Mr. Darcy has it Right -- Most Ardently

You know when the pieces of your life somehow untangle themselves, if only for a moment, so you can see them each clearly enough to evaluate which belong, which don't, if any need rearranging or require transformation or swift expulsion? For me, last week culminated in an epiphany of this sort; a clarity I knew existed, but had yet to reveal itself and its imperative nature until I let it.

Without my usual domestic responsibilities, as my daughter is currently with her Daddy in Edmonton while I fulfill my role as double Maid of Honour, I actually had time to reflect. I taught, practiced, partied, played, rested, relaxed and soaked up all the goodness I could get. I kept only the best company and was constantly content. Last week is up there with the best I've ever had -- and I was no where but my usual Vancouver haunts. The difference was the way in which I experienced them -- with a whole new appreciation; an openness; an optimistic warmth that lit me up from within.

I have always believed we create our own happiness; you forge the path you want or accept a life unfulfilled. Because life is short and so much of it is ridden with potholes, I choose to relish the smooth parts, even luxuriate in them. Having experienced that level of unbridled enjoyment, whenever possible, I rarely allow myself to expect less. As I draw another year closer to turning 30, I've come to acknowledge it's about time I grab hold of what I need and want before it's too late.

Positive changes already abound from my ambition to live ardently. The past few days, I have laughed to the point of tears almost once a day, felt passion, warmth and compassion in pleasantly unexpected places, worked my body only as much as I wanted, not felt I needed, exercised my mind and taught myself to hear and see things and people differently, watched zero television (with the exception of The Bachelorette finale because -- let's be serious -- that was important stuff), consumed only what I consider to be the best food and wine -- because, otherwise, what's the point? I have never felt more relaxed and satisfied. Reuniting with my daughter tomorrow will complete the picture and further elevate the appreciation I have developed for everything I have. It will also mean less selfish time, but more unconditional love. Fair trade.

Last night in Christian's class, I locked out in standing bow -- two feet in one line! I struggled and grunted my way through what I thought was (with my hamstrings) impossible and then found the sweet spot of letting go, the place where limitations cease to exist. As I started to give up, I chose instead to laugh at myself, and with a gentle nudge from Christian, kicked with everything I had. The aftermath of that class was the most relaxed contentment I could have imagined -- and it continued all night. Maybe it was the yummy Mexican food Dad took me and my sister for and the margaritas we downed or the Caper's dark-chocolate-raspberry tarts we devoured while taking in a late show of The Change-Up -- Either way, I'll have another of the same please. If Tuesday nights can be as fantastic as mine was and last week can be a game-changer, every day can be made to matter; to light the soul -- or at least try.

Hometown Glory

Waiting in the exhilarating Edmonton International Airport (it's so modern and stimulating, there's one Starbucks) to board my flight to Vancouver, I take way too big a mouthful of divine date square just as Mr. Handsome with a mischievous grin comes over to pass the time with idle morning conversation. Isn't that always the way? At least he seems entertained as I struggle to utter a response to his greeting with as much grace as I can muster in the moment. Fortunately, I'm not here to exercise my flirting skills.

I'm literally vibrating in anticipation of spending an entire month in my home sweet home -- as much of it at the beach as possible -- in the company of people and places I hold dear. I will, however, be without my mini-me, whom I have left in the capable hands of daycare and Daddy. This is the first time I have chosen to allow myself more than a few hours of adult time and, while it should prove to be a much-needed respite from domestic doldrums, I did experience several pangs of anxiety over being without my Maya for two weeks. I'll just have to party extra hard to compensate for stings of loneliness.

Shouldn’t be too difficult considering I’ve got the first of two epic bachelorette parties this weekend and at this point, I've planned tequila and cupcakes for Friday night’s menu. As it has been at least a good month since my highest stilettos have seen a dance floor, I’m overdue for a serious night (or two or three) of dropping it down. Watch out Buffalo Bill's – we ladies tend to bring with us shenanigans that are both raucous and unpredictable. Last time we graced the crowd at Bill's, I was pretty prego and threw my first drink ever on some idiot whose physically aggressive flirting methods merited him nothing more than a wet crotch and a police escort out of the bar. What can I say? I enjoy a little drama every now and then – and it was only club soda, so I knew it would wash out of his Sevens.

This weekend’s anniversary girls’ getaway (I seem to end up in Whistler for the weekend with my ladies about the same time every summer) is sure to include some theatrical moments, as any solid bachelorette weekend should, but as I won’t be an incubus of raging pregnancy hormones, and am more than prepared to deal with at least a few character-building run-ins with alcohol-fueled dudes, there should be no need for using cocktails as weapons (unless of course five girls sharing a bathroom becomes more than my limited patience can bear).

I will, however, spend a great deal of time wielding whatever kitchen gadgets I can find to keep from living on takeout or developing a vitamin deficiency staying at my Mom’s. No offense Mom, but we all know you treat muffins as an essential square meal. And as I have been honing my culinary prowess of late, prepare yourself to be highly impressed.

This past Saturday, in an effort to conquer the ever-intimidating poaching of eggs and making hollandaise from scratch, I made eggs benny. After going through only three or four eggs, attempting to delicately drop them into boiling, vinegar-infused water, I mastered the flick of the wrist required for such delicate artistry, poached perfect eggs, laid them atop whole-wheat English muffins with avocado and tomato, bathing my creation in a healthy dollop of lemon- dill-yogurt hollandaise. Check it out – I complemented my all-time favourite brunch feast with rosemary pan-fried potatoes.

Delicious. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up – actually six – as Maya and Nimrod heartily approved. Watch out world – my bistro attached to a yoga/dance studio on the beach somewhere fabulous is coming. For the moment, I’ll have to dazzle on a smaller scale.

I should say, “watch out Vancouver” – those who know and appreciate my particular brand of sharing (sometimes too much of) myself with almost everyone in my path would agree: I tend to leave a mark. Hopefully, I’ll give and get as much as I need from this visit. I’m teaching a few classes at Bikram Yoga Richmond, dropping in to a few classes at Harbour Dance Centre and eating/drinking my way through as many of my hot spots as possible. So ready for this. I think I’d better start with some really great chocolate.

Yummy Mommy Survival

In homage to my Vancouver nostalgia (which I will always have, irrespective of the recent lack of decorum shown by hockey enthusiasts whose fierce passions could have been put to much better use), it has been pissing rain in Edmonton for a good week now. Such inclement weather here is unexpected and, however satisfyingly juicy the accompanying humidity has made the yoga room, it has been fueling my disdain for this city, which having recently plateaued, is again climbing steadily.

At least I got to while away some of my weekend with amusing people generous enough to include me in their circle. Saturday morning, Maya, Aba and Mommy braved the torrential showers to meet a girlfriend of mine and her wee one at the downtown Farmer's Market for some comforting coffee and perusal of the goods. Soaked, but smiling, we brought our fine finds home to throw into one of my infamously decadent omelets and a chocolate-raisin-pumpkin remix of the cake I made a couple of weeks ago; in this one, as an ode to Jewish honey cake -- just because Sunday was Father's Day and I figured I could stand to show my husband a little appreciation -- I used honey instead of sugar. The result was sweetly spiced, sinful perfection; check it out.

Yes, it looks much like a giant muffin -- my mother would be so proud; one of her essential daily food groups. Deceptively simple in appearance, it was a wealth of gooey goodness and is already gone.

Having spent the bulk of Saturday afternoon cooking, I was more than ready to slip into something a little more glamorous than my Sevens and sip something a little harder than caffeine. Fortunately, a fabulous friend of mine was having a gathering at his elegantly edgy bachelor pad; so, shortly after Maya's imaginary bedtime (which I am determined to make a reality at some point), rocking my choice black suede stiletto booties, I trotted off to wine, dine, schmooze and throw back a couple of shots with an eclectic, entertaining and delightfully inclusive group -- my natural habitat.

After indulging in the welcome reprieve from several nights glued to the couch with my babe and her bottle, I thought about the far too many mothers who allow themselves to be wholly consumed serving the darlings they bring into the world and forget to prioritize themselves. If spewing forth what keeps me going serves no other purpose than to nudge even one mom into taking care of herself, my blog has served its purpose. A gentle reminder that sweatpants are not to be worn as a daily fashion statement (even the designer ones) and manicures require maintenance can enable a lost soul to find herself again. Sure, life can be harried and overwhelming -- but so can unkempt brows. In an existence of endless diapers, sleepless nights, food smeared everywhere and dying romance, self-preservation equals survival.