The Biggest Loser, Not

It is ridiculous. Style TV is running past seasons of The Biggest Loser. I've Tivo'd them on the TV in my bedroom and watch them obsessively. Obsessive is the key word. It is sick probably. But I love to watch the weigh-ins and see people drop 7-20 pounds in one week. It is totally amazing that people can do that. Of course, they work out for endless hours and eat next to nothing – fish and chicken and steamed vegetables.

Every day I say I'm going to start doing that. I used to work out – maybe not that hard, but every single day. I was up at 4:45 today and don't have to go to leave for work until 7:30. So what do I do? I don't work out, I watch the season 2 finale for the umpteenth time. Every day I get up and say, "Today, I'm going to eat healthy." Then my husband calls me at work and says he wants to make his world famous hamburgers for dinner and I say "OK". (They are really good). And since we're eating beef, we have that really good bottle of cabernet that goes so well with it. And I eat and drink and watch TV and go to bed. And there goes another day with no workout and no healthy eating.

I made chicken fajitas for breakfast with the leftovers from last night. They were almost as good leftover, but I don't even know what the calorie content was. After logging my eating at Spark People for over a year, I just absolutely cannot bring myself to do it right now. It didn't make a difference anyhow. I just felt depressed about my failure and beat myself up for it. I downloaded Dr. Monte's book on successful weight loss and I know all this material he presents is true. But I find myself in a hole that I am having a terrible time digging myself out of.

So today I am declaring "No more!" Instead of trying to be an overnight success and completely change my lifestyle in a flash, I'm just going to work at getting healthier – a little bit at a time. Like Petra said in Dr. Mone's interview, NO MORE EXCUSES. I really want to get the energetic feeling back I had when I worked out regularly – when I was in training for my marathons or a bike trip. I really want to not wiggle when I run. I really want to feel comfortable in my clothes. What will I weigh next year if I don't start now? What will I weigh next year if I only lose a pound a week – or ½ a pound a week? NO MORE EXCUSES.

Home again, home again

Jiggety jog. Today I had to go back to my job.

Still enjoying the vacation aura but I am very tired. Even just one hour time shift has made me feel like I'm moving through mud. I wish I had taken another day before going back. Who am I kidding? I wish I didn't have to go back at all.

The trip back was uneventful except for having to ride on a donut down the interstate. The right rear tire had developed a slow leak and we figured it was better to go ahead and change it rather than take a chance of breaking down on the highway. The problem was that the sensor kept coming on reminding us that we only had 3-1/2 tires. My husband kept the speed down but I sweated the entire ride to the airport that we'd break down and miss our plane. I was definitely ready to come home. We made it with plenty of time to spare.

I should live practice the Serenity Prayer and stop wasting energy on the worrying:

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is,

not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next.

Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

We, of course, lost the car. I accidently erased our location in long term parking while in Chicago. Fortunately my son remembered where we were. I really worry about my poor husband sometimes. He insisted that we were in remote parking. Turns out that we were in long term 2. Alls well that ends well.

We found the car and made it back in record time. Work wasn't too bad today, but it is year end and I needed to hit the ground running. That didn't happen. I tiptoed into the day, leaving my brain asleep on my pillow. Tomorrow will be better and I'll be back on top of it.

Chicago, Day 8

The long awaited reunion occurred. We arrived at Elizabeth Conkey Forest slightly before 11:30 and a little the worse for the wear after closing the blues club last night. The temperatures were already in the upper 80's and the humidity had to match it. To make matters worse, the cicadas are doing their every 17^th year return are out in droves. We walked under a tree near the parking lot and apparently angered them because we were swarmed by hundreds of them. They don't bite but they hiss when you make them angry by disturbing them.

We met so many people, most of who are related to my husband in some form. I can't remember the names of most but remember that they were all so nice. It certainly is a Midwestern trait to be friendly. Everyone hugs everyone, so introductions take a lot of time. I remembered some of the children from the last reunion we attended in 2001 and was amazed to find the children so grown up. The Swedish genes are also apparent in so many fair-skinned blondes.

One tradition is setting up a piñata for the children and each gets three attempts to break it, starting with the youngest child who is able to swing the bat. This year it was a three year old. Finally one of the moms had to hit the darn thing because it just wouldn't break. They all scampered to get their share of the candy.

Several of the older boys ate a cicada. I guess it is no different than eating grasshoppers or termites which I understand some cultures view as delicacies, but seriously. . . .

I hope we can return next year and see the same people and all the new babies that will be here. Some of the brothers and sisters and their spouses are getting quite old and a little feeble. I hope they all can be around next year.

I can't wait to go home.

Chicago, Day 7

We're all ready to go home, but we have one more day before we can start packing. It is the day of the reunion – the ostensible reason for our visit anyway. We decided to make the best of it and eat valiantly on.

Today we had early dinner plans with a half-brother so we went into town early to catch an early lunch. A friend of our son recommended The Patio in Little Italy. It is a small neighborhood restaurant that specializes in Italian Beef and Sausage sandwiches. We each tried a beef and, while very good, had no Italian flavors unless you count the steamed green pepper on top. I think my husband is remembering something better than it was. Both of the ones we've tried so far taste like a French Dip with green peppers on top.

The three of us split an Italian Sausage sandwich that was very good. The sausage here is much denser than what we get at home, not to mention how much more flavorful it is. If we have any more sandwiches I'm sticking with the Italian Sausage!

We killed the afternoon driving around the neighborhood where my husband grew up on Normal Ave. – kind of an oxymoron I think. His childhood was anything but normal. The old home was torn down but I could picture it from the neighboring houses still there, small little two-flats. The neighborhood is shabby and run down. He remembers it as being a nice house but said the bad times outweighed the good times there. I don't think he's too sentimental about the place.

We ate dinner at Carmichael's. The chef is a friend of the half-nephew. It is a very nice steak house with great décor. The bread basket was full of assorted artisan breads and accompanied by a tub of cheese which we later found was cheddar whipped with beer – great idea and great taste. I had a salad that was fabulous and it was a treat to eat just a salad.

We ended up the night at Blue Chicago. It is a tiny little blues club – a narrow, long room with a bar and the back corner is sectioned off for the band. My son said it is too touristy. If it is, I can't imagine what kind of place the locals might attend; this place was no-frills. The band was good and we drank too much. Tomorrow is going to start a little rough I can tell. They closed down early, 1:30, and as we were filing out the bouncer shoved me into one of the tables and grabbed an inebriated patron who was trying to touch the instruments and threw him, quite literally, out the door. I get that; I didn't get me being thrown around.

Chicago, Day 6

I finally got the chance to eat an Italian Beef sandwich, and frankly I'm disappointed. I've made Italian Beef at home for years. My husband talked about it so much over the years that I found a recipe and made it. Everyone loves my Italian Beef. But my husband said it was missing something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. So one of my missions here was to eat authentic Chicago Italian Beef. The result was much the same as the Chicago style hot dog fiasco: disappointing. Several people recommended Portillo's and it was a good sandwich but it tasted like a French dip with a piece of steamed green pepper on it. There was no Italian taste to it. Plus, this meat was sliced and my husband always described the Italian beef as shredded.

We met the Indiana cousins there for lunch and had a great time listening to some of their travel stories. They've gone all over the world together on different trips. Again I am impressed by how close these families are. I can't imagine going on a weekend trip with my brothers and sisters. We just aren't very close. That's the way my mother wanted it – although I'm sure she was not aware of it. But she was always pitting us against each other, so we never grew up seeing each other as allies, much less friends. I can't remember a time in my life that she was speaking to all of us at the same time; at least one of us was on the outs. I really wish I could have had the kind of family my husband had.

After lunch we came back to the hotel for a quick nap before heading off to Chicago to see Wicked. I knew nothing about the story line. My son had read the book and recommended that we try to get tickets. Lining up to get in I was a little worried because of the number of children attending. I thought we were going to see the Wizard of Oz, part 2. Our seats were on the last row of the balcony and I was worried that we wouldn't be able to see. But the Oriental Theater, built in 1926, didn't seem to have a bad seat in the house. The interior was restored in 1998 and it looked like a grand theater of yesteryear with massive chandeliers and gilt trim. We had a thoroughly good time. The story was about how the Wicked Witch became what we saw in the Wizard of Oz; she was very much the sympathetic figure.

Afterwards we ate at Hugo's Frog Bar. The calamari was excellent and I hate to admit that it was nice not to eat Italian for one meal.

Chicago, Day 5

If it's Chicago we must be eating. I never thought I would say this, but I am so tired of eating. So much good food but I am stuffed. When I get back home, I'm not going to eat for at least a week and I'm not getting on the scale for at least two weeks.

We met one of the half-brothers, his wife and son at The Parthenon. This restaurant claims they introduced the gyro to the US market. We did the sampler which was good but too filling. I wish I'd only had the greek salad, which was very good. An interesting coincidence, the Chicago chapter of CFMA was having their monthly meeting in the banquet room. I introduced myself and we agreed to exchange program material.

After lunch we wandered around down by the lake and the museums to kill time until the ball game. There is a display of globes all around the lake front that people have decorated to show ideas how to save the planet. Some of them are very inventive and some are really well decorated.

We were two hours early to Wrigley Field thinking we were going to have to buy tickets from a scalper. Instead we got bleacher seats at the window – that's where my son wanted to sit. It was a good seat until the beer saturation level got too high in the guys behind us – about the second inning. They dropped a beer that splatter down my back, their language was atrocious and they were generally obnoxious. Still, we were at the Cub's game, they won, and my son was in heaven.

We stopped back at Quartino's and ordered that pizza that I didn't get the first day. I had the sausage and fennel. It was good but not what I expected. We got another one to go with a few bottles of wine and came back to the motel and crashed. Who would have ever thought that eating could wear you out so much?

Chicago, Day 4

At least we did something today in addition to eating. We visited the Art Institute of Chicago. Our guide book said Tuesdays were free days but we ended up paying $12 a piece. It was worth it. The Institute has a huge collection of paintings, some sculpture, furniture and a paperweight collection as well as other pieces. I don't have any education in art appreciation and some of what we looked at I couldn't figure out why it was in a museum. But some pieces just jumped right out at me. This is one of that I really liked by Henri Fantin-Latour. In the painting, the flowers in the foreground are reflected in the silver pot. It made for an enjoyable morning; we could have spent the entire day.

We left the Art Institute in search of a Chicago-style hot dog. The restaurant in the guide book was no longer there so we ate at Relish in a mall on Michigan Avenue. Frankly I wasn't impressed. I'm sure that it depends on what style hot dog you were raised on. I grew up eating southern-style dogs: mustard, onions, slaw and chili. These hot dogs had mustard, onions, dill pickle, tomatoes and hot peppers on a poppy seed bun and were sprinkled with celery salt. The celery salt was the part that made it especially distasteful. But I can mark that off my list: Chicago-style hot dog, check!

After a brief episode of wrong-parking-garage blues, we were able to find the car and head back to the hotel to clean up for dinner. I know it sounds like all we do is eat, but with afternoon traffic, the trip back was two hours. A quick change and we were off again back downtown, so that's another two hours. I guess the traffic is something you get used to but what a waste of time. We decided that next time we come we'll look for something a little closer in.

This dinner was the meal my boys had been looking most forward to this whole trip: Smith and Wollensky. Of course, large portions of beef are involved, so they'd love it by definition. But they had eaten there last time they came without me and had those wonderful, slightly enhanced memories of the perfect meal at the perfect restaurant. It was good, don't get me wrong. But I didn't think it was worth the prices we paid. Steak is seldom my first choice for an entrée, but mine had a streak of gristle running through it that I didn't think a $40/10 oz steak should have. We had creamed spinach and onion rings for our vegetables and neither impressed me as all that special. The waiter was indifferent and service was about the same as what we experienced at TGIFriday's the first night we arrived.

The wines were of course excellent, but at those prices they should have been. Our son treated us to a bottle of his all time favorite, one that he had previously received as a gift – we don't go around spending that kind of money on wine. It was good but exorbitantly expensive and the puritan in me kept thinking of all the things we should spend that money on. I wasn't really disappointed with the place. If we hadn't already gone to Cafe Spiaggia this would have been the best. I just wasn't all that impressed.

Chicago, Day 3

The problem with trying to recreate a magical moment from the past is that failure to do so robs the memory of the magical moment from you forever. When we visited in 2001 we stumbled upon an Italian restaurant in Old Town called Orso's. The day was perfect, cloudless, warm with low humidity and a light breeze blowing. We sat on the grape vine covered patio and ordered a carafe of red wine and asparagus risotto. We had an endless supply of homemade crusty bread and good quality olive oil to dip it in. The food was great as was the service. It was a magical meal. We said we'd return to spend an afternoon lingering with a liter of red wine and we'd while away the afternoon. That was a mistake.

We went there today when the temperature was about 10 degrees hotter than in 2001. Either our palate had changed or this was not the same house red wine we had enjoyed so much. The bread no longer had the texture of a hand kneaded dough and the food, while not bad, was nothing special. It wasn't awful, but neither was it magical so now our memory of Orso's is one of disappointment. It was a mistake to go back.

We had arranged to meet part of the other side of the family and ended up driving across town to dinner. Although it took us several hours to get there and we chatted a few minutes before going to dinner, there is something very wrong about leaving one table to go to another one as the total day's activity. Really, I just want to focus on tasting menus right now. This restaurant was a neighborhood Italian, nothing fancy but good food. I ordered chicken cacciatore and they brought an obscenely huge serving. It was good if not exceptional. The best of dinner was chatting with the family.

Husband's paternal side of the family consists of nine brothers and sisters from the first marriage, in addition to the four from the second one. Although we didn't have a lot of contact with them in the early years of our marriage, they have reached out to him in recent years. They host a family reunion every June – the purpose for our visit. I regret not knowing them all those years before because they are truly nice people.

The youngest brother, with whom we had just eaten, drove us out to Orland Park to look at his new condo which is directly across the street from the older brother. This concept is totally foreign to my family, whom I barely see in any given year. I do wish we had that kind of family life.

The condos are beautiful – much nicer than anything we've seen at home. The grounds are beautifully maintained and there is small grassy area between each duplex, which is further away than many of the single family homes we've seen in Chicago. I don't know how much they cost, but they are truly beautiful; I'd certainly love to live in them.

After talking for about an hour, we all hopped in the car and drove to the Plush Pony for ice cream. These portions have to be a Midwestern thing. I ordered a single scoop in a cup and got about a pint of ice cream. I nibbled at it, but could not do it justice and ended up tossing most of it.

It was a good family day. The only food thing to report is that there was too much of it. Tomorrow we need an activity.

 

 

 

Chicago, Day 2

A much better time was had by all today.

We eventually managed to get ourselves dressed and in the car. With only one false start, a Starbucks was located at a nearby Dominick's. Husband and Son immediately perked up! Properly fortified, we were off to downtown to drop son off at the Chicago Blues Festival.

We wandered a bit downtown, looking for a likely lunch spot. The problem when your stated vacation goal is to eat is that every single meal has to be an experience. I had left my restaurant guide in the car so we were hiking the streets trying to discover a suitable place and all we were seeing was restaurant chains. It seems so strange to us that with all the good food in Chicago the fast food chains could even establish a toe hold. Of course, you don't have to go too far in Chicago to find a unique restaurant and on State Street we came upon Quartino's. Wine by the liter, a basket of crusty, rustic bread and a bottle of excellent olive oil on the table and we knew we'd found a good spot. They make their own bread and buffalo mozzarella daily. You can order the components to create your own antipasto platter, much like ordering a sushi tray. Husband ordered the orecchiette with sausage and mozzarella, Son ordered the risotto with sausage and I ordered the Sausage pizza with roasted fennel. Do we see a pattern here? Give the South its due. We have great barbecue and our own particular culinary specialties but good Italian food isn't one of them. We all love Italian sausage!

The servers bring the dishes as they are ready so that one dish arrives at a time instead of all the plates being ready at the same time. This worked out fine because we each shared the others' dish. The orecchiette was my absolute favorite. The sausage was tasty without being dominant and mozzarella made the tomato sauce creamy. The risotto was also good, it just isn't one of my favorite dishes on a good day. Our wine was excellent. Alas, my pizza never showed up. They offered to make us another one and we could have sat there drinking another ½ liter of wine while waiting but we had promised to meet Mother-in-law's side of the family in Indiana in just over an hour. So we settled up the bill, dropped Son off at the concert with a prearranged meetup spot and hustled back to the parking garage to pick up our car.

We had to pay for the parking at a machine in the lobby, only $18, which isn't bad unless you come from a place where parking is always free. Descending the steps to the parking garage was the first moment when we realized we hadn't noted where we'd parked or even what street we'd entered from. After wandering around about 15 minutes, a kindly attendant in a golf cart offered to drive us around to find our rental car, which I couldn't presently recall what make or model or color it was. But we found the Grand Prix all in good time and our rescuer asked where our payment receipt was. "What receipt?" we asked and soon we were back in the golf cart racing back to the kiosk to retrieve the errant receipt. What a nice man, he wouldn't accept a tip for his trouble. Chicago people are very friendly and helpful by nature.

Husband was stressed because we were going to be late meeting Mother-in-law's relatives, but they were very gracious and we were less than an hour late – nearly on time in our normal timetable. They had prepared hamburgers, hot dogs and a variety of salads so it turned out to be a good thing that my pizza had not arrived. I don't know either side of my husband's family very well. I've met the cousins of course and vaguely know how many kids each has but I really don't know them well enough to ask any intelligent questions. As it turns out, this is not a problem with that side of the family. They talked nonstop, sometimes all at the same time, regaling us with vacation adventures and family history and tidbits from everyday life. There's a first grandchild due imminently and there was a big shouting match about the parents-to-be's decision not to have the baby baptized until it reached the age to decide for itself which religion to be baptized into. This discussion soon expanded to a shouting match about the Pope's failure to stop the priests from preying on children – or whether this was even one of his responsibilities depending on which side of the argument you were on. Somehow Bush and Iraq wove their way in and out of the discussion before finally the parents-to-be decided the argument was closed. I have strong opinions about all those topics and am not typically one to keep quiet in a rousing debate, but it seemed sitting back and observing all the happenings was the right decision. As the party wound down and each person departed, kisses and hugs were given all around. Everyone kisses everyone. There was no sense of resentment or hurt feelings, just genuine love and affection for everyone. If that was my parents and brothers and sisters, we would have all stormed out and wouldn't be talking to each other six months from now.

After picking up our son we began our search for a parking space near the place I had chosen for dinner. From our restaurant guide I liked the description for Cafe Spiaggia and it did not disappoint. Located in the Magnificent Mile on Michigan Avenue, it was the more casual version of Spiaggia. Small, dark and beautifully decorated, it created a sense of intimacy and relaxation. We had a glass of Chianti at the small bar while waiting for a table and the Maitre D' stopped by every few minutes letting us know of the progress of our table preparations.

Once seated, our waiter had a brief scurry to find us a bottle of the Chianti we had been enjoying at the bar. Another bottle was not to be found, but he recommended a slightly more expensive alternative which we all agreed was the best yet, although slightly more expensive was actually 33% more. We each selected appetizers to share: beef Carpaccio, fresh mozzarella with roasted San Marzano tomatoes, olive oil and basil, and tuna tartar with capers, olives and marinated rice beans. The Carpaccio, one of our standby favorites, while good, was actually the worst of the dishes. The tuna tartar was excellent! For entrees we chose: Roasted venison with creamy polenta, baked sand dabs with Tuscan greens, and roasted chicken with potatoes and Tuscan greens. The waiter quietly assured us each choice was better than the other, and all in all, we had chosen the absolute three best selections from the entire menu. And he was right! We shared all around and each one us loved every dish. The Tuscan greens were my favorite. I couldn't tell exactly what they were, probably a type of kale, but they had a taste similar to collard greens. They were tender and sweet. The polenta was great too with a cheesy undertone.

Although stuffed, we succumbed to our excellent waiter's suggestion to try a desert. We settled on two to share: fresh strawberries with mascarpone and strawberry gelato and profiteroles with hazelnut gelato and chocolate sauce. The maitre d' apologized that our dessert was taking too long to prepare although we were unaware of a delay. Our waiter brought us a glass of a sparkling white wine by way of apology – all this just minutes after we had place our order. Although the profiteroles were a little tough, both desserts were heavenly. What a wonderful dining experience – Café Spiaggia far exceeded our expectations!

In Chicago, sleeping with two men

Well, really, not sleeping with two men. My husband, my son and I are on vacation in Chicago. There's a family reunion next weekend and since there's so much to do in Chicago, we got here a week early. We decided we'd rather allocate our money for food and entertainment – as we tend to do – and share a cheap hotel room. At 3:00 this morning I realized this was a huge mistake. My grown son's snoring is louder than his Dad's by at least a factor of 10. I had the sense to bring ear plugs, but they were powerless against the ear splitting decibels of his snores. I had my ipod turned to full blast and that helped a little until the power ran out.

And the pillow – oy! The difference between my solitary little pillow and a 1 lb. sack of frozen peas was temperature. That is truly the worst pillow I have ever had. Tonight I'm ordering up about 10 extra pillows.

We arrived around 8:30 last night. We were supposed to go a graduation party for the daughter of one of the cousins but missed our exit off 94 and ended up downtown. At the intersection of Milwaukee and Ogden, we had to wait for a parade of about 200 hundred cyclists – most of whom were naked! What a hoot! I guess it was a Critical Mass ride. The temperature was probably in the low 60's, so there went some pretty hearty cyclists!

We missed the graduation party and came out to the hotel room, checked in, grabbed a quick dinner at TGIFriday's and called it a day. My son said that if that was the worst meal we had in Chicago, he'd be happy. I suspect it will be. Starting today, nothing but real Chicago-style food.