I'm Really Doing It

the extra fiber edition

Aloha from Oahu! As Mr. Troy Ford so aptly named this adventure, my “Hawaiian Hallie-day” continues with more tropical breezes, more fresh seafood, and, um, more other things. Read on if you’re okay with animal bodily functions. LET’S GO

I’m Actually Doing It

The view from the balcony I’ve basically been living on for the past few weeks is so beautiful I almost can’t stand it. Every time I look up at it, I think oh my god, I’m really here. I’m really doing this. Sometimes I am on the verge of tears.

Today I took a walk down the hill, to get closer to Kaneohe Bay. You can’t get too close, because there’s no beach and so many houses, but it’s interesting to see the water from almost eye level. At one point the road turned and I had a view of the mountains, their tops obscured by clouds. The breeze came off the water, the air temperature was perfect. Oh my gosh, I’m really taking a walk in Hawaii.

On Thursday, I went to Waimanalo, reportedly one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I don’t doubt it. First I stopped up the street at Ōno Steaks and Shrimp Shack for fish tacos. Fresh (cooked) fish, sweet aoli, mango salsa, with a side of potato mac, which seems to be a thing here and is quite tasty, especially if you “forget” one of you cardinal rules of severely limiting your simple-carb intake.

I took my food about a tenth of a mile down the street and walked through a public access path to One Of The Most Beautiful Beaches In The World. I sat in the shade of some trees and ate a taco. There was one group of sunbathers and a few other people walking down the beach, but that was it. It was a bit windy, but so what. Perfect temps, the most incredible blue water contrasted by the most amazing sand—fine, pristine, a rich tan color. It was the best taco ever.

potato mac for the win

Before I left, I went down to the water, to breathe it all in. I am really here, I thought. I’m really standing on this beach. I did not ever want to forget that moment, the feel of the sand on the soles of my feet and the smell of the water.

When I got home, there was a present waiting for me on the living room carpet. Yes, little Hallie misses her hoomans and her “sensitive digestive system” has been on the fritz. I’m really picking up dog poop.

I feel bad for Hallie; I know what it’s like to be sensitive and to be off your feed. But there’s not much I can do other than give her lots of pets and keep a calm vibe. Honestly, she’s not all that affectionate, like she doesn’t come sit on me. She just follows me around. That used to bother me about dogs. I’d always say to them, “Can’t you make up your own mind about where you want to be? I’m not that entertaining.” They’d just stare at me and then follow me into the bathroom.

Last night, I took Hallie out for her regular last walk before bed, around 9:15. It had rained several times—gusty, cool cloudbursts. There were puddles. Hallie liked the puddles. Then when she’d gotten to the end of the route (and had officially made it a 2-poop walk), it started raining again. Oh great. We turned back but it became clear we were going too slow and Hallie looked confused about my sense of urgency. So I scooped her up and made a run for it. Yes, it was a long way. I am really running through pouring rain carrying a dog.

Both of us still had wet hair when I turned out the light for sleep.

Hallie then informed me around 3am that she wanted to go outside again. I’d been instructed that when she does this at non-regular-walk times, I should restrict the walk to one area.

I COMMAND YOU TO TAKE ME FOR A WALK.

So we went out there, in the middle of the night, and stood in The Designated Spot. Nothing.

“I love you, but you better not be yanking my chain,” I told her as I stood there with my non-contact-lens nerd glasses and my hair up in 2 buns like little horns. A guard in an electric security cart crept by. I couldn’t bring myself to look up.

Hallie stood there some more. Nothing. I am really tired.

This morning, more presents on the carpet. I’m really cleaning up dog poop again.

I wonder how many times in my life I’ve said to myself I don’t ever want to forget this moment. I want to remember everything about it. I don’t know, because I’ve forgotten most of them. I would say I’ve got a terrible memory. I don’t remember most of my childhood or even into high school and college. But I can remember weird things, and I’m great at looking for patterns. I think I’ve blocked some memories on purpose, because they’re too painful or unhappy. But it seems like in the process my mind had indiscriminately blocked other things too. Things that maybe would have been okay to remember. I suppose that’s why journals are nice, so you can write about those moments and read about them later. I forgot to bring my journal. I’ll have these posts, at least. But the chances of me going back and looking for a Word document from 8/29/23 are slim.

But I have one thing that makes me feel better about forgetting all the things I want to remember. I know that even if I can’t recall them, a lot of good things have happened in my life, as well as some bad. All of those things make me who I am right now. They are part of me, and I carry them with me all the time. I’m really living this life.

---