Waiting to take me away

Hey! Ever thought how romantic it'd be to give away everything, sell the house and cars, quit your job and, you know, just take off?  Wouldn't that be so cool??

Guess I'll find out.

OK, I'm not exactly quitting my job -- I'll still be turning copywriting projects via Internet, same as always. But the house and the cars and the stuff?  Gone, baby, gone: except for snapshots, memorabilia and few other items stashed away with relatives, I've hauled off to charity a quarter-century of domestic acquisition -- couches, stemware, knick-knacks, bedroom set, electronics, all the trappings of suburban American life. While I'm gone, my brother Doug and his wife, both realtors, will ready my house for market.

So I've shrunk my life down to a size I can carry around on my back for these next two months roaming around Thailand, a shakedown cruise in advance of possibly a much longer sojourn.

The universe does have a sense of dramatic balance: My reboot coincides almost exactly with the awesome wedding of our youngest son, Alex. An enormous portrait of Claire and me on our own wedding day gazes down on the dance floor of the Bossanova Ballroom as Alex and Stacy exchange the rings we once wore.

Friends and family ask: "How you holding up?" They know how I am at weddings anymore. But I'm doing fine, just fine.

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Eleven days before Alex's wedding, I make a pilgrimage to Springfield, to the front lawn of my grandparents' farmhouse, now wildly overgrown. A light rain falls; no one else around.

I use the Kershaw pocketknife that Claire gave me to cut open the crematory cube I've toted around for more than seven years. (Even on vacation!)  Let's see: the Rev. Shoemaker was here, the groomsmen were there, the bridesmaids came along this way, and we must have stood ...

Slogging through the wet grass, I set to work scattering handful after chalky beige handful. When the box is empty I place it on the lawn and with a book of our wedding matches set it aflame; black cinders let go and float away in the breeze. In moments it is gone.

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Three a.m. Monday and my brother Mitch, a night-shift taxi driver, gives me a lift to the airport. The car starts and what CD should be playing but "Magical Mystery Tour." Perfect!

Boarding call for my row, way back in the cheap seats.  I settle in for the connecting flight to SFO, then it's on to Bangkok.  I don't even glance back as the plane lets go of the ground and we float away in the breeze.

One story ends, a new one begins.