A thousand thank yous
I am surprised and amazed as I realize this morning that I’m writing my 200th Sunday letter. Time really does fly by. Believe it or not, I wrote the first Sunday letter on April 1, 2020, while most of the planet was in mandatory lockdown. Everything was closed, including our restaurants, and it made us sad not to be able to serve our valued customers.
We wanted to keep you in our hearts, so we started serving you encouraging dishes of comforting words and stimulating thoughts. With each letter we gained more followers and readers, and you are now thousands of eyes that are hungry for well-written phrases and passionate stories every Sunday. My soul flutters just thinking about it. Everything my mind composed, all that my fingers have typed and all the love my heart has gathered.
I imagine birds, hundreds of birds in a variety of colours, carrying my thanks to all those who’ve allowed me to write. Beginning with those who inspire me, who read me, those who translate my every word, those who correct them and those who send them through the magic tunnels of social media until they appear, safe and sound each Sunday, on our dear readers’ screens.
From afar, I see royal eagles like splashes of ink in the sky. It must be them who carry my heaviest thanks, these praises addressed to the ethereal world. Thanks to inspiration, this creative breath, which, like an unstoppable rush of words, gives shape to my thoughts. Thanks to imagination, this divine fountain that never dries up and allows me to envision an entire forest from a small bush of wild weeds.
Thanks to my precious writing skills I inherited from my mother. Sadly, I never knew she was passionate about writing until after she had passed. What a magnificent gift from such a quiet mother!
Thanks to dauntlessness, this brave warrior who helps me deliver a full page each morning when I sit to write. Thanks to perseverance, who makes my words more original and my sentences more elegant.
With their long crooked beaks, the big black crows protect my home, and it is I who thank them. For days on end, I write in the solarium following the rhythm of their coos and caws. I often get the impression that they’re simply after my attention.
Very wise fairies also flitter behind the clouds. They’re waiting for my ink to dry, my body to fly away and my soul to split into a thousand starry commas.
I live in the most complete state of gratitude; so much so, that sometimes it feels like it’s the words themselves who need me. They attract me like magnets; they lift up my sentences and throw them into the wind.
I am thankful for my five senses that constantly work to enrich my well-being. To hear music, taste the first coffee in the morning or the sweetness of a ripe apple, see the sun go down in a purple blaze, feel my grandson in my arms and smell the sensational aroma of roses. What a delight!
I thank my children, their children and my two great grandchildren who contribute to my happiness. I thank my unconditional friends, who are true guardian angels that live but a short distance away: Catherine, François, Neil, Éric, Adèle, Carmen, Patricia, Claude, Steven and Marie-Pierre.
I thank all the great writers, poets and songwriters. All these fabulous creators amaze me and often teach me some new trick of the trade.
Finally, I thank the chatterbox who lives inside my head. She possesses the instinctual reflex of imagination, which can’t be pinned down by reason.
And then there’s the Chatty Cathy in my head, who’s always helping me to polish my story. She plants flowers in the margin, finds uncommon words, deletes useless adverbs and completes the story’s ending.