I had a pretty blissful day. (I have a pretty blissful life right now.) Woke up, watched Mad Men, biked to a tiny little island, did yoga in a big sunny studio, walked around a market, bought fancy food, ate a good lunch, read a good book. Biked home. Read. Went to yoga again. Made dinner. Life is good.

I’d somehow never been to Granville Island, the tiny little triangle of land between the two peninsular blobs that make up the city and one of the main Vancouvery attractions. And most importantly, home to Granville Public Market, aka Pike’s Place: Vancouver Edition. Slightly less of a fish-obsessed mad-house; still filled with delicious things and piles of photogenic flowers. (When I’m rich, I will blow so much money on flowers. My house will be ever-filled with flowers.)

I steeled myself against the allure of the market, but of course, despite my very full fridge, I bought just a few super-necessary necessities. Local honeycrisp apples, teeny tiny little adorable baby squash, “Real Winnipeg Cream Cheese” (curiosity got the best of me on that one), and a big, lovely twist of fresh spaghetti. Which led to spaghetti daydreams, which led to meatball daydreams, of course. (I know I’ve blogged about my mom’s meatballs before; highlight of my childhood. Coming home to a pan of sizzling meatballs, pure joy.) So one more purchase: spicy Italian sausage and ground pork, which the butcher told me is the perfect combo for meatball bliss.

(Weird mirror image thing goin’ on here… any long-time blog-lovers remember this other grape photo?)

Then after all that biking and yoga-ing and shopping, hunger set in, and I stopped by a sweet little deli for a bit of non-fried and extra-good Pad Thai and some roasted sweet potatoes. Which I devoured, reading a real good book and tourist-gawking. (And hoping that my bike helmet and yoga mat slung across my back marked me as a non-loser/tourist.)

Then an (uphill…) bike home with bags swinging all over the place (didn’t think that one through on the buying-and-biking front.) Then a windy afternoon of homeworking in a coffee shop and yoga with my favorite extra-extra-cheerful yoga teacher, then home for my all-day-long-anticipated spaghetti and meatballs. I may have meditated about meatballs during savasana… not sure if that’s exactly kosher, but hey. Overcome by hunger and joy, I didn’t take a single picture of the meal so you’ll have to take my word for it. Real good. Fresh pasta is one of the best things in the whole wide world. Especially with half a jar of smuggled-from-the-states Newman’s Marinara (another one of the best things) and a bunch of wilted baby spinach and a few crispy little dreamy meatballs perched on top.

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