Hope you all are digging my new blog site! I’m thrilled to have a new photo to go along with it.  Much to my agent’s chagrin, I’d been avoiding updating my shots for some reason.  Finally, after about ten years of sending around the same old tired, head shot with the braids (I know it’s tired because some of my twitter friends dogged it), I decided it was time.  The photographer I chose was great (http://www.danielreichert.com/) and I love the shots.  During the session, though, he kept having to remind me to relax my jaw and mouth area, which was extremely tense.  I kept clenching my lips like Cloris Leachman in “Young Frankenstein.” Later that night, I was thinking about the shoot and why I had such a hard time relaxing my mouth, when (to borrow an Oprahism) “I made the connection” between something that had happened to me as a child when I was taking my yearly school photos, and my unconscious tendency to hold in my lips when taking a photo: A teacher, who shall remain nameless, strongly suggested I hold in my mouth because my lips were big and she didn’t think that was going to make for a pretty photo.  Back in the day, before “big lips” became fashionable, the prevailing attitude was that thin, small lips were more attractive.  She was brainwashed by the dominant culture and was now passing her ignorance on to me.  Of course, as a grown woman, I love my full lips.  People are paying top dollar to get puppies like these in Beverly Hills, but as a child, her thoughtless comments hurt my feelings.  And now here I am, all these years later, unconsciously holding in my lips.

All this made me think about the power of words, and the power that adults hold over children. I’m sure we all have stories about something that was said to us early in life that either caused great pain and hurt, or served to uplift and inspire us.  Adults need to realize how vulnerable and sensitive to criticism children are, and to think before you act.  Do you want to be one of those people who someone looks back on and smiles, or someone who has scarred a child with their careless and insensitive comments?  So,the next time you go to speak to a child (even one who’s been kicking the back of your seat on an airplane from Los Angeles to New York) take a second to think before you speak.  In some cases, it’s best to be tight lipped!

Last night, I stumbled home drained, exhausted and mentally numb, and fell into the bed unable to even summon up the energy to get undressed.  No, I wasn’t out drinking – I was out having dinner with a friend I like to call “Negative Nelly.”  I walked into the restaurant feeling lighthearted and joyous, but the closer I got to her table the more I could feel the energy in the room starting to turn.  And there she sat, sipping her Strawberry Daiquiri with a face that was once very beautiful, but was now twisted into a mask of bitterness from years and years of complaining. My behind didn’t get a chance to hit the seat before she launched into a tirade about all that’s wrong with the world and her life, without coming up for air, or even stopping to swallow her saliva for that matter.  A tirade she’s been repeating like a broken record for the ten years that I’ve know her. Granted, life has delivered a couple of devastating blows to Nelly. Most notably, her husband left her for his secretary.  But show me someone over thirty that life hasn’t dealt some blows.
And, remember this happened TEN years ago!

Unfortunately, for Nelly (and her friends) she has chosen to assume the role of the Victim; all of her power is derived from being the outraged, wronged woman.  Every time she goes over the details of “all that man did to her” she tells it with the intensity and passion of someone having the experience for the very first time.  Her nostrils get to flaring; her voice gets loud and shrill, daggers shoot out of her eyes, and the edges of her press-n-curl nap up from the cold sweat she breaks out in.  Then she has the nerve to wonder why her blood pressure is up and her stomach stays upset. She doesn’t understand the connection between toxic emotions and her health. That’s only new-age mumbo jumbo according to her. The sad thing Nelly and people like her don’t realize is that by staying stuck in the past- re-living what has already come and gone- they miss their life. Life is happening in the present moment and the only way to truly experience the present is to let go of the past.

I tried to explain to Nelly that she needs to forgive her ex. and move on, which only enrages her even more.  Let her tell it, she “wouldn’t give that triflin’, no-good mo-fo the satisfaction of forgiveness.”  What she fails to comprehend is that forgiveness is a selfish endeavor.  It’s a gift you give yourself.  In forgiving you lighten your own load and release yourself from the prison you’ve create with evil, vengeful and negative thoughts and energy. Once you unlock that gate and walk through the door, the opportunity for true happiness and fulfilment await you. Many years ago my Yoga teacher shared a little poem with the class that has served me every day of my life since:
Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
But Today is a gift
That’s why it’s called the present

For most of us over a certain age, there’s a singular event or moment in our lives when we’re forced to reckon with the fact that we’re getting old.  For me, it happened early one Sunday morning in bed, while I was reading the  paper.  I  turned to my husband and remarked, “The Los Angeles Times has started using some kind of cheap ink that’s making all the words look blurry.”  “That’s not the ink,” he said, laughing.  “It’s your eyes!  You need reading glasses!”  Prior to this, I thought aging was something that happened to everyone else.  Now, I had to face some sobering facts: father time was catching up with me!  See, like every other woman over forty, I had latched on to the adage, “forty is the new thirty.”  And it is– until you stand next to someone who is actually thirty.  Then you suddenly realize if “forty is the new thirty,” your ass didn’t get the memo!.  I don’t care how much you exercise and eat right, the body just starts to shift.  So even if you can still fit into the jeans you wore in high school, if you’re honest you’ll have to admit–they don’t fit quite the same.

I’ve always considered myself lucky because when all my friends started to get gray, there was none to be found on my head. Well, that’s changed, too. Lately, the grays have started popping up here and there… especially around my hairline.  At first, I would just take a tweezer and pluck them out, but then I got scared all that plucking was making my hairline recede.  So before I started looking like Sherman Hemsley, I switched over to one of those handy-dandy color sticks instead to cover those pesky stray grays.  They work pretty well.  You just can’t hug anybody, unless you don’t mind leaving a two-inch black smudge down the side of their face. Gray hairs on your head is one thing–it’s expected, but when they start showing up unusual places–like your nose, it’s darn right embarrassing.  Having to explain to people, “No, there’s nothing in my nose, it’s just a gray hair” gets tired real quick.

I’ve always imagined I was going to be one of those women who aged gracefully, like my mother.  She didn’t trip; she just let it all happen naturally, and is more gorgeous than ever with her stunning white hair.  But she also didn’t live in Los Angeles, the plastic surgery capital of the world; and she wasn’t in a business where the pressure to stay looking twenty-five is enormous.  I’m surrounded by women whose faces are pulled so tight, they can’t smile without passing gas. Or those with faces that have been so sandblasted, they give off a strange, radioactive glow.  And I can’t count the number of women I know getting their cheeks injected with fillers to puff them out and make them look more youthful.  If you ask me, it just makes them look like  chipmunks.  I’m of the school of thought that plastic surgery never really makes you look young; it just makes you look done.  I may be a little afraid to age, but I’m even more afraid of looking like a radioactive chipmunk!

As a culture, we spend so much time denying, and trying to avoid the inevitable fact of change, that we don’t spend enough time focusing on, and being appreciative of, all the positive aspects of aging and the gifts it brings–like wisdom, confidence, courage, clarity, and most important, gratitude for having seen what we’ve seen, and made it through to see more.  You cannot go back, but you can move forward with grace and  welcome a different and far more lasting beauty that emerges as we age –the beauty of spirit.

Historically, it’s true that many (but not all) black women have been quite desperate to obtain straight, long hair and have resorted to wigs, relaxers and weaves to get it.  But it’s also important to note that we weren’t born wishing we had different hair.  Rather, men and women have been programmed to believe that the hair God gave us is inferior to the hair he gave the dominant culture.  I remember when I was a kid one of the most insulting things you could say to a black girl was that her hair was “nappy” or even worse, “peasy” (that’s nappy to the tenth power for my white sisters).  You were guaranteed a three-o’clock beat-down if you dared to hurl those words at anybody. Why was the truth so hurtful?  Try being a young girl growing up in a world that only holds up images of beauty that don’t resemble you, and see if you don’t get the message that you’re lacking and are in need of a fix.  Everywhere you turn, there she is: the chick with the silky, bouncin’ and behavin’ hair.  At the market she’s all over the magazines; turn on the TV, she’s swinging her mane from side to side, pushing a variety of products for you to consume. At the movies, she’s breaking hearts with just a flip of her luxurious hairI The message is clear: she is the object of desire…and we all want to be desired, don’t we?!  Talk about indoctrination!

Are you sick and tired of your gas going up? Oh, just to be clear, I’m not referring to that substance you put in your car to make it run.  Rather, I’m talking about the gas that bloats your stomach up like you just drank a gallon of pickle juice, and causes anyone within a three-block radius of you to go running for the hills.  I know so many people who think it’s perfectly normal and natural to be a human gas machine with abdominal discomfort and sometimes even pain, but I’m here to tell you it is not.

Chances are you may be suffering from a very common but often undiagnosed malady: food allergies.  Now, while it’s possible to be allergic to just about any type of food, the two most common groups of foods that cause the most problems are gluten and dairy products. “Gluten” is a protein that binds together most grains, and is found in wheat, oats, rye, and barley. That means bread, cupcakes, cake, crackers, wheat pasta, and virtually anything else with flour in it.  For those of us with sensitivity to this protein, our bodies let us know with the aforementioned symptoms and sometimes worse ones, like asthma or even eczema whenever we eat something that contains the offending substance.  The main telltale symptom of dairy allergies include congestion, nasal allergy symptoms and abdominal discomfort–mainly that dreaded gas.  If every time you have a bowl of ice cream, or eat a piece of cheese, you find yourself hacking, blowing your nose and “blowin’ the roof off the mutha,” chances are you are eating something your body sees as an enemy. They don’t call it “cutting the cheese” for nothing!  Surprisingly, a lot of us are aware that certain foods “don’t agree with us,” but continue to eat them because “they taste so good.”  After all, who can imagine life without bread, or not having a cold glass of milk to chase down those gluten-filled cookies with.

But here’s the problem with that mentality– eventually, you pay the price with your health. Whether it’s immediately obvious to you or not, food allergies start to take their toll on your immune system because they irritate and inflame the lining of your digestive tract, which can lead to what’s known as “leaky gut syndrome.” And yes, that’s as gross as it sounds.  Little holes form in your digestive tract, which allows undigested food particles to travel to your bloodstream.  In alternative medicine circles, it’s widely believed that this syndrome can lead to autoimmune diseases (where the body actually attacks itself) like Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and MS to name a few.  Now you’re probably thinking, “Well, damn! a cupcake can do all that!?” It can if you’re allergic to gluten. Of course, if any of this sounds like it applies to you, the very best thing to do is to see an Allergist and have special testing done to determine what you’re allergic to.  That said, many of us (especially in this economy) can’t afford a pricey visit to the doctor; and if that’s the case for you, here’s what I would suggest: Go on a dairy free or gluten free (or both) diet for a couple of weeks and see if you feel better.  See if you can stop popping those antacids like they’re tic-tacs, and say goodbye to your best friend, Pepto Bismol. I can hear some of you fretting like it’s the end of the world at the idea of having to give up some of your favorite foods. “Well, what am I going to eat?” you’re probably wondering.  Plenty!  Actually, you’re lucky to be having these allergies this day and age because natural food stores have come a long way since the days of pushing that tasteless, gray matter called tofu.  Now, there’s a large variety of gluten and dairy free products to enjoy.  They’ve got soy, rice and almond milk, cheese and ice cream (all delicious substitutes for dairy), gluten free cookies, cakes and breads.  And as far as healthy grains available you can eat with no problem, there’s quinoa, millet and brown rice–all healthy alternatives for those who have gluten intolerance. They even make brown rice pasta!

The only reason I know so much about this, is I’m a sufferer.  For several years I experienced abdominal distress and asthma, until finally, after visiting a host of baffled doctors (one who even volunteered to remove my gallbladder as an experimental treatment–to which I said “thanks, but no thanks”), a homeopathic doctor diagnosed me and set me on a gluten and dairy free path.  For a while after the diagnosis, I was still a skeptic.  I thought surely a little bit of ice cream and cake couldn’t be the source of my problems.  So I would test out his theory by eating the offending foods. Without fail, after roughly ten minutes of pleasure,  I’d wind up curled in a little ball on my bed, agonizing in pain until my symptoms abated.  Eventually, I got tired of playing that game.  It just wasn’t worth it to feel so crappy.  Nor was my husband game to put up living with a human beat-box! These days, I rarely get weak and cheat, I enjoy feeling healthy way too much for that.  The human body has an innate wisdom and will sound alarms when something is amiss.  So you might want to pass on the bread or cheese if your alarm sounds like a whoopee cushion.

Dear Michael,