Mme Cora's letter
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May 27, 2022
I think I'm jealous!
These days, when I apply lipstick in front of the mirror, I occasionally notice little devil horns protruding from my forehead. Yes, you read that right! The green-eyed monster takes hold of my noggin from time to time. Yet, apart from the great heroines of history, I have never envied anyone. Not superstar Céline Dion, not the famous Coco Chanel, not even my idol, the great Canadian novelist Margaret Atwood (82 years old).
The truth is that I admire all brave and courageous women. Yet, during this dreadful pandemic, I’ve done everything I can to get on with my life. I reflected deeply on my new reality as a retiree; I’ve reignited my passion for writing and read instructive books, entertaining novels and gifted authors to improve my writing style.
Everything was fine until a giant hot air balloon of jealousy invaded my house. The balloon filled my living space, almost cutting off my breath. “Sounds like jealousy,” you say? To learn within a few weeks that four goddesses around my age recently found love…well, I couldn’t hold jealousy back! Not two, not three, but four women almost as mature as me. It’s simply too big of a mouthful to swallow. I have been single for over 40 years, my dismay overpowered me. Don’t I deserve a 007 agent, a Bradley Cooper or even a handsome nonagenarian like Sean Connery?
The first lucky lady to tell me the good news was my old college friend, back in our early awkward exchanges with the opposite sex. Mireille was certainly more educated than I was about matters of life, because at home, Mom thought that school would shape us into model girls. So I learned little about love and the parade of dashing fellows or dancing the tango. In short, like me, Mireille married a stranger. We lost touch with each other during those long years that we played mothers in different towns. I got divorced at 33 and saw her even less often, as I enlisted in the race for survival. Then it was business, a few trips and her tragic phone call telling me in 2016 that her husband had passed. I was in Tokyo for another 18 days and couldn’t console her. A widow still in love with life, Mireille met the most wonderful man some two years after her husband’s death. Also a widower, they hit it off right away. I met them a few months ago and was amazed at the obvious happiness that emanated from these two lovebirds. There was so much love and surreptitious kissing binding them together that I felt little bumps on my head. It was as if my horns had grown a few millimetres longer just looking at this affectionate couple. “Tenderness,” insisted Mireille. “My David is tenderness itself.”
- “Blessed angels, tell me quickly if tenderness can be detected with the naked eye and how to coax it to my heart’s harbour?”
Then it was Lilianne’s turn. The one I’ve seen the least because of her work across Canada. A very attractive divorcee who is flirtatious and daring. And yet, it was her grown daughter who found a partner for her mother: a neighbour who had lost his wife to cancer. She introduced them to each other and the attraction was instant. I too have a grown daughter. Maybe she thinks I’m too old to be introduced to a prince charming? And what’s more, her new fellow is about 10 years younger than Lilianne. I’m sure it was her smile that won him over. We ate together in Bromont, and I thought they were lovely. He attentively turned the burgers on the BBQ as he smiled; she served up the toppings of relish, ketchup and spicy mustard with a naughty, mischievous air. I was gobsmacked with happiness. Surprised that a newly reunited couple could be so dazzlingly in love. That day my little horns really grew long.
Then came Carole, who still works long hours. She is a real estate agent and was single for many years, always on the lookout for Mr. Right. She held out, and a good thing too! A month ago, she invited me to the town’s only Asian restaurant to tell me the news. Her shrimp curry got cold as she burst with excitement describing the new man in her life. She showed me a picture of him at dessert. I thought my whole body would go limp. A handsome, brown-eyed, former teacher, free as a bird, thoughtful and very skilled in home improvement. “And,” added the beautiful Carole, “my house needs some loving too.” Wow! My little horns grew faster than ever. Am I the only lonely one in the world? But how can I put my face on social media to promote anything other than a good breakfast? But that’s how Carole found the man of her dreams. Shame on me! You can no doubt see the little horns sticking out from my hair.
Barely a week later, Cupid visited Sophie, a beautiful woman much younger than me and a yoga teacher. We met at a mutual friend’s house and immediately hit it off; enough so that she confided in me that she had recently “found a match” on social media. Lord, I am thrown into despair! She too found a handsome lover.
She took her time, she confessed, considering several promising profiles. She also shared with me her horror of the lists she had to write to find the right match. "After all, Cora, It’s not like making a shopping list.” I had assumed the opposite was true. After all, don’t you have to know what to put in the basket in order to make a satisfying meal?
Deep, spiritual Sophie told me that the only thing you have to do is “ask yourself what you want to experience with a new partner.” She asked the question to a few of the candidates on the platform and the one who answered, “I WANT TO EXPERIENCE KINDESS” was the one she chose and who turned out to be a magnificent companion for her. “A true soulmate,” she added.
I don’t want to be jealous of anyone anymore. I just want to adopt a practice of kindness. To be understanding, forgiving, caring, gentle and attentive towards others. I truly want to open myself to happiness. To accept myself as I am, with my strengths and weaknesses. To be able to express my needs and to listen to the needs of others.
I want to live for many more years with love, courage and determination. And maybe one day, KINDNESS itself will take me under its wing. “Ask and you shall receive,” the wise men have been saying for thousands of years.
Cora
❤
P.S. Of course, all first names have been changed to respect the privacy of my lucky friends.
May 20, 2022
Letter to my dearest Sun
Dearest Sun,
The other day I recalled my mother’s vague words that the day I was born the sun shone big and bright.
- “A dazzling sun in the centre of the sky that was the most beautiful of all the month of May,” she recalled.
That day, on May 27, while wandering in her garden with her taut, round belly, she had to lean on her old spade as she absorbed the violent signal that I was finally emerging from her abdomen.
- “I remember,” said Mom, “when you knocked to come out, I raised my head to the sky to pray and the blinding sun stared right back at me.”
I checked in the 1947 Beauchemin Almanac. That morning, dear Sun, you rose at 4:18 a.m. and waited 12 long hours. The time required to come closer to the Earth and tilt your orb towards the large first floor window of our home. Admit it! You saw us between the curtains, dear Sun. Mom who was crying out as she pushed me into this world, and the neighbour who was pulling my head with both arms. Having forgotten everything when I left my mother’s water, I let out a terrified cry as I met this world for the very first time. Perhaps you heard me?
I cried for many long minutes until the woman with red hands plunged my small body in a large basin of warm water. She washed me, dried me and wrapped me in pieces of rough material. She must have doubted that your powerful warmth would be sufficient. I nonetheless settled down and slept a bit until soft pink flesh slipped between my tiny lips. Greedily I began to nurse, my body feeling the urgent need to reconnect with the familiar smells of the being that had carried me.
“You nursed for such a long time,” explained my mom, “that I had to reassure your brother that you weren’t going to drain me of all my blood.”
That Tuesday, dear Sun, you set at 7:35 p.m. You had begun to linger past dinner, amusing yourself as you coloured the three dozen villages strung over the Gaspé Peninsula like rosary beads with your warm rays. Remember, dear Sun. Forty years later I was also present at your birth in October 1987, when I traced your form for the very first time on a small white card. The instigator was a regular customer who, wanting to do something nice for me, insisted on printing some business cards for free.
When you appeared in one go at the tips of my fingers, full, round and bright, I immediately sensed a miracle. As if a divine hand had itself shaped your beautiful, luminous yellow head, your knowing eyelids and your big, happy smile. You and the angels knew then what was in store for us. You knew that you would become a great brand and I, your humble mom, would serve you tirelessly until my energy was spent.
With time, dear Sun, I learned that most miracles happen right before our unseeing eyes. We attribute these events to some guardian angel, pure luck, to merit or a reward for our efforts. As I explained to my 25-year-old grandson, Zacharie, the other day, I have always believed that the forces of the universe are capable of providing us with everything we need; so much so, that I have never lost hope. You dear Sun, must have heard me talking to that small voice inside of me hundreds of times over the years. A voice that grew louder as the business expanded. Goodness knows why! It seemed that the more I listened to it, the more it inhabited my thoughts. The more I trusted it, the greater the space it filled in my heart and mind.
I even baptized this voice with a lovely name: Providence. For a woman who earned her living selling food, the word meant an “inexhaustible source of provisions.” With Providence as my ally, I was certain I would never lack anything. And because my belief was iron-clad, I ended up achieving my goal each time. Truth is, I have never lacked anything during all these years of hard work, challenging projects and lifetime aspirations.
Today, having reached the three-quarter mark in calendar years, I am still amazed by the many miracles the morning brings each day: eyes that can still read and admire each detail of Mother Nature, who accompanies me on my daily walks. Strong, straight and solid bones. Good health, the creativity of a worker bee and an almost insatiable appetite for life.
Mom chose the day well, since, in this world, I and my Sun, have developed an unbreakable bond. And I am certain that when the time comes, I will leave for the beyond swaddled in its warmth!
Cora
❤
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May 13, 2022
Red, blue, green and yellow
I don’t remember, was it in second or third grade that I discovered coloured pencils? Yes, that’s right, it may seem strange today, but in 1954, beautiful Laurentian crayons were something very precious.
“Precious and expensive,” said Mom when she read the list of school supplies. She had chosen the little box of six pencils for me: red, blue, green, yellow, orange and purple. I was ecstatic despite the fact that I had insisted on the 12-colour box.
Mom controlled the family’s purse strings and every cent counted. Especially since she was also going to have to buy me a block of large sheets of white paper so I could practise drawing. By the look on her face, I knew she would only do it reluctantly. But I learned. I drew the sky and sea so many times that it wasn’t long before the blue pencil was just a stub. I still remember it clearly. I was teary-eyed until Dad returned from his trip and promised to bring me a box of 12 pencils, just for me.
I drew fir trees, my favourite, with thick, heavy branches and occasionally a beautiful yellow star, glittering at its peak. The orange pencil was almost never used because at that time oranges were rarely available in the Gaspé. Once, however, I drew Mom in an orange dress with a little matching headband. She had a beautiful figure, but said she would never be caught wearing such a garish dress.
Today, like Iris Apfel, orange is one of my favourite colours, along with yellow, pink, mauve and lime green. Yes, I like bold colours because they give me a sense of being alive. By the way, I’m crazy about glasses and I have them in almost every colour. I amuse myself scouring flea markets for retro frames. You might even think that my wardrobe is like a big box of 24-colour Laurentian pencils.
I have been drawing for as long as I can remember – on school sheets, the back of calendar pages, on well-kept notebooks, in the margins of my diaries, and later, on the walls of our restaurants. You see, we had no budget to decorate the walls, so I would illustrate and colour in the names of the menu’s dishes. I put up some 10 posters around the restaurant. For almost a decade, with each new opening, I drew these names over and over again until the day arrived when we could afford to have my drawings professionally reproduced.
For a long time I drew our menus by hand, creating small illustrations which, over the years, coalesced into a very special communication style. I also designed the upper and lower case characters myself, which became our own typeface. We still use it today in all our marketing communications. The distinctive CORA typeface was programmed with software for our graphic designers to use some 15 years ago and closely reflects the original style of our concept.
This achievement makes me especially happy and proud. Not only did I have the pleasure of designing our SUN logo, all our menus and most of our decorative illustrations myself, but I also have the deep satisfaction of knowing that the little boxes of crayons from my childhood served me well.
Once again, I realize that the beginnings of the CORA concept started in my childhood. The great importance I gave to the shapes of the alphabet, the constant hunger to learn, my love of reading and great curiosity were cornerstones in my success.
I remember all those years ago when I watered every single seed of an idea. I watched every detail, every appetizing colour, every generous plate. Each new tremor excited my curiosity and I gave it my full attention. Even though I faced doubt, uncertainty and even the impossible with every new idea I considered, I had the blessed habit of ALWAYS WANTING TO TRANSFORM THE ORDINARY INTO THE EXTRAORDINARY.
This happened so often that I came to believe a kind fairy was whispering my best ideas into my ear and that a benevolent angel at my side was guiding my success. And so, as I was struggling to weed my own garden, an amazing concept for morning gastronomy emerged out of nothing.
Cora
❤
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May 6, 2022
Happy Mother's Day To My Mom
Mother
8 Heaven’s Way
The great yonder above
Dearest Mom, you must be surprised to finally have word from me. Since you left us in a car accident in 1982, I have written to you only once, but I never mailed the letter. Now, being much older than you and still alive, I have finally learned how to bundle all my love together and send it to you in paradise.
I remember very clearly, Mom, the day I had to identify your body at the morgue. I especially remember your cracked and bloodied skull, just like your hands had been all your life. I didn’t cry on that day because my own heart was shattered into a thousand pieces too. Walking away from the cold marble, I simply tried to forget your sad life.
Dad had died the year before and you decided to take my children with you to Gaspésie as soon as vacation time arrived. It worked out well, since I was working day and night then. The kids could see the sea and spot the small trout hiding in the streams. Do you remember, Mom? You had just passed the village sign when your little Austin Marina collided with a big truck carrying sheep to slaughter. I was so scared, Mom, when I got the call. Even though I had been reassured that my children were safe and sound, for months I imagined them to be those sheep on their way to meet their end.
Dearest Mom, I blamed you for my own life’s difficulties for too long. I was angry at you for not loving us properly, for always being unwell in your head, so stingy with your love, so ungenerous when it came to encouraging our dreams. I didn’t want to be like you. And yet when I learned from aunt M at your funeral that your heart was already broken when you married Dad, I realized that I had done exactly what you had: I married a man I didn’t love because I carried his child.
Aunt M told me that you loved literature, that you had dreams of writing and artistic aspirations, a desire to see the world and to learn. She teared up as she told me that you had to give it all up because, at that time, a young woman had no choice.
Today, I understand you, Mom. And I can no longer blame you. You expressed your rebellion quietly by doing your housework well: cooking, baking, making jams, cleaning, gardening and sewing. But truth be told, your lack of love greatly distressed us children, especially the girls. But it ends now, because together, we are learning that happiness grows from within.
I am making my letter longer, dear Mother, because despite everything, I still need you to love me, to rock and sing me to sleep. But don’t worry about me anymore. I instinctively knew what I needed to do. I left my noxious marriage, and in 1987, I set out to build a huge kitchen, between whose walls, my own children and hundreds of other co-workers were welcomed with respect and affection and encouraged to discover their full potential, to trust themselves and to achieve great things.
Yes, Mom, it is probably because of you and our troubled family life that I found myself in the hospitality business, opening my arms wide, feeding and loving all who came to sit at our tables. Some healers of the heart might say that my leadership sprung from this need to fulfill my own childhood desires. It doesn’t matter, Mom. Never mind that I wanted to demonstrate that, despite the impoverished model I was given, I was capable of doing better, for longer. I set a big table. I gathered hundreds of entrepreneurs around a creative and rewarding endeavour. I am proud and satisfied to have created a meal here on Earth that will be served long after I join you in your Paradise. Don’t worry anymore, Mom, I am rich because I have discovered that by feeding others I have quelled my heart’s hunger.
Today, dear Mom, I write to you with tears of joy; I am so happy to have been born. I thank you for having been my mother, just as you were, because it allowed me to become the person I am. Thank you for passing on to me your love of writing, literature and teaching. You also gave me your talent for sewing, and with it, the magical power to make anything with my hands. You gave me your organizational skills, your sturdy build, your thick, beautiful mane, your ability to endure irritations, pain and the malice of others. I inherited your great physical strength, your keen thriftiness and your extraordinary capacity for self-sacrifice.
I remember, Mom, the first time I asked you for a dress, you gave me two yards of fabric and a pattern. And that’s how I learned how to sew all my children’s pretty clothes, dresses for myself, tablecloths, curtains and almost every sweet stuffed animal featured in the big Butterick and McCall pattern books. All of this has served me well, dear Mom, and I am so glad I am like you. I love you, I love you at last, Mom, and it is the most glorious feeling ever.
Love is everything, and I know now that the world is full of mothers who, like me, still remember the painful unshackling of their own growth. I will no longer be afraid because only love truly matters. I know that now. And each time a person is gripped with the urgency of the creative act, they stumble their way toward self-knowledge like a newborn releasing their talents into the sunlight one by one. I will be forever grateful to you, dearest Mother, for keeping me alive and clear-headed until I could unravel and understand your life and my own.
From up there, reach out and grab my hand, mother dearest. Hold me tight. Now that we have found each other, we are bound by the love that runs through our veins.
And today, to wish you a HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, I will trace a huge pink HEART in the blue sky above!
Your little girl, who loves you very much,
Cora
💓
Psst: To all the women in the world who have in one way or another raised a child, to my own daughter and my two granddaughters, I offer you my heart full of love.
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