Death by Food. Rebirth by Yoga.

I think my grandmother is going to kill me.

Not consciously or anything. But if she keeps making these delicious goodies, either the diabetes will get me or the trying-to-curb-the-overeating-and-just-stabbing-myself-with-a-fork-instead will.

Tonight we had ham, bacon and cheese au gratin potatoes, peas....and fresh blackberry pie. As in, Grandma picked the berries this morning fresh. A couple of days ago, we had chicken and dumplings. And brownies. Triple-chocolate fudge brownies.

I am a chocoholic and I'm not even trying to reform, yet weight loss is a major goal. The woman knows this. One word, people: sabotage.

Still not convinced? Okay, try this: a few days ago, Grandma, my great-aunt and I visited Costco (usually a dangerous excursion to begin with, since it's highly likely you'll spend at least $100). We took a little trip through the produce section, which just happens to be right next to the bakery section.

I was a good girl and passed up the cakes, the cookies, the cupcakes that are the size of my face, the strawberry pie thing with tons of whipped cream, even the fresh cinnamon rolls.

But the Boston cream pie--something I've never actually tried--looked like a woman seducing you from across the room, slowly sliding her fingers in and out of her mouth and even taking off her wedding ring to give the illusion that she'll give up just about anything for one bout of hot, writhing deliciousness if only you'll come over and pick her up.

I'm not kidding. This dessert, with its fudgey-looking icing, its moist yellow cake, its creamy custard, frickin' spread its legs for me and invited me to come play.

And what does my loving, wonderful, totally-supportive-in-every-other-way grandmother do? She tries to guilt me into getting it for her. She argues heavily with my great-aunt and me, and then she keeps bringing it up every single day since saying that she can't believe that I gave it up. And oh, in case I'd forgotten, it was only $10 for a pie the size of Clarkston.

Thanks Grandma. Here I am, trying to keep to my vow of celibacy from food, and you're telling me that you can't live without it.

But that's okay. It's totally fine, even though the stupid thing haunts me in my dreams and will probably not only be there again on the next trip but will also probably end up being the last thing I think of on my death bed. I'm cool with it.

Because my body has started to remember yoga.

I don't know if it's the whole body-memory thing or if my body was just grateful to be doing something that feels nice, but when I attended a yoga class this morning, my body perked right up and said to my mind, "Oh, I remember this. Why didn't you tell me we were supposed to be doing the downward dog pose? Just because it's a different sequence doesn't mean I can't be accomodating."

Once my body got past the whole whining-about-exercise thing, it started to recall the breathing, the strength and flexibility required to satisfy the stretch. It began to remember the state of consciousness needed and told the mind about it, which also started to remember the previous classes in the Tri-Cities and settled into focusing every part of my being into a practice it'd forgotten about.

In short, my yoga practice was reborn. My body and mind didn't mind the new sequences, the new setting, the new everything because I'd started to become more at ease with not just the class but also the focus I tend to reserve only for my writing.

The contentment from this revelation is soothingly peaceful. The mindfulness that comes with the practice seems to last throughout the day, making me more aware of not only my surroundings but also myself, and how both interact together.

I know--yoga in America is at least a little blasphemous when compared to what yoga is supposed to be. But if I'm using yoga to find "God", to connect with myself and figure out if that truly is the same thing, doesn't that do the original religion justice?

I suppose the thought is more of an irritant than anything else, because it's not like I'm going to give this up again because of it. It's good to know that dedication and faith can come easily, if you believe in it.

It can't be wrong--the food or the yoga--if it makes me happy and peaceful, right?