The Past...By Surprise

Rushing through the supermarket here in rural Arizona this afternoon, I skidded to a halt and stared at a small display in a basket in the fresh fruit department: lychee nuts! I couldn't believe it. My favorite delicacies of my youth -- hard to find even in Los Angeles -- were sitting in a basket here in Florence, Arizona!

                                                           

Bob stared open-mouthed, too. He has hunted for the elusive fresh lychee many times -- and often in vain -- both in stores in L.A. and online after we moved here as a special surprise for me.

"Stock up," he said with a smile. "Let them know someone here really loves fresh lychees."

My love of fresh lychees -- canned just aren't the same -- has roots that extend back a century.

My father's father -- the grandfather I never knew because he died when my father was only eight years old -- had lived in China for a time, spoke fluent Mandarin and, as an attorney, did a lot of work on behalf of Chinese immigrants in Tucson. His son, my father, would sometimes accompany him on his rounds and grateful clients would give them a rare treat -- fresh lychee nuts -- during the brief growing season. The fruits were shipped from China to the Port of Los Angeles and then transported to Tucson. The treats were too sparse, too rare, to be sold in markets. They were passed, with great celebration, from one friend to another. One of my father's fondest memories from his all-too-brief childhood was sharing a precious stash of lychee nuts with his father.

And so, after coming of age near the Chinatown area of Los Angeles, my father had his contacts. And when the brief lychee season came each summer, he would get a call from his childhood friend Kwan Lee Leong who owned the main grocery store in Chinatown. The lychees had arrived! We would rush down there, go in a side door and buy the precious stash. Then we would go home, sit on the back porch and eat them, the sweet juices running down our chins. (Lychees have a tough outer shell that you crack and peel to reveal a sweet, nearly translucent, grape-like fruit within. The taste is wonderfully subtle.)

                                               

And my father would tell me stories about when he was a little boy and how much he had loved his father and how much he missed him. And how much the warm memories flooded back whenever he bit into a lychee and felt the infusion of cool sweetness on his tongue.

And so lychees have come to evoke certain times of my own childhood, those rare, sweet times of calm and companionship with a father who was so frightfully unpredictable.

Once, when I was fourteen, a diagnostic test of my brain went horribly wrong when I had an allergic reaction to the general anesthetic. What was to have been an overnight hospital stay stretched to a week as I lay unconscious, aware of others around me, but unable to respond much of the time. Finally, I heard myself speaking tentatively as my father leaned over me, holding my hand and stroking my head tenderly. "Lychee nuts," I whispered. "Would it be permissible to have lychee nuts?"

"Oh, my baby," my father choked, with a half-sob. "Of course it's permissible. They may be dried this time of year, but I will get you some lychees right away. Just hang on!"

And soon he was pressing lychees dried in their shells into my palm and my hand closed around his. And I knew then, with a rush of emotion, just how much this difficult, conflicted man loved me.

Sightings of lychees in my adulthood and into my young old age bring moments of incredible joy. My first hint of lychees this year was when I was visiting my brother Mike and sister-in-law Amp in Los Angeles and was at a local Costco with Amp. She was hunting for strawberries, found some and then, on impulse, reached for another clear container. It was filled with lychees! Instant ecstasy! I became a child again, clapping my hands with glee. Laughing with me about my sudden exuberance, Amp put another two cartons of the fruit into the shopping cart. I ended up taking those, packed in ice, back home to Arizona where I stretched this treat out over two glorious weeks. I thought that was my lychee experience for the year.

But then today -- an incredible find. Right here in the middle of nowhere, in my local supermarket: my past and my present in a delicious collision.

Do you have special food treats from childhood that delight you?

Are there items that take you back years and evoke wonderful feelings and memories?

As I savor this unexpected bounty today, the past floods back in a rush of warm memories: a loving father and sweet, vulnerable son sharing this precious gift that was given with love and gratitude by my grandfather's Chinese clients and, years later, a little girl sitting close to her vulnerable, wounded father happily sharing the rare, sweet treat of fresh lychees -- and an equally rare moment of harmony, joy and love.

Memorable Moments

Think of some of the major milestones of your life, some of the big moments, and then think about which times -- major or not -- stand out among your happy memories.

How many of these sweet memories are connected to milestones -- and which came quietly and unexpectedly into your life?

In my own life, I've found that times I had anticipated as major were unexpectedly humbling, with reality bringing me firmly back to earth.

I'm thinking of the times when life and possibilities seemed incredibly full and endless, when I had the thought "This is a time I'll always remember. This is it! I've really made it!" and reality was sitting there just waiting....

Reality was waiting when, as a young professional actress, I was cast in the West Coast premiere of Lanford Wilson's "This Is the Rill Speaking." In this show, the six of us played multiple roles -- with no costume or makeup changes -- and were hailed by the Los Angeles Times as "a distinguished ensemble of actors who interface in and out of multiple roles with diamond brilliance."

But our alleged brilliance eluded many audience members of this theatre subscription series. There were testy mutterings during the show and subdued applause. And one evening, just as the show was ending  with each of our multiple characters saying "Good night!", one frustrated patron -- a large older man -- stood up at his seat and roared "Good night, for God's sake! When will this end???" And then he turned and ran up the aisle and out of the theatre. I had the distinct impression that at least half the audience longed to follow him.

Reality was waiting some years later on a particularly heady day during a busy national tour promoting one of my books. The day started in New York with what was a throughly enjoyable stint on "The Today Show." The only problem was, my schedule called for me next to be live on the air at noon in Sarasota, Florida.

A publicity aide and I dashed from the set of  "The Today Show" to a waiting limo and barely made it to the airport for the flight to Tampa. Once we landed, we were met by another publicist and publicity escort, frantic to get to Sarasota on time. As we dashed out of the airport, I suddenly realized I hadn't used the bathroom since before going on camera on "Today." I told them I needed to pee. There was a collective sigh. "Well, hurry up!" the escort said crossly. "We'll pull the car up to the curb and you meet us there." So I did and they did and we reached the t.v. station in Sarasota five minutes before air time.

"Get out of the car and go in that door!" one of the aides said. "We'll follow you."

But just as I was opening the door, I heard the aides shout "Wait!!" in unison and run up behind me with an explosion of laughter. After using the bathroom in Tampa Airport, I had pulled my pantyhose over the back of my dress and was flashing everyone behind me. Any fantasies I might of had of my own stardom, complete with publicity entourage, vanished as I pulled my skirt out my pantyhose -- while the host of the show, who had rushed to the door to greet me, looked on.

And reality was definitely waiting the first time I appeared on OPRAH in early 1988.  She was doing a show around "The Teenage Body Book" and had asked that my co-author -- my friend Chuck Wibbelsman, who is an M.D. -- appear on the show. She wasn't interested in me because I was "just" the writer. At that point, I was working on but was still a few years away from completing my doctorate.

Chuck, bless his heart, begged the producer to consider having me on the show as well. "Kathy and I are a team," he insisted. "I know you'll agree if you just talk to her."  And so the producer did -- and did agree to bring me on as well.

It was a moment of triumph: here we were, on the set of OPRAH, all miked up and ready to go on a show that was truly the Holy Grail to writers looking to promote their books. In those days, the show was live and Oprah didn't meet with non-celebrity guests before the show. She walked onto the set as the countdown to air time as going.....10, 9, 8.....

"Hello, doctor," she said warmly, shaking Chuck's hand. Then she saw me and her eyes narrowed....

7,6,5.....

"What is SHE doing here?" she yelled. "I just wanted the doctor!"

3,2,1...The cameras blinked on and the show began.

Oprah was and is the best at what she does. When we went live, she sparkled. She was smart. She was charming. I had to admit, as unsettled as I had been by her greeting, that on camera she was absolutely great, the best.  And the exposure -- one couldn't ask for more.

All our mikes were off as the closing music played and the credits ran over the visual of Oprah thanking us for doing the show. She came up to Chuck, took his hands in both of hers and said "Thank you so much, doctor! I really appreciate your being here and all the good things you had to say." She turned to me with a dazzling smile, clasping my hands warmly in her own and leaned into me. "When the music stops, get off the stage," she said. "I've got to shoot promos."

Chuck and I left the studio in shock. "It's like finding out there is no Santa," he said sadly. "Here I thought she would be so nice!"

Oprah was much nicer when I guested on the show again several years later, promoting a book I had written by myself. The show was now taped, removing the stress of live television, and inviting me back had been her idea. So the experience was much more pleasant.

But my expectations were different, too. I didn't expect her to be nice at all, so when she was relatively congenial, I was delighted.

Still, when I think about life's most pleasurable moments, they were almost never those big experiences, the times when I expected so much and found the experience humbling or underwhelming.

When I think back over my life and the true emotional highs, they tend to be simple moments. Moments like:

• being lithe and thirty something and running for miles in Griffith Park with a cool breeze in my face
• lovely evenings early in my relationship with Bob when we introduced each other to our favorite music, talked and told stories into the night
• Sunday brunch and art gallery walking tours of Laguna Beach
• wonderful, day-long conversations with dear friends like Mary or Steve and Sharon or Nancy and Jerry or Tim -- both long ago and recently
• ongoing great conversations with my brother Mike, my sister Tai, my husband Bob and friends here in Arizona
• embracing Aunt Molly as we waded into the surf one last time and all the memories of romping in the waves with her during my growing up years
• the softness and sweet scent of a tiny kitten -- Freddie, some 30 years ago and later on, very special kittens named Timmy, Gus, Maggie, Sweet Pea and, most recently, our wonderful Hamish
• the lovely feel of a small child on my lap, eager for a story -- most recently, my niece Maggie, who bonded with me over our shared delight at her incomparable story book about hippos.
• the joy of connection -- with an old friend or a new friend -- in person or online
• sharing laughter with someone dear -- especially my husband Bob as we re-visit private jokes and old punchlines
• the delicious feeling of that first weekday after we retired as Bob and I lingered over coffee in our new Arizona home
• waking up to a bright, beautiful morning and feeling grateful for another day

What are the emotional high points of your life? Were there times you thought would be great, but weren't -- and times when joy caught you by surprise?

If you're like me, these moments of unexpected joy were often simple, ordinary moments, situations with no particular expectations, moments that had nothing to do with professional achievement and everything to do with mindfulness, peace and love shared.

The Joy of Reconnecting

The voice on the phone was faintly familiar, but a name eluded me until she told me that hers was a voice from the past and her name was Kathy Lake.

She told me that a close friend had died recently and she realized that no one else could fill that void in her life.  She began to think about how each dear friend is irreplaceable and then about several other much loved friends with whom she had lost contact through the years. I was one of them. She set out to find me.

I was so happy to be found. I settled in for a good conversation as memories of my friendship with Kathy warmed my heart.

It wasn't just that I loved to swap stories and laugh with her or that we had both gone back to graduate school in middle age while working full time and were quick to commiserate with each other. It wasn't just that I thoroughly enjoyed her company. I also remembered how once she had come to my defense and stood by me when it seemed no one else would.

Kathy was my assistant for several years during an usually difficult time in a workplace that, largely speaking, was an 8-year-long dark night of the soul for me.

At one juncture, five years into my tenure there,  a mentally disturbed temporary worker in our department launched a campaign of outrageous lies and rumors about me that roiled around the workplace, undermining my position and my relationships with co-workers. Initially, only Kathy stood by me. Only Kathy had the courage to stand up and speak the truth. She alerted the Dean of our department, my immediate boss, convincing him that the spreading rumors were completely untrue and eliciting his vigorous support of me. She compiled exhaustive documentation of the malicious lies and intervened with the HR director who, without notifying or questioning me, was about to initiate harsh disciplinary actions.

Further investigation found that this temporary worker had exhibited such behavior at other companies where she had worked. In one instance, her lies and taunts prompted one of her previous targets to lash out and strike her. Claiming injury and trauma, this temp worker had ended up with a good sum of money -- enough to buy her own home -- from a subsequent lawsuit against the company.

The crisis in our workplace blew over and the temp was let go. But the pain lingered -- in my own hurt and in some relationships that would never be the same. Kathy was unfailingly supportive and saw me through that particularly dark time. I've never forgotten her kindness and courage.

But then, during a re-organization crisis at work, Kathy and her life partner Sue decided to make long deferred move to Seattle. Kathy was suddenly gone and, sadly, we lost touch. I have thought of her so many times over the years.

Hearing her voice on the phone made my day. How wonderful it is to rediscover a warm connection with a friend who has meant so much.

Reconnecting with people who are important to us is a great gift, whether we have been separated by years, by hurt feelings, by private sorrows or simply by the distractions and demands of daily life.

What a pleasure it is to rediscover joy with a college friend who is just now emerging from a painful 45 year marriage that sapped his energy and spirit during recent years.  Now he is living much as he did as a student -- one room apartment, no car, tight budget. And he's happy -- with a gentle breeze wafting through the open windows of his apartment, walking to work in a city he loves, bicycling along the lakefront. He has little -- and he has everything. Freedom from pain means so very much to him. Though we've been close friends throughout the years, it's wonderful to see his joyous spirit emerge once more and to reconnect with that wonderful aspect of him.

What a pleasure it is to have a good conversation with my brother Mike, with my sister Tai, with my sister-in-law Amp or my dear friend Mary and to reconnect anew, discovering new insights from old and dear relationships.

And what a great, sweet surprise it is to share a lunch with neighbors who have moved away, as Bob and I did yesterday, and to reconnect with these good friends. And how good for the soul it is to share yet another lunch with another couple who are dear neighbors and who are planning to move away. But they are serious about wanting to keep in touch.

It makes one want to launch a celebration of reconnection: to write a note, send an email, make a phone call to someone special we have missed.

Kathy Lake sent me an email recently that said "Now that I've reconnected, I find I really miss you!" So true. She's planning a visit in the fall.

What reconnections would you like to make? What notes have you been meaning to write? What phone calls do you need to make? Which friends from your past would you like to rediscover through Facebook or an email or a well-timed text message?

Don't wait.

You may make someone's day.

Lessons from Nora Ephron

The news of her passing was shocking and sad. For Nora Ephron was always such a strong, witty and spot-on chronicler of her generation and the human condition. It's hard to believe that there will be no more books or articles or films.

I have admired her work for decades and, in 1975, our paths crossed briefly when she was on a publicity tour for her book "Crazy Salad".  I was one of a number of writers and reporters set to talk with her during a marathon day of interviews at the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

She was a delight. Our lunchtime interview was filled with stories and laughter and shared observations about being young women in the mid-Seventies. This was when she was married to Carl Bernstein whose reporting, with Bob Woodward, had sparked Watergate. I asked her if she had ever tried to coax him to reveal the identity of Deep Throat.

She laughed. "All the time, in every possible circumstance," she said. And she went on to tell me that she had always disliked Washington, both when she was an intern at the Kennedy White House (in her perception, she may have been the only intern whom JFK didn't proposition) and then during her marriage to Carl Bernstein. "Washington isn't a good place to be a person in, let alone a woman," she said, declaring that New York was her true home, despite the fact that she had grown up in Beverly Hills, the daughter of well-known screenwriters.

I loved her candor and humor and spirit. And, although I never saw her in person again, I continued to enjoy her work and learn important life lessons from Nora Ephron through the years. Generally, these weren't new revelations.  But somehow the way Nora wrote and lived gave extra zest and emphasis to these life lessons:

1. The importance of embracing change instead of fearing it.  In a graduation speech not long ago, she told those assembled not to fear change, that changes even if initially painful can bring a wealth of new experiences. "I've had four careers and three husbands," she told the laughing audience. But her life has been instructive. In her careers, she took risks, tapping all of her abundant talent as a writer, a reporter, a screenwriter, a film director. Personally, even when life was painful, she was never the victim. She admonished the young women in that graduation class to "be the heroine in your own life, not ever a victim."

2. The treasure of authenticity. She was an original. She spoke her mind. She had little patience with cliches and bromides about aging. In her 2006 book "I Feel Bad About My Neck" she clearly stated her feelings when reading a book about how wonderful old age is and how great it is to be wise, sage and mellow and to understand what matters in life. "I can't stand people who say things like this," she wrote. "What can they be thinking? Don't they have necks?" Her observations of aging in this and her last book "I Remember Nothing And Other Observations" are a combination of witty protest about the ravages of time, the anticipated limitations of the future, stark evidence of mortality in the deaths of dear friends and gentle, deeply sad reflections beneath the humor. At the time her last book was published two years ago, only those closest to her knew that she was suffering from leukemia. So she continued to be defined by her singular and authentic wit, not by her illness. And so often she said the things many of us were thinking, but didn't have the courage to say out loud.

3. The positive power of connection. She was, by all reports, an enthusiastic, loving and loyal friend to an amazing array of people -- some famous, most not. She showed up, paid attention, participated in their lives, in good times and difficult times. Although numerous studies have found that warm connections can benefit both physical and psychological health, her living example was a true inspiration. For those of us who, too often, have used excuses about increasing workloads or being busy with the kids or going through a rough time and preferring solitude when we have neglected our friends, seeing someone like Nora Ephron who balanced her busy life as a writer/filmmaker and mother and wife to make room for cherished friends is instructive.

4. Viewing the past as an inspiration or motivation, not an excuse. Although Nora grew up in Beverly Hills, the daughter of successful screenwriters, life was not easy. Alcoholism plagued her family as it did mine. But she learned from her parents, both professionally and personally, taking in what was healthy and beneficial and keeping a distance from the ugliness of alcoholism. In her last book, reviewing her life, she admitted the pain and confusion of being a child of alcoholics, reflecting on the fact that one loves the parent, but hates the drunk; that these are people you grew up idolizing, but it's increasing difficult to see them as anything but monsters; that they once had power over you and now they have no power at all.  Despite the pain of her past, she never saw herself as a victim, never made excuses. She learned a great deal from her parents' flaws about how she didn't want to live her life.  And she moved on to create a very different life for herself.

5. The importance of celebrating the major and the small pleasures of life on a daily basis. Her last book ends with a list of what she would miss most upon leaving this life.  Her children and husband topped the list. But waffles, walks in the park, fireworks, reading in bed, a dinner for two at home, Paris, Christmas trees, Thanksgiving dinner, taking a bath, coming over the bridge to Manhattan and pie are right up there. It makes one think: what would my list be? And how many of those people and things and experiences can I savor right now, today?

Another item on Nora Ephron's list of favorites was late June "when it doesn't get dark until after 9:30 at night and you feel you're going to live forever!" She left this life the last week of June -- and, indeed, will live forever in the memories of those of us who enjoyed her articles, books and films and learned important life lessons even as we laughed along with her.

Happy Birth Day, Sweet Henry!

Today isn't just Henry's birthday: it's his birth day!

Henry Patrick McCoy was born today at 2:58 a.m. in Los Angeles.  He weighed 8 pounds, 6 ounces.  His parents are my brother Mike and his wife Amp. His already bossy big sister Maggie is nearly three.

His Daddy says he's a beautiful, perfect, incredibly sweet boy who loves to cuddle and who rarely cries. He marvels at how his laid-back, sweet son differs from his high-energy, intense little daughter whose enduring personality was quite evident as well in her first hours of life. How fascinating to see, once again, how each one of us is born with so much of who we are and who we will become already in place.

Henry's arrival, however, was much more stressful than his sister's nearly three years ago. There were some medical complications and concerns. But these were soon forgotten when Henry made his appearance, healthy and robust. As he held his newborn son for the first time, Mike felt a sense of warmth and peace and serenity from this child.

Sweet Henry. He is the second sweet Henry in our family.

He is named for his great-grandfather, our father's father, the grandfather we never knew. That Henry Patrick was a lawyer and activist who had lived in China and Mexico before returning to the U.S. He won a Carnegie Hero Medal for plunging into a well filled with poison gas to rescue a man trapped there. The effects of his exposure to the poison gas made his health delicate and may have been a factor in his untimely death at the age of 38.

                                Henry Patrick McCoy (1884-1922), attorney and activist
           

 He was a gentle and loving father to his children. Jim was eight and Molly four when he died and they never forgot his kindness and the warmth of his loving arms.

                                    Henry, Elizabeth and baby Jim in 1913                         

                                   Henry shielding Jim from the Tucson sun - 1913

                                                 Henry, Jim and Molly - 1919

After our beloved Aunt Molly died in 2004, we discovered a trunk of old family photos in her attic, seeing pictures of Henry Patrick for the first time ever. We were stunned at how much he and my brother Mike resembled each other. They shared many traits as well -- intellectual brilliance, a penchant for Asia and Asian languages, social activism, compassion for others.

Though he died decades before my brother, sister or I were born, Henry Patrick was an important member of our family, kept alive by the loving stories our father and Aunt Molly told. That love lives on as another Henry Patrick has entered the world -- nearly 100 years after the late Henry Patrick cradled his son Jim.

What a different world it is and will be for little Henry Patrick!

The first Henry Patrick died when horses and buggies still mingled with cars on the dusty Tucson streets.  His son Jim and daughter Molly were still young children. He would never live to see them grown. He could not have imagined grandchildren. He would never have guessed that nearly 100 years after he held his newborn son Jim, there would be another little boy coming into the world -- a baby boy named for him, testimony to the fact that he is remembered with love by the grandchildren who never felt his embrace.

This 21st century Henry Patrick McCoy will grow up in a vastly different world than the one his great-grandfather knew. Communication is global and instant -- and his older sister Maggie is already computer literate. Her iPad is her favorite toy.

And it's a much more multi-cultural world. Great grandfather Henry Patrick grew up near Chicago, part of a ten child family, in an era where being of Irish descent wasn't considered a social or professional asset. Baby Henry Patrick is part of a larger world: his roots are not only in the U.S., but also in Thailand. His mother Amp is Thai and Henry has very excited grandparents, aunts and other extended family there. His parents own homes both in Los Angeles and Bangkok. So, like his sister Maggie, little Henry will grow up bicultural and bilingual, feeling at home both here and in southeast Asia.

                             Minutes old, Henry weighing in at 8 pounds, 6 ounces

                                Growing family: Amp, Maggie, Mike and Henry   

                                    An armful of love, Mike with Henry and Maggie
                                                                 

What will he be like? Who will he grow to be?

Today, the day of his birth, there are so many unknowns, and so many warm wishes.

What matters most is that he is here.

Welcome to the world, little Henry Patrick!

May you be well loved and love well and live fully, blessed with the capacity for joy, insight, empathy and laughter every day of your life!

The Joy of Kittens

The notice caught my eye despite my efforts to ignore it. It was a picture and description of a two-month old flame point Siamese kitten named Prince Charming, available for adoption from Friends for Life in Gilbert, AZ.

                            The Official Shelter Portrait: Prince Charming                                

I stared at the notice, memories of my beloved flame point Marina, who died of leukemia two years ago at the age of only three-and-a-half, came flooding back. Marina was the only cat I've adopted who wasn't a kitten, but a young adult. She had been given up by two families complaining of her emotional neediness. But Marina not only needed love and attention, she also gave at least as much as she got. She sang and trilled with joy when Bob and I got home from work. She slept on my pillow. She worked with me in therapy with conflicted families, soothing them with her warmth and making them smile with silly antics. Once relaxed, they began to resolve their problems with new calm and cooperation.

                     My beloved Marina (2006-2010), my first flame-point Siamese                

No cat can ever replace another.

Still, another flame-point, a kitten....

It was just too tempting.

Bob and I adopted him a week ago and are totally immersed in the joys and challenges of living with a kitten.

We're kitten-proofing the house again and discovering that this one is more athletic than most -- taking pleasure in weaving himself through wood blinds, jumping into the entertainment center shelves, and, impossibly, squeezing under the bureau drawers in our bedroom. We're constantly on the lookout for something small and white streaking past us or playing with our shoelaces as we walk around the house.

We're on the happier end now of the tedious ritual of kitty introductions and integration with our older cats in residence -- with much growling and hissing under the closed doors as our female cats Maggie and SweetPea adjusted to the idea of another little life around the house. Gus, a veteran of new kitten companions, mostly ignored the psychodrama.

We've spent a lot of time watching him and trying to imagine a name, deciding to hang onto the Prince part of his shelter name and then add an at-home name with a myriad of variations. That name is Hamish -- Hammie or Ham for short. We're waiting to see if it suits him  -- and if, eventually, he will answer to it.

When we took the big step of letting him out to roam freely around the house (closely watched) three days ago, our sweet 14-year-old Gus was there immediately to groom him, hang out with him and play with him. Hammie has since won everyone over with his sweetness, his ready purr, his curiosity, his affection and his boundless energy.

                        Gus, 14, grooming two-month-old Hamish, his new buddy

                                                    Hamish and Gus just hanging out

                                             Gus and Hammie playing

                                       Hammie and Gus pause for a quick nap

                                        More napping with Hammie and Sweet Pea  

                                               Hammie and his new social circle

Yesterday, when Bob was sitting on the couch, struggling with another epilepsy-related bout of severe depression, Hammie jumped into his lap and, uncharacteristically, settled in for a good amount of time. Bob's spirits lifted almost instantly.

                                                   Hamish keeping an eye on Bob 

                                    Hammie lifting Bob's depression with a warm cuddle   

And as I work on the computer, struggling with the proposal for my book about my therapy cats Timmy and Marina, I feel a gentle tap on my ankle. I look down. There is Hammie, looking up at me, trilling softly. I pick him up  and cuddle him as he purrs. An outgoing, loving little kitten -- not unlike Timmy, a creme Burmese/red tabby mix, who was my therapy cat when I added animal-assisted therapy to my practice. Timmy, who was Gus' more extroverted littermate, died of melamine poisoning from tainted cat food in 2007.

                           Timmy (1998-2007) who loved flowers and people         


Hammie purrs and rubs against my cheek, reminding me, in his own way, to be present in the moment.

This soft bundle of fur in my arms is not Marina nor Timmy, even though my memories of them are close and warm as I watch him. He is very much himself -- the quintessential Hammie. And he is a delight.

One of the greatest joys of raising a kitten is watching the unique personality of a young cat evolve, day by day. Kittenhood is one of the most brief, precious, fleeting experiences we share with our companion animals. But even as we enjoy romping, playing and laughing over their antics, we anticipate years of the pleasure of their feline company.

After losing Marina and Timmy at relatively young ages, I no longer assume that a new kitten will invariably be a companion for many years. I feel gratitude for whatever time I will have with a baby Hammie and the cat he will become.

We've been fortunate with our cats. And Hamish is our newest treasure.

Each cat we've had, for however long, has been a joy. Through the years, our kittens have became wonderful cats... warming our memories, blessing our days.

                                                      Prince Hamish at rest

Helping Adult Children Through Rough Times

Over coffee at our community Cyber Cafe, a neighbor I'll call Frank confided his concerns about his 24-year-old daughter Emily. "She has no direction in her life," he said. "She has had three jobs in the last year and is once again unemployed. She's depressed. She doesn't know what to do with her life."

Frank and his wife Jan drove to Colorado to pick Emily up and bring her for a two week visit here. She has been exercising, swimming, enjoying the sun and their company. "It has been a great vacation for her, a pleasure for all of us," he said. "But I dread taking her back. She has no idea what she is going to do."

Another neighbor recently told me that her son and his wife recently separated and she is sad to see his pain, concerned about the two grandchildren caught between warring parents and wondering what, if anything, she might do to help. "I don't want to make anything worse by butting in," she told me. "But I feel so bad for all concerned."

Yet another friend told me yesterday that her son is having financial problems -- again. His money issues have been ongoing throughout his adult life. He is now nearing 50 with a family and a car that needs a new transmission. So he called Mom, who is living on Social Security and a small savings account, to say "Hi" and to hint, rather broadly, that he would like her to buy him a new car.

Whether it's money or relationships or trying to find a direction in life, it's always hard to watch an adult child struggle. What do you do when an adult child is going through rough times? How do you nurture without rescuing? Encourage without diminishing their own problem-solving skills? Help without hindering growth?

1. Listen. Sometimes your adult child, more than anything, needs to vent. As you listen to this venting, you may hear clues to your child's own problem-solving ideas or desires and will be able to make appropriate suggestions. And as he or she vents, your son or daughter may find the beginnings of his or her own solutions.

2. Encourage a young adult to fight his or her own battles with your support. Don't be a "helicopter parent" for your college student or young adult son or daughter. I've seen many parents call college professors to discuss a grade or their child's difficulties with a class. By stepping in and taking over, you are taking away a valuable chance for your child to grow in competence. It is much more useful to listen and discuss your child's difficulties -- whether with a college class, a boss or co-worker or a troubled friendship or love relationship -- and  to share some ideas or strategies for dealing with these difficulties. Then step back and let your adult child handle the situation. Learning to face challenges and conflict, do the hard things in life (from asking for help to apologizing) and work through worries and anxieties are all important steps toward full, functional adulthood.

3. Give loving support but stay out of marital troubles.  It may be more helpful to say something like "I'm so concerned for you and love you so much. I hope however you work this out, it will be for the best." Taking sides could come back to haunt you when or if the young couple decides to reconcile. Instead, encourage careful thought before acting. Encourage marriage counseling. Encourage communication. Share your thoughts about all marriages having ups and downs, times of closeness and times of distance and caution your child not to panic at the first signs of trouble, but to see difficulties as a sign that some change needs to happen.

4. If child is in danger from an abusive spouse or boyfriend, offer love and safety: If your adult child is being physically or emotionally abused, letting her know that she has your support may be vital to her finding a way to leave. Do some research into local organizations for victims of spousal abuse and their support services and shelters. Talk with your child about the signs of an abuser and the cycle of abuse which can range, in a regular pattern, from violent lashing out to tearful contrition and attempts to woo her back emotionally. Give her a brochure outlining the signs of abuse so the information isn't simply coming from you. Many times, victims are in denial or have been so damaged emotionally that they see no way out.  Gently encourage your daughter to remove her children from the abusive home, especially if the abuser is a stepfather or boyfriend (which puts the children at increased danger). Sometimes a young adult will respond to threats to her children before threats to herself. It's important to know, too, that if a violent abuser is in picture, your adult child may not be safe at your home.  She may need to be in a special shelter where she can't be easily found. Let her know that there are options and that she has your loving support, that she doesn't have to stay in a dangerous situation.

5. If your adult child has a substance abuse problem, offer love and support for sobriety, but stop rescuing him or her. A drug or drinking problem can, sadly, defy logic and the best of efforts to help. Let your child know that he or she is dearly loved and that you emotionally support his or her sobriety. But bailing him out of trouble again and again may delay recovery. As difficult as "rock bottom" may seem, often it has to happen before the goal of recovery can be realized. It may mean withdrawing all financial support or not allowing your child to move back home (and steal from you to support a habit). It may mean letting him stay in jail after the latest DUI.  It is agonizing to stand back and watch addiction spiral out of control, but especially if rehab has been a revolving door, sobriety lost and found countless times, there may be little you can do except to set firm rules, stop decreasing the uncomfortable consequences of maintaining a habit, and express your unwavering love and your hope that your son or daughter can and will get clean and sober.

6. If your child has ongoing financial problems, don't automatically run to the rescue. Financial discussions, trouble-shooting and help in planning can be better than constantly funneling money in your adult child's direction.

One friend, who is far from rich, confided recently that she and her husband forgave $50,000 worth of "loans" to their middle-aged son and that soon thereafter, he was back asking for more money, including ongoing help with monthly bills. He is 48 years old and has never been unemployed. He simply aspires to live a lifestyle beyond what is available to him on his salary. Finally, when he became angry at his mother's refusal to pay his escalating cell phone bills, she told him that her checkbook was closed.

Another friend, whose middle-aged son was hinting that he'd like her to buy him a new car, said "No" firmly and with love. "You know I love you unconditionally and forever," she said. "But I can't keep bailing you out. I'm on a limited income. My savings aren't infinite and they're for me right now.  What I can do is help you think this through: to pay $2500 for a new transmission or to get a new car. Either way, it's going to be a major expense. So where can you cut back to make this affordable? Maybe you need to re-think that big vacation you were going to take this summer. Let's start with that....what can you live without to make this car expense do-able?"

7. If your child has problem finding himself career-wise, set rules and talk options: Finding one's own path can be a life-long pursuit and we can learn a great deal from work experiences, career detours, mistakes and small victories along the way.

If you are willing and able to offer your young adult child a place to live while he or she is job-hunting after graduation or after a layoff or other unpromising job start, that's terrific. But it's important that this safe haven not be without limits. What timeline seems right and fair? What rules will you set about serious job-hunting and participating in family chores? Loving support during difficult times -- and this IS a very difficult time to be just starting out in the world -- can make a big difference. But loving your child can also mean making your expectations clear: he or she must get a job. That first job may not be the job of his dreams but it is a start. He must have a plan for responsible adulthood - planning for major expenses, paying bills on time, showing up at work and in life.

Encouraging your child to get out into the world and start on this winding path to full adulthood can be a great gift.

On the other hand, sheltering him or her as your adult child waits for the perfect job opportunity can be crippling.

I once saw a family in therapy who had a son in his mid-twenties still living at home and going nowhere fast. He dabbled in, but never completed, college and dreamed of a stellar musical career. But he did little to get into the workforce and take the first steps toward making these dreams happen. Instead, he lounged in his room, dreaming his dreams, playing video games and reacting angrily when his mother, who was working three jobs to keep the household solvent, suggested that he take whatever job he could get right now in the industry or outside it, to support and build toward his dreams. The young man would snort derisively at the thought. "Why should I do gofer work or flip burgers?" he would say. "I have talent. I'm going to make it big. I don't have to work stupid starter jobs."

As I listened -- sometimes gritting my teeth -- I could hear a mixture of fear and arrogance in his words -- and I would make the observation to him and his family that continuing this endless summer of prolonged adolescence was not going to cure either condition.

And I thought, and would sometimes remind him, that many people who have gone on to enjoy success in their careers have started small -- and learned immensely from the experience.

Indeed, sometimes the starter job has built an entire career. I think about Michael Feinstein, who worked as an assistant to Ira Gershwin in his later years, and whose career as an entertainer started with his loving tributes to Gershwin music.

And my own starter job at 'TEEN Magazine, where I sorted and read mail like everyone else just beginning there, was low-paying, not an obvious journalistic plum, and an immense influence on my career for years to come. In sorting that mail, I discovered more about teenagers than I ever would have learned otherwise. In writing for this magazine that some people I knew considered impossibly frivolous, I learned much about blending substance with humor and story-telling and giving advice with a light hand. And my growing expertise at writing for this critical age group led to more than a dozen books over the years. Looking back, I'm so grateful for that modest first job that taught me so much.

If you have an adult child who is struggling to find a career direction, listening and discussing the options can be one of the best things you can do. Community colleges often have career centers offering aptitude testing -- and this may be a place to start. If your adult child has completed college, gone in a career direction that once seemed like a good idea but is now an emotional dead-end, career counseling may help. Your encouragement to consider his or her passions and how to turn these into a new career can be helpful as well.

There may be times when a passion is a high-risk career -- like one in the entertainment industry -- where a back-up job may be essential. If your child dreams of being a rock star or comedian or filmmaker, that's great. But they need to have a plan for supporting themselves while waiting for stardom to happen. Sometimes back-up and passion careers are not incongruous.

One of the best, most original comedians I've ever seen -- Don McMillan -- has an engineering degree from Stanford, worked for some years in Silicon Valley and does many of his routines using Power Point along with business and math jokes. Not only is he popular in comedy clubs and on television, but he has also built a lucrative career in doing gigs at corporate events -- and some time ago began to earn enough as a comedian to finally quit his day job as an engineer.

If your adult child has yet to develop a passion or definite direction, encourage him or her to find inspiration in any job he or she can find in this economy. We can learn a great deal from the jobs we hate as well as the jobs we love. All of these experiences can help us find the right career path. And don't under-estimate the power of your insights and advice -- even if your adult child doesn't seem receptive at the moment.

My sister Tai has always been a natural nurse --at her best when someone was ill and in distress. Our parents encouraged Tai to pursue a career in nursing. She wouldn't hear of it. It took years of working jobs she hated -- as a hotel switchboard operator, an auto body shop expeditor, numerous clerical jobs -- before she decided that our parents had been right all along, that nursing was what she was meant to do. She went back to school for a nursing degree when she was nearing forty -- while working nights as an aide in a nursing home -- and has now been an RN specializing in labor and delivery for nearly twenty years. At long last, she has work she loves -- and a wonderful feeling of making a difference.

It can be incredibly difficult, as a parent,  to watch an adult child go through rough times, but in those challenges, setbacks and disappointments, growth can happen, Think back on your own tough times and what it meant to overcome these. Loving support without rescue, listening without rushing in with a solution, encouraging your adult child to find a workable plan to overcome a difficulty...all of these are ways to nurture your adult child while encouraging him or her to find his own solutions and plans for the future and, eventually, to thrive.