As we remember Cora today, I’d like to reflect on what she did bring to the picnic with her life.

Well, first of all, it wouldn’t be any old boring picnic. Cora would have said: “A picnic would be good, but how about we go kayaking first? Why don’t we find a nice cave to explore afterwards? Perhaps we should snorkel into the picnic area?” Or perhaps most typically; “lets make it a dress-up themed picnic”.

Put simply, Cora always brought fun to the picnic. For Cora, there was never a predictable or normal way of doing things. A beach trip would become a three day marathon of rollerblading, riding the ferry, laughing and eating. A simple gathering of friends would become a costume extravaganza party where guests were invited (such as in the case of her infamous ‘harry potter party’) to design food and drinks with ridiculous, in-theme names.

Picking up the phone to talk to Cora was a risk that should have only been attempted with a life jacket, Swiss army knife, and a pair of her patented all terrain short shorts close at hand, as you never ever knew what you were getting yourself in for.

Another thing that Cora always brought to the picnic was friendship. This wouldn’t be hidden in her bag and quietly passed around so that only one or two people could have a small taste of it. No, rather, Cora’s friendship was thrust upon you in a HUGE wicker basket covered in sequins, flashing lights and loud music pumping out. You did not need to deserve this friendship, and you certainly didn’t need to earn it. The thing that I will miss most about Cora, is that she would open her heart to you, regardless of who you were, or how you had met or how long you had known her. This was a friendship given with no ulterior motive or purpose, but Cora would only ask that you be her friend in return.

Being Cora’s friend was an experience. It was sensory overload. Your fingers would itch to touch her latest costume creation. Every story Cora told had an exciting new context to be heard- Darwin, the barrier reef, some exotic island or a deserted beach. Your eyes and mind would be accosted by her bright clothes. Your taste buds left reeling from her favourite foods.

Cora was not passive in making you experience this friendship. She would lead me forcibly by the arm to go shopping for a bright dress, because in her words, I was too fond of black, which she often decreed “boring and depressing”. On more than one occasion, the food I would bring to an actual picnic with Cora would be dismissed with a wave of her hand as “mass produced”, at which point she would flourish an elaborately home made dip, cake or drink.

It is because of these things that you could not help but be changed by meeting Cora. I became accustomed to talking to complete strangers that Cora had just met and made friends with. I would start to think that overwhelming honesty in a friendship was a normal thing, and, like Cora, be strangely bemused when people would withhold their emotions.

Every time you talked to Cora, you knew that you were having a real experience. She was genuine in her affections, and genuine in the way she lived her life. She lived, more than any other person that I have ever known, completely in the moment. If she was your friend, she was your friend 150 percent, no questions asked. If you were with her, you were with her having the most amazing, random, energetic fun that you could ever hope to have.

Cora lived at the extremes of experience. She made me dissatisfied with an average picnic and showed us that you should always bring to your life extravagance, friendliness and honesty. It is for these reasons that I will always remember Cora, and miss her friendship and love.

Cora was the brightest of bright lights, and I thank her today as the world is a more interesting place because of the way she lived her life.

Linda Thompson

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Cora was a member of a speological club.
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