My friend Lacy Bradley says that sometimes, not always, country music has the answer to everything. Her astute observation also applies to Rap Music. Sometimes, not always, Rap Music has a few answers too.

In this case, it's Diddy whose prose I am identifying with. He's walking through this Desert wasteland. He is singing about his own self awareness, growth, and arrival to this place called home. Home, arguably in this go round, not so much about where you live at a particular time but rather an environment of security and happiness. Or as puts it: a valued place regarded as refuge or place of origin and belonging. 

I watched this music video over and over again while sitting on the lightly carpeted cement floor of SFO, waiting for my flight home to Victoria. After successfully filling myself full of Burrito, I was crossing and uncrossing my legs in attempt to regain the feeling that had been lost in them from the lengthy sit on the hard surface, trying to understand what about the video was particularly touching to me at this particular moment.

What I deduced was that it was the literal act of going home (Victoria) but also home (to my own heart, pinacle location of all major life changing decisions) and home (to my own truth). I giggle and thought to myself, Diddy, I am feeling your shit. (Isn't that what major rap artists say to one another?)

So in-between Home and Home and going Home was a trip. My last trip, in the most perfect place I adore. Death Valley for one more go round. I was endlessly delighted by my two hilarious co-leaders, and many late nights there were spent giggling over some event of the day. In usual Desert fashion there was some sunshine, a wind storm, and lots of smiling (me). I didn't tell a soul it was my last trip, but some of the staff found out anyway.

Last night at dinner, I was pulled into the kitchen and presented with a small cake. The head chef, dining room manager, several of the wait staff, several of the front desk staff, and the hotel manager huddled in a corner, and presented me with my gift. I was dumbfounded. For a few moments I couldn't really eek out any words, stumbling and side stepping around the waves of emotions springing up. The largest wave carrying a sea full of gratitude. Not only for the staff at FCI, but for all the people that made this the brilliant ride it was.

My cake was really good. The trip was fine. I spent an afternoon wandering around the strip, waiting for my flight home, thinking about home. I sipped coffee from the best place for coffee in Vegas. I bought new sneakers. I smiled a lot. Oh Las Vegas, and what you mean to me. Another home, in another time.