I should get one.
It’s never too late…to visit my native Gaspésie more often and contemplate its blue waves. I always feel like going yet I often hesitate to let the road take me there.
It’s never too late…to be amazed, to let my eyes take in the world, admire nature and the tall firs surrounding my home.
It’s never too late…to say thank you more often and mean it from the bottom of my heart. A sincere thank you requires so little effort.
It’s never too late…to create new bonds, open my heart to new friendships and new adventures.
It’s never too late…to improve the life of others around me; mine will only be that much better for it.
It’s never too late…to spice up my life and stop the daily routine from numbing my mind. Fortunately, writing allows me to go a little wild every now and then.
It’s never too late…to learn to let go, to unburden myself of the things weighing on my shoulders and shackling my ankles.
It’s never too late…to age gracefully. We’re as old as our thoughts, not whatever age the calendar says we are. Adventurous projects help us stay young apparently.
It’s never too late…to cultivate something, to sow a seed, watch the flower bloom and care for it. My kitchen counter is filled with plants and I blow them kisses so they grow faster.
It’s never too late…to forgive someone who’s hurt us. Resentment is a heavy burden. Forgiving saves us from fixating on our sorrows, frees the mind and lightens our heart.
It’s never too late…to start something. I started all over again at 40; my career as a trailblazing businesswoman is proof.
It’s never too late…to say “I love you.” It’s a precious gift. Say it often and with sincerity. I’m dying to be able to say it to my prince charming one day!
Where on earth is my soulmate hiding?
Cora
❤
Cora Breakfast and Lunch is proud to announce that the brand is now a valued partner of Canadian airline WestJet. The onboard breakfast meal, served in Premium cabin on morning flights, is now provided by Cora. It is a satisfying mark of confidence in our brand, the Canadian breakfast pioneer!
WestJet has been offering Cora breakfasts on the majority of its flights lasting 2½ hours or more since June 26. The in-flight dishes are inspired by classic Cora favourites: Smoked turkey eggs Ben et Dictine, a Vegetable skillet and a Spinach and aged cheddar omelette with turkey sausage.
Passengers in WestJet’s Premium cabin are able to savour Cora breakfasts, making it a delicious opportunity for Cora to offer a taste of its menu to a different segment of the population.
Bon voyage!
Cora Breakfast and Lunch, Canada’s breakfast leader, is proud to announce the opening of a new Cora restaurant in Western Canada. This time, it's the city of North Vancouver that the most recent Cora sun has risen.
Pioneering founder Cora Tsouflidou was on location for the Grand Opening. It is when she performs the traditional Egg-Cracking Ceremony, during which the first symbolic omelette in the restaurant is made.
The new location is part of a nationwide expansion of the Cora network, making it the 10th restaurant in British Columbia for the largest sit-down breakfast chain in Canada.
With more than 130 operating restaurants, Cora Breakfast and Lunch continues to offer morning gastronomy dedicated to breakfast: quality food and service in a warm family atmosphere.
The year 2019 has been one of expansion for the Cora Franchise Group, Canada’s breakfast leader. The company’s iconic sun proudly shines in the country’s largest cities!
Two other restaurants opened their doors in March. As for many Cora franchisees, it’s a family adventure for several of Cora’s newest members. The new location in the St. Vital neighbourhood of Winnipeg is managed by real-life partners who decided to open their own franchise, charmed by the Cora restaurant experience, the colourful menus and spectacular plates garnished with fresh fruit.
The most recent opening is located in Regina, the second location for the city. Having successfully established his first Cora restaurant in 2018, the franchisee expanded his operations to include a second location, which began welcoming guests on March 18.
The two new franchises are part of the Quebec company’s national expansion plan. With 130 restaurants currently in operation, Cora serves morning gastronomy dedicated to breakfast, as it pursues its mission of offering quality food and service in a warm, family atmosphere.
Cora Breakfast and Lunch, Canada’s breakfast leader, is proud to announce the opening of two new Cora restaurants in Western Canada. Alberta welcomed a new Cora sun located downtown Edmonton while British Columbia celebrated the arrival of the restaurant in Surrey.
Pioneering founder Cora Tsouflidou was on location for both Grand Openings, joined by local owner-franchisees to welcome dignitaries, lifestyle influencers and guests for a true celebration: the traditional Egg-Cracking Ceremony, during which the first symbolic omelette in the restaurant is made.
The new locations are part of a nationwide expansion of the Cora network, making it the 9th restaurant in British Columbia for the largest sit-down breakfast chain in Canada, and the 18th restaurant in Alberta.
Madame Cora originated the concept in 1987 when, as a single mother of three in need of a career, she bought a small abandoned diner on Côte-Vertu Boulevard in Montreal’s St-Laurent area, focusing solely on breakfast (egg dishes, fresh fruit, cheese, cereal, omelettes, crêpes and French toast). The restaurant quickly became the talk of the town, often with lineups at the door. Madame Cora’s astute entrepreneurial instincts told her that this was a concept that could be franchised.
With 130 operating restaurants, Cora Breakfast and Lunch continues to offer morning gastronomy dedicated to breakfast: quality food and service in a warm family atmosphere.