With a Little Help From a Friend

My New Year’s Resolution? It’s the same one I’ve had for the past decade: to change things with Harold. We’ve been married for 13 years now. This year I finally found a way. It’s funny, because I found out how from the second resolution New Year’s resolution I had along with it – to lose weight. If you came to my house, you wouldn’t think I cared anything at all about it, with all the cookies we have in the pantry. But those are Harold’s.

Like most people, I started with diets. Atkins was big when I first started out, but it was so expensive. Besides, I read an article that it doesn’t have enough calcium for people with large bones like me. The South Beach Diet was better, but it turned out to be even more expensive. Paleo seemed to work for awhile, but seriously, they can’t expect you to stay away from all processed foods forever in the modern world-- it just isn’t realistic. I even tried the raw food diet, but it was so disgusting that I stopped after two days. I am on the Mediterranean diet now, and that seems to be working for me. I haven’t really lost much weight yet, but at least I am not gaining, either. I like the Spanish and Italian recipes the best, although some of the French food is amazing. You have to serve smaller portions in the French food or you’ll get fat before you know it, trust me on that one.

Exercise? Sure. At first, I did things at home. You know, yoga, step aerobics, tai something… Tai Chi or Tae Bo or Taekwondo or something like that. I even did the re-run programs with Jack LaLane from the 1960’s. I found them when I was running through some of those old UHF channels. Harold was too cheap to get cable back then. And Jack was certainly motivating in so many ways.

Well, the re-runs went off the air so I tried different home exercise machines. There was some crazy stuff. I started with Suzanne Somers Thighmaster. It worked okay. I mean I could crush a watermelon between my knees, but it was just too boring. So I tried other things. Bodyblades, shake weights, Ab lounge, you name it. I even had Tony Little’s Gazelle for awhile. I loved those infommericals. He’d stand behind a girl on the Gazelle and they would rock back and forth together. It was kind of romantic. The girl even looked like me, but she was built like a stick.

No, I don’t have any of them anymore, and I wouldn’t recommend them. The machines always got boring. Then they collected dust, and Harold would nag and whine until I threw them out. He said it was just all a waste. That wasn’t true. They didn’t help forever, I give you that, but they did help for a while.

I finally gave up on the machines and got a gym membership. At first I was excited, but before long, I hated it. The men always leering at me. And it was such drudgery. Packing a gym bag and water bottle, driving there, getting changed, waiting for people to get off the machine you wanted to use, wiping everything down before and after you do a set, waiting some more to get on another machine, and then showering and driving back. And then there were the New Year’s resolutionists. They’d pack the gym from dusk-to-dawn from New Year’s until Valentine’s Day. It took two hours to get a 30-minute work out. One day, after driving back in a February snowstorm, I just gave it up.

No, no, I didn’t give up completely at that point, but I did come close. When spring came, I began walking in the parks on good days. It actually started after Harold and I had a fight once. I just needed to get out from under his nose. I enjoyed the fresh air and by the time I got back, he had fallen asleep drunk. Problem solved. I started taking long walks after I finished cooking Harold’s dinner. As long as he had his television, he hardly noticed. Once I bought a nice umbrella for rainy days, I was all set. The air always smells so fresh in the rain. At one point, I even wanted to start jogging, but I am just too well-endowed for that. I would feel horrible if I caused a traffic accident.

Where do I go? Now, I walk mostly in Chimsky park, just off Putnam Ave. It’s well kept and there is a hot dog vendor there, Enzo. He looks like the Latin version of Steve McQueen. McQueen, now there was a man for you. Just thinking about him in Bullitt makes me purr. Sad though. He died from taking an experimental cancer treatment made from bitter almonds. It turns out there are two types of almonds: sweet and bitter. The bitter ones have high doses of vitamin B17. Back in the day they thought it helped fight cancer. The problem is that they also have a form of cyanide in them. If the almonds are cooked, it gets rid of the cyanide, but they should never be eaten raw. In fact, it’s illegal to sell in the US to anyone but a professional chef.

Speaking of professional chefs, Enzo is one. He specializes in Sicilian cuisine. He learned to cook from his grandmother. He has shared a couple of recipes with me. Absolutely delicious. He even brought me some lasagna once. It was to die for. Of course, there isn’t much call for Sicilian food around here, so he is stuck selling hot dogs. I encouraged him to go to a city. Even Omaha isn’t that far away. He said he tried that. There wasn’t enough traffic, and the leases cost cost an arm and a leg. That’s how he ended up at the park.

I know, it’s hard for me to imagine how he gets along, too. But he says he goes over to Wilson’s machine shop during lunch hour, and he says he does a pretty good business there. He goes to the park in the afternoons mostly to get fresh air, just like me. He says he has enough to put aside a little each month. I told him he could make more if he used cheaper ingredients. He just laughed. He said cheaper ingredients would mean fewer customers. I don’t think any of the yokels here would notice, but Enzo insists on quality. He is saving up to buy a restaurant. He says there is a huge ex-pat Italian community in Argentina, of all places. Over 900,000 people. Can you imagine that? He’s sure it would be easy to run a Sicilian restaurant there.

Sometimes I think about it. The beautiful climate all year, the smells of Latin and Sicilian cuisines drifting across the veranda, it makes my mouth water. You should see Enzo talk about it, he gets this look in his eyes, it’s beautiful to watch him.

Well, I wouldn’t say that, dear. But I have to admit that I adore a man with ambition and persistence. He’s nothing like Harold. Give Harold a plate of cookies and a Coors, set him in front of the television, and he would spend his whole life there. In fact, let me show you something. It’s in my purse.

Here. These are Ricciarelli, an Italian almond cookie. I’d give you one, but Enzo made them especially for Harold. He said they were made with the finest ingredients possible, ingredients he had to get from the old country. So thoughtful. Well, I should head on back. Harold hates it when his dinner is late. Like I said, this year I’m changing things with him. It’s about time, don’t you think?