So.  Al leaves for SoCal early tomorrow morning with his dresser, a bed, a table, some kitchen utensils and a few table settings and his clothes.   He will be back of course, for visits, and I have plane reservations to San Diego til the end of the year.  It hits me once again that I am leaving this town (cue Beach Boys “Leaving This Town” circa 1973).

Last night I was lying in bed and thinking about how big the universe is.  I was thinking how the show at the Academy of Sciences Planetarium took us on a little space tour beyond everything we can see and back again, and how whenever I see a show like that the desired feeling is evoked – we are very, very, very small and there is really no possible meaning to all this life business that our meager brains can fathom at this stage of our evolution.

Which got me thinking: “Why am I so depressed watching the house become a little less familiar, seeing the boxes starting to pile up, the shelves emptying of memories, the rooms emptying of furniture we won’t be moving?”  It’s ridiculous that the absence of a dresser in the corner should send me into a funk.  It’s so insignificant in a universe so infinite.  It’s so irrelevant to the purpose of my life – what house I live in has nothing much to do with my place in the universe nor my reason for being alive and human at all.  As a matter of fact, change such as this is part of what comprises the definition of the essence of my unique life.

Eh, it gave me a little perspective, but it was really Ed the Dog who made me laugh at it all once again.  When Ed comes in our master bedroom through the sliding glass door, he always gets a treat.  That is my attempt to get him to always come when called, although as any local deer can tell you, if there is a critter out there it’s a moot exercise.  I usually have to step outside and shake the treat bowl.  Most times, though, he comes in and immediately sits down and stares up at Al’s dresser, where the treat bowl is located.

This morning when Al let him in, he sat down in front of the now invisible dresser and treat bowl and looked up at it in the usual expectation of being rewarded for coming inside.  Al and I both laughed at the sight of this silly doggie, looking at Al, then looking at empty space where the treat bowl should be, then back at Al; but the lesson is clear.  It’s about the treat, not where it’s located.

My life is a blessing, and it doesn’t really matter where I’m located.  I’m going to try to remember that as I continue this journey of leaving the physical remnants of the last 30 years behind.