Today, my dog Eli made a boss power move. He spent most of the day sleeping. Sometimes while sitting in the chair next to me. Sometimes while lying in my lap. Sometimes just when I would look into his eyes and smile at him while trying to get my sons to sit still and get through our lessons today. Pretty funny to suggest they sit still when I bought them yoga exercise balls to sit on during our homeschool lessons. Yoga balls that I have recently discovered I can sit and bounce on forever while sipping on wine and having two dogs trying to figure out exactly how to make their way onto my lap during the madness. I often wonder if they are feeling this duty to calm me bc I appear frantic while bouncing in my bathrobe with what was once my hair bun now sloppily lying above one of my ears and wet on the edges from an occasional splash in some red wine that is also making my child-like smile from the joy this bouncing is bringing me very purple. I recently took my sons to visit their father and family in Oregon. I took the time to myself to visit a friend and then hit the road and remember what it was like to be a free bird. I hit the road alright and a few curbs bc that’s how you know you’ve parked far enough over, ya know? I cried while I drove through mountain passes, my passenger seat filled with Aquaphor, gum, cough drops, compression stockings, two chargers, cucumber-flavored water, and silence. Ask me how I remember this. I have no clue. I do not forget much. I made my way up to Port Townsend and a few other places that made me realize sleeping in a hotel there was not an option as I would not be alone…historic buildings that blabber their secrets in the night, secrets I did not want to hear. For I was blabbering on my own. Anyway, the last couple of nights I made my way back down to Portland, never knowing where I was going to stay until my mom and I would talk on the phone and I would say I am tired, the sun is setting and this is my absolute blind hour. I am stopping. I have no business being behind the wheel during this time, nor at night. Ever. Is that an animal? Followed by naming every possible option based off of the area and then total panic and so much adrenaline sweat. It almost always turns out to be just the outline of the lane or a shadow of sorts. I usually understand that in the glow of my brake lights and release the steering wheel from my death grip. I opted to get a Subaru for safety as my driving skills have declined and it was a childhood dream of mine to own a station wagon. I shit you not, I also wore penny loafers, riding jackets, and sweater vests so it kinda makes sense. Now strangers who I share the road with seemingly expect nothing else from me but to be slow, cautious, and peaceful. There is always a great danger in assuming and this is proof…as I am not sure those words have ever been used to describe me.

My attention span is low tonight. My brain is buzzing. Hate to disappoint my journal time…but this is my natural brain. This man in the bar at the hotel I stayed at in Portland thought for sure I was going to be disappointing as well. All of the men (because there were no women besides me) who sat alone in this bar thought I was going to be. And if you are thinking like that read, I suppose I did turn out to be disappointing in that vein, but not in the way I intended. I just needed two bottles of wine, some purple teeth, and a smile of pure joy and release of not needing to be there for anyone but myself. Then like magic, I was no longer the bird who snubs you when you stand at its cage and try to get them to speak to you over and over “Polly want a cracker?” only to receive the bird’s shoulder and shame from the nearby watchers who laugh because you thought you could make it happen. I turned into the purple-stained beak bird who would not shut the hell up, the one you hear with that painful voice and you wonder why the hell anyone taught birds to speak to begin with and how painful it is sometimes when you come across the sound. The ones you want to carry their cage outside and forget. But as it turns out, they are like this because they are in this cage and likely their wings have been clipped. They have not flown and have been trapped. This was me post two bottles of wine, and to be honest, somehow I drank three and I was tired. I was trying to figure out if I was lonely or happy and I was pissed I packed weeks worth of clothes and managed to pull only one outfit together that was extremely half-assed for my adventures and standards. I looked like I was headed to a poetry gathering on the beach with my Grandma in her Subaru. I don’t have a grandma with a Subaru but if I did, I would have looked just like her on this trip. My hair falls straight and boring in the weather out yonder. My skin started to lick the air in search of humidity and unfortunately, I packed so much linen, almost as if I owned a Subaru myself. This man was cool as hell, originally from Jersey so put the stereotype together and dive in with me. He left for an hour or so and returned. Yes, I was still there. Elbows dug into the giant marble slab of a bar and thinking about my life. The only thing this man said to me when he returned was “Oh shit your teeth!” And he let out the most child-like giggle mixed with this raspy loud-ass Jersey laugh. It’s a thing. I love making the Fire Marshall Bill face when people least expect it so I threw it at him and said “Excuse me? These bad boys?” I remember the laughter the way only I would because I hear it the way I want to and it is grand though not likely accurate. It is my memory, my version, my hearing, my journal. That is important to remember here for anyone recognizing their character and getting a little on the sensitive side. We know you have your side, we know you don’t like mine,  and we know the truth is supposedly somewhere in between butttttt we also know my anxiety is gonna act up when we try to find it and I’m not leaving my bed to go search and find it with you. You will live and it never really is that big of a deal. But this moment at the hotel bar was because I felt like me again and it had been a while. So I grabbed the white linen and began what I coined a “quick public bath” for my teeth. Guards were downnnnnn. I broke this notion I was unapproachable and broke the one where he was a total dick, and the bartender had a little boys club he was running and I was not allowed. This was my club and all were welcome. We sat there laughing so damn hard all night, my shoes slipping off the bar stool over and over and devouring a pecan pie because guess what, the lighting was right, it was not a chore, I was on vacation, the chef was off work and we were chatting about dyslexia, and people were making their way down for a nightcap…entirely unaware we all transformed the stuffy environment while they were out to dinner and now the only requirement was purple teeth and letting me listen in on their style of laughing so I could embed it in my brain and turn the volume up way louder than it was so that when I look back on my bouncy ball with wine I will remember exactly what it sounded like when my cage was opened. 

Aw, yes. Speaking of remembering. My dog, the boss move. He randomly walked up to the younger dog all casual. Seemingly grabbed him by his neck, flipped him around, and body-slammed him! See that imagination I have. There was music playing for this scene in my head too and it was in slow-mo. This is the most honest part of my memory because this dog is like the current-day Clint Eastwood of dogs. Solid but slow. He means business and does not have to do much to remind you. I mean, he has me on a schedule with the shades and lamps, remember? The other dog, mehhhh…I struggle with him a little. He is so smart and loyal and he knows and respects his place but there is something about his pointy ears and beady black eyes. His constant need to make me happy when I can tell, he is not. Like dude, be you, and let me love you for that. I want to soften him. He is the dog version of a stick of butter someone accidentally put in the freezer last Thanksgiving and my old Clint Eastwood has no issue with pressing his paws into it. I don’t interfere when these wild western moments take place between them because well, grandiose memory opportunities are about to present themselves to me and I am going to write a children’s book about it tonight. But also, because I like my fingers and the way animals establish what is up. Boss ass power move and boom. It’s like, does this even make sense? I mean he is holding on strong to his role as he ages, perhaps even more so as he understands it better. I can respect that. The other dog just laid on his back, all four legs pulled in together like he was about to get the pat down and busted. Just fear on his face and total submission. Glaring over at me like do something, Mom. And Eli, holding his paw to his throat looked down on him saying, I know this doesn’t make sense to you, but one day you are going to get it, one day I will lose my place and you will take it. But that day ain’t today. Drool dropped from his mouth, never once biting him with it, but took a chunk out of him with the bodyslam and simultaneous stare while the entire family watched. He is the boss, he has his reasons, he has earned them and we will honor them with his boss-ass move. I get a funny feeling it has something to do with his loyalty and role in protecting our family, and his boys. Much like me and my seemingly ridiculous requests with a certain someone this week and also like my Subaru, which coincidentally I named Bossy.