7 h 35 au caf\u00e9 du village
\nLa coquine neige a profit\u00e9 de la nuit pour peinturer notre joli village laurentien. \u00c0 mon r\u00e9veil, j\u2019avais cinq ans et je voulais sortir jouer dehors.
\n\u00ab Maman, o\u00f9 sont mes petites bottes? Et mes mitaines, et mon foulard tricot\u00e9 bleu? \u00bb<\/p>\n
La neige me fait r\u00eaver \u00e0 mon enfance lorsque nous d\u00e9coupions des morceaux de neige glac\u00e9e pour construire un fort. Fr\u00e9rot dirigeait les op\u00e9rations et nous, les fillettes, devions l\u2019\u00e9couter \u00e0 la lettre moyennant une motte de neige dans le cou. Bobby, comme l\u2019appelait papa, \u00e9tait le champion des projets hivernaux. Sa sp\u00e9cialit\u00e9 \u00e9tait les igloos dans lesquels il lui arrivait de m\u2019enfermer lorsque j\u2019exag\u00e9rais mes moqueries.<\/p>\n
Je me souviens encore d\u2019une certaine journ\u00e9e d\u2019hiver. Nous \u00e9tions affair\u00e9s, fr\u00e9rot et moi, \u00e0 construire un bonhomme de neige g\u00e9ant. La neige \u00e9tait molle et c\u2019\u00e9tait facile de rouler les deux grosses boules qui serviraient de corps \u00e0 papa. Oui, oui! Nous faisions un bonhomme ayant la forte corpulence de notre papa, dont fr\u00e9rot aimait se moquer. Et moi j\u2019aimais lui rendre la pareille.<\/p>\n
Je venais tout juste de l\u2019aider \u00e0 soulever une grosse boule pour l\u2019installer sur l\u2019autre lorsque le corps de mon fr\u00e8re se mit \u00e0 gigoter. Il serrait ses cuisses et pliait son ventre comme pour une grosse envie de faire pipi. Et voil\u00e0 que sans que sans crier gare, un haut jet de liquide rouge gicla sur la neige immacul\u00e9e. Fr\u00e9rot gesticulait et criait comme une poule \u00e9touff\u00e9e. Il avait peur. Il se croyait malade.<\/p>\n
Lui qui savait tout ignorait que lorsqu\u2019on mange des betteraves, il arrive que l\u2019on pisse rouge. Comment l\u2019aurait-il su? C\u2019\u00e9tait la premi\u00e8re fois que l\u2019ecz\u00e9ma des mains de maman lui avait permis de faire un vrai jardin. Et les jolies betteraves rouge-brun faisaient partie des millions de choses que nous ne connaissions pas encore \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque.<\/p>\n
8 h 45
\nImaginez-vous donc que j\u2019ai re\u00e7u cette semaine une missive de la lointaine France, adress\u00e9e au si\u00e8ge social de l\u2019Entreprise. La lettre mentionnait tout de go quelques f\u00e9licitations \u00e0 ma belle \u00e9criture qu\u00e9b\u00e9coise. Elle venait du village de Gordes que j\u2019ai d\u00fb chercher sur Google pour en apprendre davantage :
\nPopulation : 1\u2009670 habitants
\nDernier recensement : 2019
\nDensit\u00e9 : 35 habitants\/km2
\nSuperficie : 48,04 kilom\u00e8tres
\nAltitude : 373 m
\nFondation : 1031<\/p>\n
\u00c0 ce qui para\u00eet, Gordes est class\u00e9e parmi les plus beaux villages de France. Sa particularit\u00e9 est d\u2019\u00eatre perch\u00e9e sur un rocher que l\u2019on voit de tr\u00e8s loin. Et lorsqu\u2019on arrive \u00e0 ses pieds, on a aussi le sentiment qu\u2019il veille sur la vall\u00e9e depuis toujours. Dieu du ciel, o\u00f9 est-ce? Google, aide-moi encore!
\n\u00ab Le village de Gordes est une commune fran\u00e7aise situ\u00e9e dans le d\u00e9partement de Vaucluse en r\u00e9gion Provence-Alpes-C\u00f4te d\u2019Azur. \u00bb
\nParis-Gordes : 718,8 kilom\u00e8tres
\nTrajet par auto dur\u00e9e de 8 h 5
\nLocation de voiture : 16 euros par jour<\/p>\n
Une certaine Apolline Duchesne veut savoir qui je suis. Comme elle me l\u2019explique, sa fille institutrice vit au Qu\u00e9bec et connait mes Lettres du dimanche qu\u2019elle lui envoie apr\u00e8s les avoir lues. Journaliste \u00e0 la retraite depuis 20 ans, dame Apolline s\u2019ennuie des v\u00e9ritables mots. Sans grand pr\u00e9ambule, elle m\u2019avoue qu\u2019elle veut faire comme moi : \u00c9CRIRE.<\/p>\n
Apolline veut chasser de sa t\u00eate 30 ann\u00e9es de faits divers sortis de son encre. Elle veut changer de vie et changer de discours. Elle me supplie de lui expliquer comment je fais pour \u00eatre si proche de mes lecteurs, complice avec eux, intime, honn\u00eate et g\u00e9n\u00e9reuse en leur racontant ma vie entre les lignes.<\/p>\n
10 h 28
\nTr\u00e8s ch\u00e8re Apolline, votre lettre me touche beaucoup. Nous avons probablement le m\u00eame \u00e2ge. Apr\u00e8s de nombreuses ann\u00e9es de travail acharn\u00e9, j\u2019ai cess\u00e9 mes activit\u00e9s de gestion au sein de mon entreprise en 2018 et, quatorze mois plus tard, un m\u00e9chant virus s\u2019est \u00e9tendu sur l\u2019enti\u00e8ret\u00e9 de la plan\u00e8te. Encaban\u00e9e pour un long moment, j\u2019ai entrepris d\u2019\u00e9crire une lettre chaque dimanche \u00e0 nos pr\u00e9cieux et nombreux clients via la page Facebook des restaurants Cora, et ils ont commenc\u00e9 \u00e0 nous lire. Au d\u00e9but, je voulais juste les encourager \u00e0 garder espoir pendant la pand\u00e9mie. Je voulais demeurer en contact avec eux, les informer et les rassurer.<\/p>\n
Sans m\u2019en apercevoir, j\u2019ai d\u00e9sencombr\u00e9 ma t\u00eate du chagrin que la retraite m\u2019avait caus\u00e9, et aussi des multiples frustrations de m\u2019\u00eatre sentie inutile. J\u2019ose vous dire, ch\u00e8re Apolline, que l\u2019\u00c9CRITURE m\u2019a sauv\u00e9 la vie. \u00c9crire chaque jour est devenu pour moi un rituel de bonheur. \u00c0 force de jaser \u00e9troitement avec mes lecteurs, mon c\u0153ur s\u2019est ouvert.<\/p>\n
Chaque jour, j\u2019explore le pr\u00e9sent et la quotidiennet\u00e9 surprenante de la r\u00e9alit\u00e9. Comme faire une balade dans les montagnes, aller au march\u00e9, visiter une nouvelle librairie ou tout simplement apprendre \u00e0 p\u00e9daler plus vite sur mon nouveau bicycle stationnaire.<\/p>\n
J\u2019\u00e9cris habituellement quelque quatre ou cinq heures par jour, souvent dans un caf\u00e9, ou sur la table de ma cuisine en \u00e9coutant de la musique baroque. Un sage dont j\u2019ai oubli\u00e9 le nom m\u2019a dit que le baroque facilitait l\u2019\u00e9criture. Je dois vous dire aussi que je dors en plein jour, une ou deux heures sur le divan de la biblioth\u00e8que, avec un \u00e9pais bandeau sur les yeux.<\/p>\n
Le reste du temps, je lis, j\u2019apprends ou je cherche de nouveaux mots que je risque d\u2019aimer. Depuis que j\u2019\u00e9cris, les best-sellers, les livres instructifs et les magazines de toutes sortes sont ma plus grosse d\u00e9pense. Ils ont d\u00e9pass\u00e9 de loin les fringues color\u00e9es, les foulards, les souliers et les babioles \u00e0 \u00e9pingler un peu partout.<\/p>\n
Voil\u00e0, dame Apolline, je suis convaincue que vous allez r\u00e9ussir votre virage. \u00c0 son heure, tout \u00eatre humain est un tr\u00e9fonds \u00e0 d\u00e9broussailler, une histoire \u00e0 raconter, un futur \u00e0 ensemencer. Peut-\u00eatre qu\u2019un jour, sur la commune de Gordes, j\u2019aurai l\u2019extr\u00eame bonheur de visiter avec vous l\u2019Abbaye Notre-Dame de S\u00e9nanque.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2603<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
7 h 35 au caf\u00e9 du village La coquine neige a profit\u00e9 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":13978,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13977","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"7:35 a.m. at the coffee shop\r\nThe snow painted our picturesque Laurentian town all white overnight. When I open my eyes, I am five years old and want to go outside.\r\n\u2013 \u201cMom, where are my boots? And my mittens and my blue wool scarf?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe snow makes me think back to a time in my childhood when we carved out snow blocks in the snow to build a fort. My brother oversaw the operations while us girls had to carefully listen to his instructions or we\u2019d get a snowball in the neck. Bobby, like my dad used to call him, was the champion of winter projects. And his specialty was igloos, in which he would sometimes imprison me when I teased him one too many times. \r\n\r\nI still clearly remember one particular winter day. My brother and I were building an enormous snowman. The snow was wet and it was easy to roll into two big balls which we were going to use to make a large figure just like Dad\u2019s. That\u2019s right! We were creating a snowman version of our dad, whom my brother enjoyed teasing; I in turn enjoyed teasing my brother. \r\n\r\nI had just helped him place one of the huge snowballs on top of the other when my brother\u2019s body started to shake. He was squeezing his thighs and doubling over like he really had to go. Apparently he couldn\u2019t wait, because before I could say anything, I saw a reddish liquid shoot straight out of him, staining the immaculate white snow. My brother was waving his arms wildly, screaming in terror. He thought he had been struck by some illness. \r\n\r\nIt turns out, Mr. Know-It-All didn't know that when you eat beets, your urine turns a similar colour. How could he have known? The pain from mom\u2019s eczema-blistered hands had abated enough to allow her to garden that summer. And the delicious red-brown beets were just one of the many things we had recently discovered.\r\n\r\n8:45 a.m.\r\nThis week at the head office, I received a letter from a little-known area in France. The sender was congratulating me on my French Canadian prose. The return address indicated \u201cGordes,\u201d which I had to look up on Google.\r\nPopulation: 1,670 habitants\r\nLast census: 2019\r\nDensity: 35 habitants\/km2\r\nArea: 48.4 km\r\nAltitude: 373 m\r\nFounded in 1031\r\n\r\nGordes is ranked among the most beautiful villages in France. Its distinguishing feature is its location: perched high atop a mountain and visible from far, far away. Seen from the foot of the mountain, it gives the impression that it has been standing guard over the valley since forever. Good heavens, where is that? Google, help me again! \u201cThe village of Gordes is a French commune located in the Vaucluse department of the Provence-Alpes-C\u00f4te d\u2019Azur region.\u201d Distance Paris-Gordes: 718.8 kilometres\r\n8 hours and 5 minutes by car\r\nCar rental: 16 euros\/day\r\n\r\nApoline Duschesne, the author of the letter, wants to know more about me. Her daughter is a teacher living in the province of Quebec and reads my weekly Sunday letters, which she then shares with her mother. Having retired from journalism 20 years ago, Appoline misses the written word. Without much preamble, she tells me that she wants to do what I do: WRITE.\r\n\r\nApolline wants to empty her mind of the 30 years of news she has chronicled. She wants to change her life and change her style. She begs me to explain how I am able to enjoy such a close, honest and generous relationship with my readers as I recount stories of my life.\r\n\r\n10:28 a.m.\r\nDear Apolline, your letter touches me deeply. We are probably about the same age. After many years of hard work, I stopped my management activities at the business I built in 2018. Fourteen months later, a nasty virus spread around the globe. Locked up in my house, I was eventually asked to write a weekly letter to our wonderful customers, which would be posted on the Cora restaurants Facebook page. And so our customers began to read my Sunday letters. My initial intent was to simply encourage them to keep up their spirits as the pandemic overturned our worlds.\r\n\r\nWithout realizing it, all the sorrow and frustrations I felt in my new retired life disappeared. I dare say, dear Apolline, that WRITING saved my life. Writing each day has become my ritual for happiness. My heart opened up by talking directly to my readers.\r\n\r\nEach day I explore the present, the surprising everydayness of life such as going for a drive in the mountains, visiting the market, browsing a new bookstore or simply pedalling faster on my new stationary bike.\r\n\r\nI usually write 4 or 5 hours each day, often at the coffee shop or sitting at my kitchen table while listening to baroque music. A wise man, whose name I forget, once told me that listening to baroque music helps you write. I also admit to taking a midday nap on the couch in the library for one or two hours, a thick mask covering my eyes.\r\n\r\nI read the rest of the time. I learn or search for new words that call to me. Since I started writing regularly, most of my money goes to purchasing bestsellers, how-to books and magazines of all kinds. They have now far surpassed the cost of all my colourful clothes, scarves, shoes and trinkets I wear on my clothes or in my hair.\r\n\r\nThere, you have it, my dear Apolline. I know you will succeed in finding a new voice. Every human in its own way represents a ground to be cleared, a story to be told, a future to be sown. And maybe one day, in the commune of Gordes, I will have the wonderful opportunity to visit the Notre-Dame de S\u00e9nanque Abbey with you.\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2603"},"yoast_head":"\n