The Gulf has welcomed me home.

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Back to the real nitty gritty

I didn't feel homesick often on my 18-day roadtrip. I loved where I was, each day I was there. Except maybe the stretch between the airport concourse in Tampa and the rental car lot, I didn't like that. Also, that miserable hot wait when I thought I might have to live forever in the nasty bowels of the subway from Brooklyn, I didn't so much love that. But otherwise, held by the charms of seven cities and by so many new faces, stories and ideas, I didn't have a moment or much cause to be homesick.

It's not for lack of love in my home that I didn't miss it, but it's true I'm ready for an empty nest. The boys are independent in many ways, but like so many others in their cohort are really tethered to our rebound and slow-to-launch home for primarily financial reasons. My travels are a welcome break for all of us. A few calls home, and a few assurances that they are, indeed, singing to River nightly so he doesn't pine for me, are all we seem to need.  

In fact, I cop to having a bit of dread about my homecoming. They can, understandably, roll a little feral i my absence, but that's problem in that they don't yet live in their own bachelor pads. In the past I've been welcomed with inexplicably broken water valves and plague-worthy fly swarms above a recycling bin of PBR remains. (And yes, I am proud that they recycle, regardless of the substance said renewable resource delivered.) Coming home to young adults can mean finally sleeping in your own bed or hoping that the emergency cash is still in its drawer and that no new roommates of any species/sorority/probationary status have joined your tiny house.

Still, I found myself overcome with a distinctly John Denveresque reverie in the last half hour of my trip. My windows rolled down from the power of my longing alone! I belted a Ukraine-television-worthy mashup of HOME songs while I snorted and tasted the wind of my Florida town like I was Super-Moon-possessed. Take me home country roads!  Homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound! I'm on my way, I'm on my way, home sweet home, tonight tonight!

And my Aerosmith favorite:

I'm dreamin' tonight
I'm dreamin' back home
Right!

Take me back to a south Tallahassee 
Down cross the bridge to my sweet sassafrassy 
Can't stand up on my feet in the city 
Got to get back to the real nitty gritty 

Yes sir, No sir 
Don't come close to my 
Home sweet home 
Can't catch no dose 

Can you beat the Tallahassee/sassafrassy rhyme? No, ma'am, you can not.

Nipping at the heels of that beckoning wind, though, was the pain that my love does not wait silently for me. Homecoming no longer means coming home to a beloved's arms, damn you Simon, damn you Garfunkel you liar, damn you John Perkyass Denver. In fact when that sunk in midway through Homeward Bound, I said the word "home" again and again until it made no sense, until it was a guttural "ohm." And then I started to sing Tom Waits' House Where Nobody Lives, and o sweet sassafrassy, no happiness can come from that.  

So I pulled myself together by thinking of an upbeat song and making myself sing Cecilia the rest of the way--but it turns out those lyrics are fraught too, damn you Simon, but I coped by emphasizing the pure pleasure held in the poem of the word "jubilation." Fortunately then I pulled in the driveway, and the kids and River took over. River ran in a circle of golden dervishness for several minutes and then sat on my feet the rest of the night to ensure I didn't even think of leaving. And the boys had a belated Mother's Day bounty for me. Diet Coke in the fridge, because they know me. Lovely chocolates (see also: they know me and are such good guys.) And, a dozen! long-stemmed! roses!--which is a sure sign some single mama is raising them right, no? (Those make the third bouquet I've received in the last two weeks, insanely lucky me, completely blowing all previous flower-related stats out of the aspirin-emulsion water, for sure.)

And, moreover, they proudly announced that they had freshened up my room--dusted, mopped wood floors, and changed my sheets. That was actually a bit much for an adult woman, though, and a slideshow of potential traumas flashed through my head underwearsexthingsjournallovenoteomgwhat but apparently all went well.

So I'm home. I have a lot to sift through in my physical, virtual and metaphorical inboxes: I have memories, intentions and luggage to unpack. Maybe I'll learn the boys' roses are a cover-up for some wicked deed I don't know about yet, but for now I'm just enjoying the grace of watching them open as my suitcase stays closed. I have all sorts of playlists to boom as I open mail and slowly get caught up. The dog at my feet tells me I'm not rolling anywhere else too soon, so there's time to sort through it all. I'm home.

Packing for Deb on the Road Trip

I need to pack for an epic springtime road trip.  I leave Monday for a series of stops, most of them shiny charms on the threads that have filled my last few months, with some beginnings thrown in for good measure.

The daunting logistics of Deb on the Road Trip are on color-coded spreadsheets. 2.5 weeks, 5 hotels, 10 flight, train and shuttle reservations and a few automobile rentals thrown in so I can fulfill the John Candy Holy Trinity. I'll visit beaches, cities, board rooms, theaters and a party in a legendary Ocean Drive mansion. (Which is was named Casa Casaurina. Isn't that pretty to say? I can't wait to make the pilgrimage to the former home of amazing gay icon Gianni Versace. Can't wait.)

I need to make sure I have the right haberdashery for each meeting or plan, including white clothes for a traditional start-of-summer Miami White Party, but I really don't want to shop and I certainly don't want to pack. Those are things I want to do when I need to write. Right now, I need to procrastinate so many other tasks that I want to write!

Hemingway is ready for the Mom 2.012 Summit White Party

Part of my happy roadtrip is celebrating the Listen to Your Mother Show 2012 season. It kicks off this weekend in Austin and Arkansas, and the shows are going to be outstanding. I've had a front row seat watching the magic that Ann Imig and the 10 city directors and producers are bringing to life, and it's one of the most beautiful projects I've ever been a part of. Supported by Snapfish, BlogHer and a generous lineup of local sponsors, 10 audiences will bear witness to the creative work of 140 writers and benefit 10 charities. It takes my breath away. I wish I could see all of the shows, but I feel very lucky to see three.

So add to that a conference and some client visits, project meetings for Violence UnSilenced, ShePosts and other things -- plus a whole lot of fun -- and this is my itinerary:

May 1-2 Orlando

May 3-5 Mom 2.012 in Miami

May 6 LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SHOW in NYC

May 6-8 NYC

May 9-10 DC

May 11-12 LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SHOW in Philadelphia

May 12 LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SHOW in Madison

May 12-15 Madison

May 15 kd lang in concert!

May 16-18 Tampa

How do you pack for all of that?

I guess I better go and figure it out. Or, maybe tracking down a cigar, a Mojito and a pen to make a list will be enough for right now. If I forget to pack something, I'll just buy it when I get there, right?

Queerosphere Party at BlogHer '12 in NYC

As you book your flights to attend BlogHer '12 -- the most important conference of the year for women in social media -- plan to arrive early enough on Thursday to attend the official Welcome Parties! Queerosphere is right after the People's Party, and together these events make sure that you know you are home on the eve of the conference's opening day. You don't want to miss them!

All attendees are welcome, and you don't need to RSVP. You just need your conference pass or a party pass, and we'll be expecting you there! Queerosphere is a celebration of the fabulous LGBTQ blogosphere and all that it does to educate, inform and entertain while moving us towards acceptance and equal rights. You don't have to identify as queer or as a parent of an LGBTQ kid to attend, though--we are always excited to host many allies at our soiree. We'll be delighted to buy you a drink, welcome you to the grand conference and celebrate all that you are, whoever you are. We are in this together! 

I'm thrilled to host Queerosphere in New York City again this year. Consider this: when we were last in New York together for BlogHer '10, it wasn't legal to perform gay marriages. But in June 2011 all of that changed when Governor Cuomo signed the Marriage Equality Act. Imagine all of the love that has been united in the year between last summer's signing and our 2012 party on August 2nd! New York, we'll be celebrating with you at Queerosphere this year!

So plan to come, toast your friends and all of the fabulousness in store for us at the conference, and celebrate all that is amazing about a diverse and vibrant blogosphere. Can't wait to see you there!

Special links:

Register for the Conference

Learn more about all of the fantastic parties--I'm planning to attend each one, because the official parties are the BEST way to enjoy BlogHer!

Grab BlogHer '12 Party Badges

More BlogHer Attendee Bling

[Many thanks to BlogHer Founders Elisa Camahort Page, Lisa Stone and Jory Des Jardins. The Queerosphere party is just one of the ways they ensure that their conference and all of their products are inclusive and diverse at the DNA level. They are true leaders in every way. And big, big love to the exceptional BlogHer V.P. of Event Operations Lori Luna. She and her amazing team, especially rockstars Erin Groh and Jenni Morrison, make miracles happen for BlogHer attendees! Our community is very lucky to have such exceptionally skilled pros thinking about our every need.]

Hippity Hoppity WTF?

Easter ironically feels like the most Darwinian of the holidays. Survival of the most fertile as displayed in competitive egg hunts! Sexy bunny a-go-go hiding her goods for a wicked morning romp of find-my-basket! Chicks, chicks and more chicks. O Pagan-Christian remixes!What crazy DJ gave us this undanceable beat?

I never took the boys to visit the Easter Bunny. Of course we had a few trips to visit Santa, some full of candy cane smiles, some full of don't-let-the-hobo-hold-me screams.

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