We made tacos for dinner on Friday night. Tacos are always fun and messy so it was a good meal. Not just in the “warm your belly” sense, but also in a “warm your heart” kind of way as we joked and spilled and passed the fixings around.
After dinner, my husband brought in some wood for the fireplace and we decided to make some s’mores to top off the night. This being the first time we made them in the fireplace, we weren’t sure if the kids would be able to sit there and cook the marshmallows. My son lit his marshmallow on fire. My daughter decided her face was too hot. It was then my job to cook them all and the kids would take care of the real work…eating them.
I pierced the sugary glob and rested the stick in just the right spot for even browning. As the flames danced around, I started to lose myself in the thought process of describing everything I was seeing. Between the colors and the movement, my brain was getting a workout and I thought about what might make a good post later.
Then I started to drift off. My mind wandered down a path of memories instead. As a kid, when we had backyard barbeques, the kids would roast marshmallows over the charcoal when dinner was done. We took orders from all the family members. How many? How well do you like them cooked? It was a task we took seriously.
Without realizing it, my memories swirled and curled, dreamily, like the smoke rising from the fire. I had visions of my grandmother snacking on nearly burned gooey goodness that almost always ended up on her shirt. We were all sticky messes by the end of the evening, but our bellies were as full as our hearts. It was not unlike the taco dinner we just finished.
Then I realized, falling back to these moments proved to be a much better exercise than watching flames flit about a pile of wood. The fire was just the backdrop.
Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality when my husband said, “You really just like doing that, don’t you?”
Babe…you are so right.