New Year’s Resolution

I’ve booted carbs from my dietary family — formerly beloved children: pastry, pasta, rice, and bread, now expurgated and currently residing in the food orphanage — adoption later? Perhaps some Daddy Warbucks will chose these orphaned carbs, yet I can’t complain about this new Neanderthal diet of ribeye, chicken, and even creamy camembert — okay, so the last is very modern fat. Barb boiled a pound of linguini tonight — a New Year’s treat — anti-resolution if ever there was one, and while carbsteam loped upwards to the ceiling of our sunflower kitchen, I descended the heart-pine basement staircase for a tub of homemade pesto — entombed for six months in the chest freezer — ever since the genesis of this no-carb diet, which has, in fact, sent hundreds of my abdominal fat cells to either hell or heaven, who can be sure? And so this New Year’s backslide — a slithering Devil’s brew of garlic, parmesan, walnuts, basil leaves and virgin olive oil topping linguini, like pines crowning the Sierra — why wasn’t my full plate at dinner enough? Why at 10:15 PM did I get out of bed, only to return with all the unconsumed pestoed pasta, which I ate sitting in the dark in our queen-sized bed — warm sleeping body at my side, and because it was a new year, I could only chuckle when I dropped a long, oily strand on our just changed flannel sheets.

The only thing I’ve missed more than carbs, is our kids going off to college, but tomorrow is a new day and carb-free — if I’m lucky.

Gary D. Grossman
What I Meant to Say Was…
2023, Impspired Press
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1915819571?