The best, most perfect kind of vacation

New York beckoned and I answered its siren call. Who could resist a day and view like this?

 City Hall and Mayor Bloomberg are over there.

And this?

The stunning Woolworth building

And this?

Corned beef sandwich at 2nd Avenue Deli

By the time I arrived on Friday, the previous weekend's snowpocalypse had long ago melted and blue skies, skyscrapers and Tom Colicchio beckoned. (I know I should shut up about Tom Colicchio, but I really am obsessed with "Top Chef". If Padma Lakshmi had a restaurant in NYC, my dad would not have gotten his pastrami sandwich at 2nd Avenue Deli, birthday or no birthday.)

In the scheme of family vacations with my sister and parents, I would rate this among our best. We bickered almost never and we all were infatuated with every step of the weekend which was designed for my dad, ably planned by my sister and aided by little sis. Activities included a dinner of slurpy soup dumplings and magnificently mysterious fish head stew at Joe's Shanghai, tender, tender pastrami sandwiches at 2nd Avenue Deli, a weepy, joyous experience watching "Billy Elliott" on Broadway (if you want real inspiration, go see those little kids who play Billy leap around the stage) and a luscious meal of suckling pig, meaty duck and a flaky pear tart at Craft. There was, sadly, no sign of chef Tom, but then the hostess handed us each a beautiful little carrot muffin to go after dinner, so all was forgiven.

All that divinity, plus post-dinner drinks with my college friend Leigh, required some serious recuperation on Sunday with the New York Times. I adored lying in bed reading the Sunday Styles section in the city that produces that awesome paper.

But I needed one more thing to call the weekend/day complete. Sunday was my first trip to Kula, my sister's regular yoga studio. Kula is a down-to-earth, lovely studio located at the top of three steep flights of stairs in Tribeca. There's no sign. My sister warned me that Nikki's two-hour class would leave me in a puddle on the floor. Mission mostly accomplished. Nikki took us through some serious backbending to start, and wove standing balancing poses into a flow that occasionally was reminiscent of Baptiste and Ashtanga series, but mostly went where Nikki wanted it to go. My mind twisted in circles trying to follow her path and remember some of it for my classes while still trying to do some of what she was asking, which wasn't easy to begin with. And really, I wanted to sit and watch. There were some really lovely advanced practitioners in that class, who do many things I still aspire to, like hold a handstand as long as they want, arc gracefully into chaturanga or do the splits, or hanumanasana, while holding their back leg. My body rejects splits. I have overcome many physical barriers since I started practicing yoga, but my body won't budge on splits. At least it makes life more interesting.

We followed class with a sun-soaked stroll to brunch with some of my sister's yoga friends. I love seeing yoga in action, building community and intention with lots of love. Her community is vibrant and amazing. But it also made me eager to return to my own supportive, incredible yoga community. New York, you were pretty great, but my heart belongs to Seattle.