Saying goodbye to takeout

Finally, my refrigerator contains more than condiments. There's no disturbing echo in my cabinets. I can cook up more than a scheme.

Oh, how low I've sunk. Growing up, every corner of our kitchen was packed with food. Once a week, Mom would roll up in her minivan -- back when minivans were an exciting new concept and the saviors of busy moms everywhere -- and honk a few times. That was the signal for the five of us to fall out and form a grocery bag convoy, carrying bag after bag into the house.

There was always plenty of everything to eat. Even the deep freeze in the garage was packed.

So what happened to me? Well, no pesky children around demanding to eat more than a package of crackers left over from last week's takeout. And I'm utterly impervious to the needs of my house guests. "Can I get you some ketchup and a couple cocktail olives?" I offer, but there aren't ever any takers.

With opposite schedules at offices 45 minutes apart, The Other Half and I are rarely together. (My friends think I'm making him up. They wonder who it is I got to pose with me in those framed snapshots.) So I've become a slave to various restaurant delivery men, but not in the fun, dirty movie way. More in the sad, just-another-obese-American way.

Just last week, the gyros guy said, "Well, hello again!" I almost didn't tip him, but I was afraid he wouldn't come back.

But on Sunday, I ventured to the gigantic discount department/grocery store in my neighborhood and spent an hour and $100 on groceries. Frankly, $100 does not get you as many groceries as you might think, but it was more groceries than my apartment had seen in some time.

The reason for my turnaround? I am taking yet another crack at organized dieting.

This time, my employer is subsidizing part of the cost, and the meetings are in the same office complex, right next door to the building where I work.

"There's absolutely no reason for me not to do it now. I just have to walk next door," I told a co-worker, who is a shameless smoker and eats whatever she wants. I absolutely adore her.

"I don't know," she said. "It gets pretty hot out there in the summer."

But that 50-foot walk isn't going to deter me. I've got my healthy groceries, I've got my diet plan and I've got determination.

I've also got a Krispy Kreme store in the middle of my commute, but I'm going to try to ignore that in favor of some healthy treats at home. Like cereal bars! Mmmmmm.

I hadn't seen an episode of "Friends" for three years, but like the rest of the lemmings, I gathered with some of my own friends at a party for the series finale. Turns out I hadn't missed a whole lot. Phoebe and Joey were still dumb, Ross and Rachel were still trying to get together and everyone was still impossibly beautiful.

Sitting in front of the giant screen, the cast laying their keys on the counter and taking their last walk out of that famous apartment, I had a poignant thought: Gee. I enjoyed this a lot more in my 20s.

Heidi Hall is a former managing editor of the Southeast Missourian who now lives in St. Petersburg, Fla.