If you do get one, PLEASE! Be a pal and go to Amazon.com and Goodreads and leave a review. I would be very appreciative! (Promotion starts February 3, 2012).

Non-Haitians and some Haitians hear the word Vodou — or voodoo, in Hollywood parlance — and shiver with fear and worry and pity and condescension. Ignorance can really make a person feel bad. So, let me do a quick rundown on Vodou, this way everyone can hurry up and get back to feeling good.

Like Judaism, Vodou is a religion and a way of life. As with Catholicism Vodouisants (or practitioners) believe in an all-powerful force called God; but standing in for the Catholic saints are the lwas, God’s helpers on the physical plane. In the same way that Hinduism is predicated on a number of gods and goddesses, all with specific personalities and powers, the lwas of Vodou are also imbued with wonderful and terrible powers to put order or mayhem in human beings’ affairs, depending on their behavior. However, there are two very important distinctions that set Vodou apart from other religions:

1. Whereas adherents of most religions seek communion or a merging with God either before or after they leave their bodies, Vodouisants seek to have their bodies possessed by the gods, thereby becoming gods themselves, if only for awhile. Very powerful, confidence-building stuff, wouldn’t you say?

2. The gods of Vodou come from Africa. Need I say more? Okay, what I mean is that these spirits are made of raw, intense, salty stuff. Their essence is hardcore; they are theatrical and lively, they respond to drums, and in exchange for their services, they expect to be served. In fact, there’s a saying in Haiti about the lwas: you don’t have to believe in them, as long as you serve them!

So, about the Spirit of Death. He has a name — Baron Samedi (Samedi means Saturday in French) — and he somehow manages to take the somber business of death and turn it into something vital. See, he’s not just the Spirit of Death; he’s also the Spirit of Sex because part of his job is to oversee the cycle of regeneration: helping the departed into afterlife while assisting those spirits entering new bodies on the earth plane. And while the Baron can be a seriously foreboding character, he also has a crazy sense of humor. Practitioners love the hell out of him. Is it any wonder that two years after the formidable earthquake, which claimed over 200,000 lives (there is still dispute about the actual number), Haitian people are looking to the promise of a better tomorrow as laid out by their new president, a beloved musician whose former onstage antics ran toward the eccentric habits of the god who owns Saturday night? I was in Haiti over the Christmas holidays, and I’m here to report that there is hope in the air.

For the record, I don’t practice Vodou or any other religion, but there’s something about that Baron that appeals to me, so much so that he stars in my new novel, Saturday Comes, A Novel of Love and Vodou, which he co-narrates. And it isn’t just me and all those Vodouisants, either. The UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History is getting ready to wow Los Angeles with a Baron-centric exhibition in September, 2012 titled In Extremis: Death and Life in 21st Century Haitian Art.

Back in 1995, The Fowler Museum hosted the groundbreaking traveling exhibition, The Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou, which brilliantly elevated the thinking and dialogue around this misunderstood religion (no, believers don’t stick pins in dolls). In Extremis will “explore the interface between the catastrophes of the past decade in Haiti, and the corresponding emergence of dramatically new forms of art in sculpture, fabrics, paintings and altar installations.” Keep a lookout for it. Who knows? Maybe the Baron will drop in to entertain us while we live. And since this is Los Angeles we’re talking about, I won’t be surprised if he gets offered his own TV series. He’s that good.

*This blog was originally published on Huffington Post.

That’s what a guy in his late 30s said to me at a gas station the other day. I’m 55, and my mostly brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail, exhibiting the very white streak that lives around the crown of my head, and which I stopped dyeing three years ago.

“Thank you!” I said.

It was a weird compliment but it cracked me up. No doubt about it, gray hair makes you look older, but so what? I am older. However, I admit to recently heeding my own advice, offered up to a woman who, upon seeing my boldly displayed gray, said she was having “a life-changing moment” in regard to growing hers out.

What I told her was this: Do yourself a favor as you go through the process. Don’t be a militant; give yourself a break. That may mean going for highlights to soften the harsh reality of gray roots pushing through a forest of uniform dark hair; or adopting one hairstyle for several months if it helps you remember that the evil queen in Snow White did not keep asking the mirror, “Who’s the ugliest of them all?”

So, you’re probably wondering what I did to my hair.

Well, even though I long ago made peace with my gray, I still hated how (warning: cliché alert) “dull and mousy” the rest of my hair looked with that 20 percent sprinkling of gray throughout. So, after trying a rinse made of turmeric, lemon and water with no luck, and two weeks of debating with myself and friends and husband about it, I decided to try this all-natural, spray-on, permanent coloring system called Gray Riddance (cute name, no?), which promised to subtly transform ONLY the gray and leave the rest of my hair alone.

I dutifully parted and pinned the gray at the crown of my head away from the rest of my hair (because I like my white streak), and sprayed away. It worked! The gray turned into a soft golden color, which looks a lot better than that just-dusted-with-cocaine effect.

Except for one thing: while I thought I had protected the hair around my crown, some of the product managed to make its way over to the forbidden territory. So, my once striking, super white streak is now a weird yellow. Nice! People tell me it’s all in my head, (exactly!), and that I’m the only one who sees it. Exactly! Which brings me to the point I wanted to make.

It doesn’t matter what anyone else sees when they look at you, it’s what you see and how you feel about it that counts. A woman I know once said she didn’t give a shit about how big her ass was because she didn’t have to look at it. I love her.

The thing is, whether you’re cutting a green grape in half and rubbing it on your face to tighten your skin and pores (which works, by the way) or mashing up half a banana and a slice of papaya to make a skin-firming mask (which also works beautifully), or injecting yourself with Botox, it doesn’t matter if people think you’re delusional about looking younger or better. Who cares what they think? If you see a difference, and think you look younger, you probably feel younger, have a bounce in your step and have an urge to wear pigtails. Go for it.

If you read my last post on going all homemade and natural in the beauty department, you won’t be surprised if my next blog is on how you can naturally bleach yellow hair away forever. In the meantime, I’m going to forget that when the guy at the gas station approached me, the hair around my face was bright white; I’m concentrating instead on the part where he said, “You look YOUNG!”

As a matter of fact, I must be feeling young because I corralled a couple of people and headed down to the Occupy Los Angeles march a couple of weeks ago. It was great. There were thousands of people walking through the financial district, feeling purposeful (screw the bankers!) and carrying witty signs like: “Seriously, stop.” And, “Take the filthy out of rich.” And, “You know it’s serious when a realtor is marching.”

It felt so right, standing behind all those brave young people who saw runaway greed endangering their futures, and got off their butts to do something about it. Because in this scenario, no matter what color our hair is, we’re all young.

The issue has been on my mind lately because a good friend of mine has written a very powerful screenplay, now in preproduction, called The Prop is The Girl, and it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. It is a full feature indie about rape culture and sexual abuse.  Writer/director Stephen Coombs leads a very believable cast (Zarah Mahler – “Manson Girls”; Bonita Friedericy – the TV Series “Chuck”; Dustin Ingram – “Paranormal Activity 3″; and Bryan Barter – “The Social Network”). Seen through the eyes of a twenty-three-year-old girl, this gritty and unapologetic depiction of America’s modern party culture sheds light on the shocking reality of sexual abuse and drugs. Based on a true story, the film seeks to empower the countless victims of sexual abuse.

In addition to the film, the creators of the project have built an online forum at www.thepropisthegirl.com giving victims of sexual abuse a place to anonymously share their stories and be encouraged by others. They were stunned by the number of visits to the site, and not surprisingly, they have been inundated with stories. I applaud my friend Stephen Coombs and his team for providing this forum. I wish the project well!

“What are you going to do with that tomato?” my husband says to me the other day, suspicion written all over his face.

“It’s going in the blender, do you mind?” I say.

“But it’s a delicious, super sweet tomato that came from the farmer’s market!” he says with a pleading look on his face.

“Should I go to the supermarket and get my own tomato?” I ask, forgetting to mask my sarcasm.

“No! Go ahead and use it if you want to. It’s okay.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Mr. Tomato Nazi,” I say.

He laughs. I laugh. A few days later it starts all over again.

“Where are you going with those eggs?”

Most of the time, my husband thinks what I’m doing is really cool. It’s just that he has to occasionally re-adjust to the idea that the tomato is going on my face instead of in my mouth. (That’s good food!) The thing is that I’ve become a convert to using items out of my refrigerator and kitchen cabinets to make my facial cleanser, moisturizer, skin-tightening mask, blusher and whatever else I can think of as I lie awake at night, eyes wide open like an owl’s, trying to figure out what else I can do on my own instead of spending insane amounts of money on skincare products. Did I mention that I’m now cooking up my own pet food too? Ah, the satisfaction.

It’s not that I’m cheap, although my husband sometimes accuses me of this, even as he thanks the stars that I’m not the type to drop big cash on items of clothing. (I’d rather spend it on travel or art, when I can, or on organizing fundraisers where I always seem to spend more than I collect.) It’s just that I’m having so much fun making moisturizer, not to mention how effective nature is! Ever heard of a “peaches and cream” complexion? Here’s all you need:

1 ripe peach, heavy cream

Peel the peach, remove the pit. Using a fork, mash the peach to a pulp then, using a spoon, push it through a strainer to expel the juice. However much juice you end up with, add equal parts heavy cream and beat with a fork for a couple of minutes. Voila! Your new, fabulous moisturizer is ready. Your face will glow. People will tell you how great you look without knowing why. Keep it in the refrigerator. It will stay fresh for a week to 10 days. Now, all you have to do is resist eating the thing. Yum, yum, yum.

Extra tip: If you have a juicer, get yourself a beet, juice it and add approximately ½ to ¾ teaspoon of the juice to your moisturizer. It will turn bright pink. When you put it on your face, you will look like you sat in the sun and got a golden tan. If you don’t have a juicer, you can order 100% organic beetroot powder from a company called MountainRoseHerbs.com. It’s inexpensive and all you have to do is add water to get your beet juice — which can also be used as a lip stain! Okay, Miss Rosy Glow (and you too, Mister), now go get yourself a tomato…

Alert: before you go thinking I’m soooo clever, I have to disclose the awful truth: I found the peaches and cream recipe online. All you have to do is Google “homemade natural moisturizer” or any variation on that theme, and all kinds of sites come up, like this one, where I found many of the recipes I use. Adding the beet juice to the moisturizer for that just-blushed look was my idea, but that’s just because I was having too much fun experimenting. So, sue me for having egg whites on my face. Using them to close the door on pores is the best revenge.

Let me tell you something: there is no miracle anti-aging product that will make you young again. But I can say right here and now with no conceit: I’m in my mid-fifties and I swear I look better than a lot of celebrities my age with their super smooth foreheads and no smile lines (hello, Stepford Wife, robot, scary lady). And I have wrinkles! I’m healthy, fit and I look like a real woman. I look normal! And although some of my friends hate it that I stopped dying my gray hair, I receive compliments all the time on how I look, and especially on my skin, lately.

Man, am I itching to tell you about what you can do with coconut oil… Next blog! Right now I have to get online to use some of that money I’m saving to buy my Occupy Wall Street and Occupy Los Angeles yard sign. Members say that what they want most is for people to show support for the movement everywhere, including their front lawns. If you want to order yours, click here. Go 99 percenters! You’re looking good. Need a natural sunscreen?

My smart cat, Scotch

1. If your owner calls your name, walk or dash off in the opposite direction. One must never let a caretaker or anyone in a position of power think they hold the key to your happiness because everyone knows that the source of joy comes from within.

2. If you detest the food you are served, refuse to eat it to the point of starvation. If life serves you an unpalatable portion, just say no, and keep saying no until the universe understands that you will not compromise on quality.

3. If you’re going to scratch someone, wave your tail first. If someone you know annoys you enough so that you want to pounce, claws first, to make them stop, cover yourself by alerting them that bleeding is likely to occur should they persevere.

4. It is crucial to look a person squarely in the eye when expressing discontent or intense love. When making an important point, there is nothing more effective than focusing like a laser into the pupils of your loved one or enemy. Hold their gaze and refuse to look away until the message sinks in. Do not blink!

 5. When using your litter box, nudge some litter into a pile, do your business, then cover it up with more litter. When life calls for unsavory and stinky but necessary tasks, be deliberate about doing it right, clean up after yourself so no one ever needs revisit the ugly chore, and then walk away quietly, congratulating yourself on a job well done.

 6. If you run into a canine on the street, freeze. If you suspect an iffy character of evil intentions, stop, turn around, and look directly at him so he knows you’ve seen him (and can describe him). This way he’ll understand you’re no wilting flower and that you won’t go down without a fight. Wolves only attack pussycats.

 7. Whenever you feel like it, stop, lick your paw and rub your body with it. When you feel blue, old or overwhelmed, stop whatever you’re doing and, 1) put on some lipstick; 2) get a fabulous new haircut; 3) buy yourself a trendy dress or pair of pants. In other words, groom; it’ll make you feel better.

 8. If someone is rubbing your belly or caressing your neck, after a moment, move far enough away so that they can’t quite reach you. When indulging in unbearably pleasurable activities—like eating rich food, enjoying an exquisite wine, kissing or making love—it is useful to take a short pause in order to fully appreciate or reassess the situation.

9. Just because you can take a really big fall and land on your feet does not mean you have nine lives. Risky behavior is necessary sometimes; just don’t get too cocky.

10. When you feel good, purr so loudly they’ll hear you in the other room. Bitching is commonplace. Showing appreciation is rare. Let ‘em know you mean it.

11. After killing a rodent or bird, display its remains in a spectacularly public place. Let’s face it; we live in a self-promoting world, so what the hell. Join the masses and flaunt your triumphs. If you don’t, who will?

Warning: If you happen to be an animal activist and spend your time protesting against testing on lab rats, please skip to #13.

12. If you spy a rat, attack it with full force. Play with it, torture it a little, chew on it, whatever, just terrorize it. Nobody likes a rat. They give up their friends before even being threatened; they spread diseases; they turn perfectly nice landlords into slumlords; they arrive uninvited and refuse to leave; they’re big, fat, gray and can be vicious…the list goes on and on. If you run into such an individual, do us all a big favor and scare the bastard to death.

13. If  your loved one leaves an item of clothing within your reach, lie down on it and leave your fur all over it. Your love affair with your partner’s scent, energy and being is thrilling to him/her. Though they might appear annoyed, they will secretly revel in having to take their garment to the cleaners because of you.

14. When someone is expressing undying love toward you, they should understand that they might get scratched. It may be a cliché that we most hurt the ones we love but it’s true. Wounding a loved one is often unintentional, and an unavoidable consequence of being the weird humans that we are. Wear that scratch like a medal; it shows you’re brave enough to engage in the dangerous act of loving. Meow.

Click here to see the 10 Things My Dog Taught Me

You don’t know how happy you are that I didn’t post the blog I originally wrote titled “I Hate F#*@!-ing Menopause.” I remembered just in time that I’m supposed to embrace this era of transformation, of aging with grace, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah. To be 100 percent honest, I don’t love growing old but I’ve made my peace with it. I’m even doing it au naturel—never tried Botox, stopped dyeing my hair, chucked my distaste for exercise. But, menopause? Yes, that’s me in the corner over there, waving the large white flag.

My original blog was full of anger and super dirty swear words. Aren’t you glad I reconsidered? Although, to tell you the truth, I had a great time ripping Madam Menopause to shreds. I thought I was really funny, but people who love me said to keep it to myself or forever suffer pangs of regret since the Internet is the elephant that never forgets. Or, they made careful suggestions about how to tweak it. So I shelved the report on my wide-eyed midnights spent wondering whom to yell at; and of my epiphanous threat to Mr. Flash: the intention to create a brand new antiperspirant for the ENTIRE body. HA! HA! HA! No more sweating EVER AGAIN!

I spared you the excruciating blow-by-blow of how, over the last two and a half months, my credit card balance grew a desperate $2,000 as I attempted to reach hormone balance the natural way. Of how my GP explained that the reason behind my persistent chest cold and cough lay at the feet of Mr. Stress, thanks to the nighttime, daytime, all-the-time, evil ministrations of the ever-diligent Mr. Flash. (I wonder if Stress is the same culprit behind the brand new head cold I woke up with just two days after getting rid of the last one?) I resisted the urge to bore you with the details of my distressing and infinite visits to Ms. Nutritionist, Mr. Acupuncture, Miss Blood Test and Master Genetics Test while throwing back the Multiple Mrs. Supplements at breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime. And I held back the anxious return of my depressed and sleep-deprived ass right back into the smirking arms of Ms. Bio-identical Hormone Replacement Therapy, cancer risks be damned.

I didn’t tell you about how one morning, after getting out of bed in my usual good mood, my husband lovingly suggested that he could take that wooden mallet he keeps by the side of the bed and give me a good whack on the head just to help me out on the sleeplessness front. (I have to say he made me laugh, and that was no small feat.)

I saved you from my bitch, bitch, bitching about Ms. Menopause Party Planner’s spurious bits of advice: discard all tops that can’t be easily and discreetly ripped off the burning-hot then cold and clammy body; and check this one out: no more than one alcoholic beverage per week! Talk about hitting below the belt.

You’ll be happy to learn that, in just one lucky week, I expect to stop barking at the moon and warning people that the only way they’ll get my bottle of vodka is to pry it from my cold dead hand. That’s how long it will take for Ms. Bio-identical to kick in. In the meantime, I take comfort in my mature and selfless decision to post this amazingly positive blog instead of the vile one I intended to submit!

My very wise dog, Tulip

This blog was originally posted on Fifty is the New.

1. When you have an itch, scratch it. If something is nagging at you, insisting a certain person or circumstance just doesn’t feel right, go with it sooner than later. You’ll save yourself a lot of grief. Plus, your wallet may still be where you left it when you go to pay for your session with that shrink.

2. If you need to fart, just do it. If you are feeling bloated with the gaseous fumes of critical words that need to be said or important ideas which need to be expressed, let them out; you’ll feel a lot better. When you’re sick, do you try to repress your cough with syrup? Stop it! Cough up the mucus, baby. Blocking a bodily function has never been a good idea.

3. Show love with enthusiasm. If there is someone in your life who you just adore—be it a spouse, friend or special family member—show them you can’t live without them (you know, get all excited when they walk in the door, jump all over them, ask if you can sit on their lap, etc.). They’ll think you’re nuts but they’ll be thrilled, and you will have them eating out of your hand.

4. When you need to go for a walk, make sure somebody knows. If your needs are not being met and you’re not speaking up, wake up. Most human beings cannot read minds. In fact, they are very bad at it. So, say it loud! Otherwise you may just have to clean up that awful mess yourself.

5. If you confront a cat, expect to get scratched. Everyone knows about so-called “catty” people. No explanation needed.

6. When all else fails, bite ‘em. Sometimes being nice just won’t do. There are situations that call for aggressive action, like if someone is trying to stake claim to your brilliant idea, steal your money, or take away your rights. This is not the time to try a little kindness. Don’t attempt to show them the error of their ways; just bite their head off. If necessary, you can always offer to pay for the doctor’s bill.

7. Be open and shameless about wanting a treat. If you need to pamper yourself, and you can afford it, it doesn’t matter that there are starving children in America. You can always send a few dollars to your favorite charity if it makes you feel better. So go ahead, drink expensive champagne, buy a really good quality bra just because it gives your breasts that extra lift, or splurge on a weekend getaway with your favorite buddy because it’s exactly what you need to get out of your funk. Just make sure you look puppy cute when you tell your out-of-work friends.

8. If you want to run after squirrels, prepare to be outrun. If you are in your fifties but prefer significantly younger partners, they will eventually leave you for another equally energetic squirrel. If you go after them with full acknowledgement of this fact, you will enjoy the chase more, and when they do leave, you will resist the embarrassing and futile effort of leaping up repeatedly at the trunk of their tree.

9. Wag your tail to show you’re happy. I am talking about the fine art of flirting. Yes, even though I’ve been married a long time, I still remember how fun it is, and practice it whenever appropriate. You know how to do it, don’t you girls? Just put your two rear cheeks together and wiggle!

10. If you want to belong to someone, don’t worry if they put a collar around your neck. Just make sure it’s got diamonds in it!

She said that Ole Njapit (aka Jackson or Action Jackson) had sold his car, cows, goats and other personal possessions to come to California in order to, are you ready? To become the first ever Maasai balloon pilot! This skill would allow him to offer fun aerial tours of the beautiful region where he lives, and provide the desperately needed funds to keep his clinic going.

I said I would love to meet him. I could relate to Jackson’s mission. My company, Lakaye Studio, has a relationship with the Matsés, an indigenous Peruvian group deep in the heart of the Amazon jungle. (They harvest the jagua fruit from which we make our all-natural black temporary tattoo product, the Earth Jagua Gel.) This tribe has been plagued with malaria for a long, long time. The Peruvian government doesn’t seem to care much about the problem. They make the necessary antibiotic available to members of the group, only they require that each and every person come to Iquitos to claim it. We’re talking about a five-day journey on a motorized canoe. Since they can’t afford the fuel, it translates to a 10 to 12-day trip. So, my husband and I spent $1500 and took care of this season’s malaria problem for the 200+ people in the village. Trust me, $1500 is a lot of money for us. We’re in the arts; need I say more?

This interchange led Mary to observe how, in her brief experience as fundraiser for Jackson’s project, she found that those with the least usually give the most. It’s tough raising money during a recession. The very rich are being hit up more than usual, and for the rest of us, it’s easy to feel that our small donations won’t really help in the bigger picture. Ask me, I come from Haiti.

Every time we give the Matsés extra money or supplies for the village, I can’t help feeling a pang of guilt for not giving it to someone in Haiti, land of devastated everything right now. I do what I can for Haiti too, but it never feels like it’s enough. And that’s a dangerous way to think.

My husband and partner, Pascal Giacomini, is getting ready to leave for his second trip to the Amazon next week. It’s been two years since his first visit there, and although everything has been going smoothly, he said he was feeling the need to reconnect with the Matsés in person. I think he just wants to go hang out with his new friends. There’s a mutual admiration party going on between them. They keep asking if he’s bringing his wife. I’d love to go but I just got back from Haiti. It was a tough trip but funnily enough, I may go back before the end of the year. I can’t wait.

"Scarves" Photo by Pascal Giacomini

“I never knew how strong I was until now.” Anonymous Haitian a couple of months after the earthquake

I say anonymous because I lost track of the emailed article I received months ago, which included one of my fellow countrymen reflecting on the earthquake and its impact on his life. Just before going to Haiti this past August, I spoke with my young niece just returned from her trip there.

“How are people faring?” I asked her. To my surprise, she said they were doing just fine.

“Really?” I said.

Yes, she said. People hadn’t lost their sense of humor; they were working, living their lives, staying positive. I didn’t believe her and checked in with a close friend of mine.

“Well,” she said to me, “I wouldn’t exactly characterize it that way but it’s just that people here are so used to the chaos that they adjust to whatever new crap they get hit with.” That felt a little closer to the truth.

The word “resilient” is the one most often used in the press and in general to describe Haitians. We’re resilient all right. So much so that renowned Haitian author Edwidge Danticat had to point out in a recent article that just because Haitians are resilient doesn’t mean they should be expected to put up with much more. In fact, after three weeks there, I would say amen to that.

People are stretched so tight all I can think about is the sharp sting that results when the taught rubber band reaches that thin, ever thinner, past thinnest point: OUCH! Followed by tears and wailing like when a baby gets hurt. Yet it’s true that, in the face of a landscape that looks as if the earthquake took place just one month ago rather than eight, still, life goes on. Much like any other tragedy that befalls human beings—crushing heartbreak, debilitating illness, loss of a home—somehow one must find the courage to push through. When all you’d rather do is cry, how else do you deal with gnawing hunger other than to get yourself to the supermarket, buy some food, cook it and then eat it? That’s most of us. Others step out into the street, carry a sign asking for help, beg people in their cars for spare change, and then eat the doughnut or sandwich they were able to score for the day. In the case of a populace, whose politicians have historically looked away* while enriching themselves, all it can do is pray for a better day while doing its best on every other front. I could be talking about America here but I am referring to Haiti, which is a microcosm of what’s happening all over the world. (*Corrupt Haitian politicians are just one part of the complex equation.)

Tension is up in Haiti, as is crime, despair and ever-more deplorable living conditions for the poor and the middle class. But belief in God is through the roof! That proverbial better day? How long ‘til it comes? Give me strength! people ask while looking up at the sky. Faith that the strength will be provided is a given in Haiti. And in the end, that’s a good thing. May it last.

How are you? people ask about my state of mind, and about my life in general. What else can I say? Fine, just fine. Excellent, in fact.