Small Fortunes

There is something magical about opening up a fortune cookie. Not the generic ones at Chinese restaurants that the server plops on your table along side the bill. A stale cookie wrapped in plastic, that contains some pithy comment, “A refreshing change is in your future” or “Happiness is just around the corner.” Not much magic to be found in those mass-produced little treats.

The magic lies in fortune cookies that are intentionally and meticulously crafted to carry personalized messages. How precious to watch someone open the folds of this crisp cookie, revealing the furled slip of paper tucked inside. It’s just a sliver of paper, barely large enough to contain a sentence, but it holds great blessings. And the expression on their face when they read the personalized message intended for them - it’s magic. Little love fragments of personalized hope and care. The pieces of paper are so small that when I’m cutting them, they slip between the blades of the scissors. Yet, so powerful are the words inside that they can lighten the heaviest of hearts. The first time I created this craft was after my greatest loss, and one of the darkest chapters of my life.

Myron was the most extraordinary person I had ever met. Our first date was epic. We met for coffee at 11:00, then migrated to another venue for lunch. And drove out of the city, an hour towards the mountains, for dinner. It was clear neither of us wanted the date to end. It was 11:00pm when he dropped me off at my car. We had shared so much of ourselves, revealing a similar zest for life, and more importantly aligned values. He was a rare combination of intellect, athleticism, humor and kindness.

The next day, unbeknownst and independently of one another, we both told our families. He called his parents and said, “I have found her.” I told my parents, “He has finally arrived.” And our love grew from there.

It was a sunny morning, summer was in full swing and I woke up early to surprise Myron with my favorite Chinese breakfast, congee, a savory rice porridge; rice slow cooked in broth with meat and topped with scallions, deep fried shallots, and drizzled with sesame oil. I had set the table. There was about an hour left on the timer. I let Myron sleep in. He woke up earlier than I had anticipated.

“What are you doing up?” I asked.

“I forgot to tell you that I have an early meeting this morning.”

“But breakfast won’t be ready for another hour. I really want you to try this. It’s my family’s favorite breakfast.”

“I’m sorry Tiger, I should have told you. I forgot.”

He kissed my forehead, then my lips. “I’ll try the congee some other day. Don’t worry, we’ve got a lifetime.”

He was wrong. We didn’t have a lifetime. And that was the last time I would ever see him.

After his meeting, he flew out to Salt Spring Island, to continue renovations on our home there. It was on the acreage where he suffered a heart attack and passed. The days were a blur of dark, inconsolable grief. The months swirled together and before I knew it, Christmas was approaching. I knew what the holiday meant to his family, a weeks-long celebration of family gatherings and feasts. I was saddened that it would be the first Christmas his parents had to spend without him.

And though I was at my lowest point, my happiness wasn’t important. I was focused on creating happiness for them, bringing them some comfort, somehow.

That is when I thought to create fortune cookies for his parents. I reached out to Myron’s friends and asked them to contribute a message. I scoured the internet for recipes, had numerous failed attempts and through lots of trial and error, finally tweaked it to perfection.

I received responses from Myron’s friends and printed them off. I cut their messages into thin strips of paper. For some of the longer messages, I double or triple folded them. I teared up as I read their beautiful messages and wondered what these tiny strips of paper could do for his parents. And it was my hope that the paper strips functioned like little plasters on their perforated souls, that the more I could layer on, the stronger their hearts and spirits could get.

For the fortune cookies, the batter is thin in consistency, similar to a crepe batter. It is poured onto baking sheets and spread into a 4-inch circle. Baked for about ten minutes. There is a 10-second window before the dough starts to harden. In that time, the piece of paper is placed in the middle and the cookie is folded and shaped into a crescent.

On the gift tag for the fortune cookies to Myron’s parents, I wrote, “These are Chinese fortune cookies. You have lost an amazing, brilliant and kind-hearted son. In each of these cookies is a message or memory from Myron’s friends, to remind you that although Myron is gone, he was loved, is loved and will always be loved. And, that is the fortune that we still all share.”

As time passed, and my soul healed I started using this craft for more occasions. Slowly, through word-of-mouth, I got more orders. Birthdays were a common occasion. And it started to grow beyond that. Expecting parents used them for gender reveal parties. People placed orders on Valentine’s Day to surprise their lovers. They were ordered to comfort the sting of a bad break up. Parents had personalized messages written for their high school graduates. They were used for congratulations on a job promotion, or commiseration for the loss of a job. People ordered them as wedding favors. People used them to console their divorced friends. Colleagues wrote messages for the newly retired coworkers. Basically, they were fortune cookies or misfortune cookies.

And then it struck me that this gesture was used in every chapter of life. From birth to death and every happy or heartbreaking chapter in between. And every time I cut these papers to be slipped into the cookies, I am reminded of the first time I did this craft and how far I’ve come, and that the strips of paper allowed the pain to leak out of me, but sutured all the happiness within.