Opening Doors with Kim

Kim Ades of Opening Doors lets you in on her frame of mind.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Sam I am

She wafted into my house. Her name was Eptisam but she called herself Sam for short. She wore a floral perfume that filled the air. She was the second tutor assigned to help my kids with their french homework: reading, writing, grammar, and just sitting still in a chair for more than 60 seconds. The first one was a young man. He seemed nice enough but he didn't know how to spell chicken in french - he spelled it 'poulette' instead of 'poulet'. (In hindsight it was an omen) I figured I needed someone a little more qualified. I got Sam instead. She was a grandma. Her voice was loud. Her smile was warm. She knew french grammar and spelling. And she gave my kids treats at the end of the session.

She came over this morning to tutor my kids. One hour with each of them. The appointment was at 10 a.m. but she showed up 20 minutes earlier and gave my son extra time to worked on his grammar. She arrived with a frozen package in her hands. It was Molokchaya - the leaf with which a delicious Egyptian soup is made. Her intention was to make the soup that my mother makes for me each time I travel into Montreal for a visit. She gave instructions to boil a chicken and put aside one cup of rice. After she finished her french lessons with my kids, she stood in my kitchen mixing the broth, adding the Molokchaya, throwing in the garlic, and frying up a special rice to go with the soup. She said that next time she would cook something else.

I was stunned. Where did this angel come from? Is it possible for anyone to be so thoughtful and kind? How did I get so lucky? I hardly knew what to do with myself. And I hardly knew how to express my graditude.

Sam, I am not sure if you read Blogs, but if you do, THANK YOU!

Friday, October 27, 2006

The little black man

I was at a conference in California last week. I came across a little black man and we started chatting. I was describing an element of my career that caused frustration for me - I suppose I was animated in the way that I spoke - and he asked me what I was so mad about. I didn't think I was mad. I certainly didn't feel mad. But when he asked me what I was mad about, I started to get mad. I got mad at the thought that someone else thought that I might be mad. Because in my mind, mad is not good. Neither is angry, vengeful, hateful or bitter. Those emotions are scary to me. Those are emotions for people who are unbalanced and temperamental. I walked away from the conversation confused and concerned. If he thought I was mad - maybe other people thought I was mad too. And that made me wonder if that's how I come across. I didn't want to be thought of as a mad person. I wanted to be thought of as kind and good and giving and loving. I had to find that guy and fix things.

I did find him and after I tried awkwardly to smooth things over, he gave me a hug. This little black man stood there and gave me a hug and told me that he could see that I was a very warm and loving person. How would he know? A few minutes earlier he thought I was mad. Well we agreed to sit and talk for a bit. We talked about being mad. He asked me why I thought it was such a bad thing to feel mad. He said that being mad was an indicator of something not being right for me and that I should honor the feeling rather than try to tuck it away. Interesting. Then he suggested that I should give myself a hug and say "I love me." I did it - but I have to say it was rather uncomfortable and felt pretty foreign. Also interesting.

Hard to be loving to the world when we are so ill at ease loving ourselves. Meeting the little black man was a big day for me.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

The Funeral Gift

My uncle died on Sept. 27, 2006. His funeral was the next day - it was the day of my birthday. I travelled to Montreal to be in attendance. He was an unbelievable man. Tall, handsome, and powerfully charismatic. He had a dimple in his chin and his smile could warm any soul. He filled the room when he was in it - his voice, his swagger, his accent and intonation. Kids were drawn to him and he gave them the attention that so few others knew how to give. He left a lot of people behind that really loved and admired who he was. I saw the bulk of my entire family at the funeral. I cried, I laughed, I blew my nose. I kissed a lot of people - some whom I didn't even know. I sat huddled with one of my cousins during the ulogy. I watched my uncle's wife and his daughter carefully to see how they were managing and how they were reacting to the onslaught of visitors. I was alert and my senses were keenly aware of the activity surrounding me. I spoke to people I hadn't seen in ages. I drank a toast in my uncle's honor and ate the foods he was always delighted to eat. I held my mother's hand as she cried for her brother. I was uniquely alive that day. What a tremendous birthday gift.