I do breakfast

I finally decided to take action in September 2021. I called the dating agency and made an appointment with a woman named Natasha, who’d been warmly recommended by a good friend. I almost cancelled 10 times, but in the end, I bravely stuck to my appointment. Natasha had booked me for two solid hours to complete all the documents and various formalities. That’s how, on Thursday, September 30, dressed up in my nice pink Jackie Kennedy suit, I had my picture taken from my most flattering angles. Was I really so desperate to be in love? I felt so out of place, I just wanted to flee. What would I do with a man? Even a rare bird. Whether a crow or swallow, would he teach me how to sing? I’m looking for a writer who’ll help polish my words, a white-haired explorer or philosophy teacher. I’d just be happy if he were caring, kind and attentive. Natasha the matchmaker was a very kind woman who knew a lot about pairing up people. I didn’t dare ask if she was happily married herself. We hit it off right from the start and talked about anything and everything like two old friends: suitors from long ago, awful Husband and a few brave men I never took the time to love. After escaping my painful marriage, I thought I had put love out of my head for good. Natasha asked me, “so what did you do, Claudia?” Claudia is the fictitious name I was given to remain anonymous. It’s an agency policy for all their clients who desire discretion. I wondered if some men did the same, and she reassured me they do, until a match proves successful. – “I eventually opened a small successful breakfast diner that well, quickly became a large restaurant chain.” – “I know who you are! But let’s keep using your assumed name for the purposes of our common mission. You definitely deserve a few years of happiness with your prince charming!” – “If we can find one!” The sweet matchmaker carefully explained the three simple steps required to meet an honest-to-goodness prince charming. First: Sign up for one of the agency’s packages. Second: Create the profile of the man of my dreams. Third: Consent to meet the candidates selected based on my criteria. Being riper than a strawberry in autumn, my hands, face and arms – every visible part – looks the worse for wear. And yet I love myself. I love colour, and I especially love wearing it. The artist in me delights in choosing my clothes at sunrise each day. – “Pink suits you so well!” Natasha tells me. “Your pictures will catch the eye of top candidates.” – “You’ll post my pictures?” I ask her, a bit surprised. For a brief moment, I try to imagine the face of the man of my dreams. A thick head of hair (white is fine just as long as there is lots of it), blue-green eyes like the sea, generous large hands and a heart of gold that anyone would be lucky to have and to hold. Maybe I’ll see his attractive red-and-black checkered shirt from afar? Will I get so close that I’ll see the dark hairs in his ears? Just like when I was a child and climbed onto my father’s shoulders to tug at his ear hairs. Whether this old man arrives in a king’s robe or shepherd’s shirt, I’ll welcome his angelic face and captivating voice. But he must smile, otherwise I’ll have no way to enter his heart. According to statistics, 60% of women are looking for their one-and-only Mr. Right, and only 40% of men are looking for their true match. And the old maids, dear Natasha, what chance do they have? Stripped of youthful beauty, is hope and desire enough? TO BE CONTINUED. Cora ❤️

I’m writing this morning to alleviate the wild churning of ideas pounding my head. I search for a new word, an imaginative verb, a cascade of ideas that lengthen and stretch, flirting with the possibility of losing all meaning. My rattling heart trembles and throbs. Love – real, overpowering love – teases me still with small, chivalrous acts. A new friend who recently joined our group of old-timers at the coffee shop is so handsome and agreeable that I feel an uncontrollable impulse to move a little closer to him. I must be mad! What a strange adventure this desire to love is! I’ve forever carried the weighty word “LOVE” in my old heart, whose key I’ve probably misplaced long ago. My lucky friend Gisèle, who’s the epitome of kindness, found love and beauty in a dependable man her age, 6 foot 2 with blue eyes. How I envy these two! He’s a former businessman, globetrotter and art collector. She spent the holidays with her paramour, whose name is Jérôme. They invited me to join them between Christmas and New Year’s, but I pretended I’d already booked five days in Quebec City in order to leave the lovers to themselves; better that than being a third wheel. Did this white lie save my honour? It certainly didn’t save me from tears: I cried my heart out all alone in my pyjamas in front of the Christmas tree with a few caramel toasts on a pretty holiday platter to comfort me. Gisèle had also given me a box of delicious fudge, so the next morning, I pulled myself together, made myself presentable and went to the coffee shop to share the fudge with my friends and the newcomer. He flashed me that kind of bright smile you only see in a TV commercial. My second-door neighbour, who’s in his late sixties and married to his sweet Carole, told me the other day that faded old men often find love and even get remarried. These daring men put on dapper clothes, comb their hair (or what’s left of it), spritz on the cologne and go out dancing. Upon arriving, they scan the room and stretch out their hand to the prettiest lady for the next dance. I’ve never waltzed or even tried to dance again after I met Husband on that cursed dance floor that night. Only written words comfort me – those that emerge from my mind and those served to me on a silver platter by great authors. These days, however, I’m in desperate need for something or someone to electrify, excite and thrill me. Could this new friend be single? I spy on him, I’m on the lookout for him; my neck gets stiff in no time from secretly watching him. A little before the pandemic, I’d registered for an online class on living well, given by a trusted institution. Have I ever told you about this? Every Sunday morning, for three hours, I’d turn on my iPad and absorb precious tips from experts. I also had homework to submit. Each participant had to decide on a major goal to accomplish. I didn’t set my sights on climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, but I might as well have! After listening to the advice of some close friends, I decided to sign up with the “best” matchmaking service in town! It took all the courage in me to overcome my fears! After all, I’m no spring chicken but I’m still very busy – almost too much so – and a bit of a public personality. Am I too old to flirt with love? TO BE CONTINUED. Cora ❤️

Do you remember the sweet journalist who’s interviewed me on several occasions? She’s back with even more candid questions. From what I can gather, she’s writing a book on the lives of women over 50 who are single, independent and enjoying life to the fullest. I expect this young journalist to expertly dissect my eventful life as she usually does. — “Dear Cora, can I first start with thanking you for accepting to participate in my project?” — “I’ve had many opportunities to help, listen, guide and even be a mentor to young women during my career as a businesswoman. So I’m proud to participate in this wonderful project! This old lady may no longer be in the limelight, but my relentless pen still makes its way to thousands of well-meaning hearts.” — “Are you still looking for prince charming?” — “My charming Isabel, I’ve imagined the man of my dreams a hundred times over! I know him by heart. I drown in his blue-green eyes. I write my name on his forehead. His cheeks warm me, his voice calls me, his heart bewitches me. I’d fall asleep forever in his arms if I could.” — “Everyone knows you married the wrong guy. Have you ever been tempted to try again with a better man?” — “When I was 50, an honest man put a ring on my finger, but it didn’t last. In those days, I was already a businesswoman with the pedal to the metal on the highway of success. Why did I even get married? I still don’t know. I had my heart set on conquering the entire country and I didn’t have time to play husband and wife. So the white-haired husband flew back to his native Brittany, like a white-tailed eagle, pouting slightly.” — “Wow, that’s quite a revelation! I thought I knew you well but it appears you still have plenty of secrets tucked away in your bag of memories. For now, let’s just focus on our main topic.” — “Cora, do you see yourself as a powerful woman?” — “Have I ever been? I’m completely unable to kill an ant, a mouse or even a mosquito. I consider myself to be more of an artist, a creator, and maybe, by a stroke of luck, a serious businesswoman who dared to tap her nose on the proverbial glass ceiling. I had to embrace my unconventional path, my talents and my beliefs. I’ve never tried to compete with men, and I was never afraid to say yes or no when I was convinced of my answer. I took calculated risks and always did my homework before acting. To this day, my yes and my no are still as solid as a gold bar, and I continue to learn about all the subjects I'm passionate about. My curiosity remains my greatest power!” — “Madame Cora, would you say you are wealthy?” — “I’d say I had to quickly learn to count. As someone who missed out on love, affection and tenderness, maybe life decided to console me with success in business. I’ve never been extravagant or reckless, nor have I spent my money needlessly. I’ve saved my money – you might even call me a penny pincher – to provide for my family and causes dear to my heart. I consider myself rich in experiences, creativity and determination. Whatever I set my heart on doing, I work at it until I succeed. — “Tell me about your friends.” — “I’d love to! I have 7 or 8 good friends. This group of old-timers is a blessing from above I think. Every morning around 7 a.m., we enjoy our first coffee of the day together. We talk, we share what’s going on in our lives, what we dream of and what we’re worried about. We discuss different subjects, from our aches and pains, our fears, our doctor appointments and the few things we’d still like to accomplish before we leave this world. I can also count on professional acquaintances I’ve met who’ve eventually become my friends. Like you, dear Isabel!” — “I’m honoured to know that you consider me a friend. Thank you for trusting me. Time flies, Cora, and soon you’ll be turning 80. Will there be a huge party to mark the occasion?” — “Let’s wait until I’m 100, and I certainly hope I make it! I’m still active, I cook, I knit, I write prodigiously and I read at least 100 pages from the best authors each day. I drink two large coffees every morning with my friends. As you know, I worked in a kitchen countless mornings until late in the afternoon, so it always surprises people that I, the Queen of Breakfast, never eat breakfast! I usually get hungry around 2 p.m. I barely eat meat. I was raised in the Gaspésie, by the sea, so I have a habit of eating fish for lunch. In recent years, I make do with fresh fruit, yogurt, dates, nuts and cereals for dinner... Unless someone suggests going out to a restaurant! If a handsome man were to offer me his hand, I might just bite into a finger too without even thinking twice. Cora ❤️