After a big beautiful swim at the lake, we decide a fire is a great idea as the sun sets and the full moon rises over the mountain ridge.
Mom, Mini and Nora all hunch by the fire pit and patiently roast their marshmallows to the point of fluffy browned opulent expansion. The white puffs are so heavy with their own lusciousness they dare to languorously slide right off the stick and into the sweet quick fire. Mouse and I go for broke. We poke the mallow way too close, light its head on fire, blow it off, stick it between two crackers and a square of chocolate and MUNCH! Nora looks up, a bit miffed at the speed of her cousin, “How many S’mores have you had, Mouse?” Mouse bites into her black sticky yumminess with glee and shrugs: she doesn’t know, she doesn’t care.
Mom is still carefully turning her mallow. It’s a work of art now. The brown is perfectly even on all sides. She explains that when she was a kid she was the queen marshmallow toaster for the whole family. Of course she was. I ask, “Mom, I bet when you were a little girl you used to save all your Halloween candy too, right? Hoard it until Christmas?” She nods vigorously, “Of course!” Mini? Little Mini looks up eventually, her gaze fixed on her mallow with full concentration. “Yes.” She says.
Well, I know Nora saves hers so long we have to throw it out because it goes stale. Mouse? She licks her fingers and smiles devilishly, “Why wait?” she giggles. “Sometimes I eat the candies Mini doesn’t want.”
I chuckle in return. “Yeah, I used to do that to your Mom. One year I made a small hole in the bottom of her nougat filled large egg and sucked it out and pretended hers was hollow.” Mom looks at me disapprovingly (still) and shakes her head.
“I got in trouble for that.”
Mouse pops two marshmallows on one stick, ready for a quick efficient double burn.
“I read somewhere that kids who save their halloween candy end up being fiscally responsible when they grow up.”
Mom smiles. She is very wise with money and her marshmallow is absolutely perfect. She delicately pulls it into a blanket of graham and chocolate and hands it rather seductively to her Hubby. “Want one, honey?”
Hmph.
I can do that too.
Sure I can.
I grab a marshmallow and stick it on my prong. I circle the fire pit to find the right spot. Got it. I edge my stick in. Taking too long taking too long this is boring taking too long taking too long – I stick it closer near the coals.
“Careful Cia…those coals are hot…” cautions Hub. And just out of plain stubbornness I keep it in but rotate it like a competition rotisserie. It starts to smoke. This is where I go wrong. Impatient. Stubborn. Do you want to be fiscally responsible or not?!
I listen to Hub. I pull it half way out and wait. And wait. And I think of a group investment plan a few of us are cooking up. And I think of updating my will. And I think of the passive income I’ve earned this year and…what do you know…I’ve make a perfect marshmallow. 
