I went to a baby shower last week for a friend who is having her second child any minute now. She's American with 100% South of the Border ancestry blood running through her veins. A Jewish American hosted, while several ladies from India contributed to the festivities, including hiring a henna lady to decorate our bodies with temporary ink. (I'm top left.)

I love my son and daughter's public school and the mamas that come along with it. Our backgrounds are different, but our love for our babies are the same. We can talk about sex and religion as supportively as we chat about immunizations and the LA school system.

One of my friends wants to take me to her Muslim temple. I'd have to wear a  hijab to her mosque - the traditional headpiece women wear in that culture.
 
At six foot one, I don't need any more reason to cause attention to myself. "Look out! It's a lighthouse covered in fabric from Joanne's 50% off sale!"

And yet, if we don't grab the opportunities in front of us to support our fellow human for what they believe in, regardless of our own faith, then what is the point of even educating our children? Isn't love and respect what it's all about?

I'm far from being a saint. A few years back I had a fight that brought me to my knees. I am still reeling from the diatribe that came from my mouth. I was a jerk. And while I can't change the past, I can learn from my mistakes, forgive myself, and pave ways for new friendships formed through openness and love.

And, on days when my kids are driving me nuts with their endless noises, that Muslim head piece is going to come in real handy. I'll just hide a walkman under it and drive down the road. A cop wouldn't suspect ANYTHING. Unless he notices that the quiet reserved Muslim mama is blasting Johnny Cash. I'd gladly pay a ticket for that.)

I was recently given a one-week membership to a fancy ladies gym. With the terrible earthquake on my mind, as well as so many people losing their homes in this economy, it seemed unfair and decadent that I enjoy an incredible shower, a pristine spa and a soft towel when so many have so little.

As I have often done during my two month hiatus from writing this blog, my mind started churning. "What is life really about? Why are we here? If there really is a God - why are so many people so unhappy?"

I looked into a squeaky clean mirror, free of the streaks, fog and little thumb prints so typical of my jack & jill 50's bathroom. Even the soft lighting couldn't hide the changes on my face - a face that hadn't taken a long look in the mirror in quite a while.

Soon another face, a good thirty years older than mine, joined my reflection. She didn't say much. She simply picked up a dryer in an attempt to blow out her short gray locks. Nothing happened.

"Weird," she mumbled. Soon enough, though, she found a dangling power cord. She attached it into the socket, the noise started, and she was one step closer to fabulous hair.

Clearly this woman didn't live to be her age without knowing what to do when things went wrong. She had confidence. She had know-how. She didn't spend time complaining or moaning. She took the bull by the horns and fixed it. To be specfic, she plugged it in.

How many times have I complained about the dangling power cords of my own life? My kids, my marriage, my bills, my spirituality. It dawned on me, there in the womens' locker room, that I might want things different, but it's not going to happen by whining. I have to PLUG IN. And when I'm plugged in - emotionally, physically, and spiritually - electricity happens. Growth happens. Hell, I might even get some good hair out of it.

I'm going to be 40 in a month. I don't know what the second half of my life is going to mean. But I certainly plan on spending more time attached to the power of friendship, love, hope, faith, writing, new projects and, god willing, some good humor. (I just hope I don't electrocute myself in the process. That is NOT going to help my hair issues.)