Pre-school hi-jinx.

She’s a traditionalist. What can I say.

Après class. Thinkin’ the day went okay. One down, 179 to go.

Sister pillow, Berkeley, CA.

I know, I know! Another bare-bones (post-skimpy) week last week. It’s killin’ me. I tell you, though. Peace, quiet, and adequate time to hunker down and do justice to all the stories and ideas floating around in the head are right there on the horizon. I can see ‘em from here, I swear! Meanwhile, as ever, thanks for stopping by.

Tilden Park, Berkeley, CA.

Carnegie Hall, NYC.

No, I didn’t ask anyone how to get there. But I was tempted. [See also: "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" which actually leads not to the storied performance venue, but into a barnyard.]

Woman’s movement, 6th Ave, NYC.

Who’s the walker and who’s the watcher?  Enjoy this short Wikipedia entry on the flâneur, and you decide.

I’m not at all sure when or if I will be able to manage a full-on prose recap of this past weekend I spent in New York for the BlogHer conference. Many others have, so that’s something. Michigan Womyn’s Festival meets Sex In The City. And if that clash of seemingly utterly unrelated, polar opposite/oppositional cultures confuses, then good. It might be one apt take on the whole shebang. The point for me was less the clash, and more the coexistence, the mutual consideration, sometimes for the first time, and always (sez me, ever the bridge-builder) for the good.

When you see the list of panelists and speakers, though, all attempts to reduce and oversimplify scatter like roaches under a naked kitchen bulb. Some 2,400 women in control of their own media came to engage in dialog with these people and each other.

Meanwhile I’m editing photographs, rolling around the various tastes, reflecting, digesting. If the trip was a hot dog, it was a jumbo dog, everything on it: mustard, sauerkraut, ketchup, you name it. The kind whose juice and toppings drip all over your hand as you eat it, and you’re okay with that. Taste lingers long after the meal is over.

Yeah, so I’m a vegetarian. It’s a metaphor.

The short version of it all: us women got it going on.

The author at brunch, Hell’s Kitchen, NYC. Photo: DeBORah.

If I told you how many really incredible people I spent time with Sunday, you would never believe me. Really. I didn’t need a guidebook to New York, I needed a guide book to my own day.

Every single one is doing major work either for lesbians in particular, or for women in general, via the internet and the blogosphere: Liza (brunch #1); Deb, DeBORah, Graces Yip & Chu, Vikki, Reise, and Jess (brunch #2); Elisa (theater!); and the most generous hosts I could hope to finish a trip with, Sinclair and Kristen (dinner + comprehensive, personalized Brooklyn tour).

See? What’d I tell you? And that was just Sunday.

Monday: travel home to my children’s and my beloved’s arms, and recovery. Soon thereafter I hope at least to share pictures. Words to follow.

Above, three self-described “giddy fangirls” (Briar, Calliope, and Liza) await Dr. Rachel Maddow’s appearance, evidently perhaps even via parachute, following the close of her Friday night broadcast. I was in attendance as sober, nonchalant chaperone. To almost everyone’s severe disappointment, we missed her. Though if we had seen her, and Dr. Maddow had stopped and stared at me and exclaimed, “Uncanny!” I would have been kind enough to have extended my hand to shake hers and say, “I know! But you’ll notice I’m just a little taller than you.”

Above, my daughter romps on Stinson Beach, CA. On video. On 6th Ave.

Now back to why I’m actually here!

Robert Indiana, that is.

Only thing I can add to this is: we have enough of it, and there is enough of it to go around. The good gospel.

Watching her.

Watching the sea.

Sibling revelry, Berkeley, CA.

[Ed note: we're off for an ultra-brief and ultra-necessary family getaway, at which I expect no internet access. Thereafter, I'm off to the BlogHer conference in NYC.  I expect much Twittering (brace yerself/apologies in advance), much photograph-taking, and maybe, if I can rig up the laptop in the late-night bathtub, some posting.  Depends on what kind of a night owl my BlogHer bunk-mate and ole chum Vikki is. If you're BlogHer bound, drop me a line via the contact form here, or easier yet shout out at me via an @LesbianDad Tweet on Twitter (if you have a virtual line of communication there). I'd love to cross paths and give you a bear hug for reading this thing.

As I've intimated discretely from time to time, it's been a bumpy last year here at Casa LD, so much so that I up and let the five year blogoversary of this thing just slip on by, un-noted. When I'm back in the saddle good and solid, stirrups firm around me boots, I'll get back to noting when that would have been (months ago) and what my thoughts are on the occasion. Meanwhile, again, my continued thanks for checking in. Post-BlogHer and come fall, I expect much around the house, both figuratively and literally, to be more stable.  I value this dialog with you, gentle reader(s), more than most things in my very full, very fortunate life, and find that its quality  and frequency is a measure of a lot in my life. A canary in the gold mine, let's call it, since no matter what's afoot, I cannot call the travails I encounter anything other than gifts. Be grateful to everyone (and for everything) say the wise folks whose shirt tails I'm forever grasping at.

My Pops likes to remind us that "the future lies ahead." As I have throughout this bumpy time, I anticipate that a widening of this porthole also lies ahead, this passageway through which so much love and thought and camaraderie has travelled, back and forth. Meanwhile, again, I thank you for keeping peeping.]