What Happened to Marshmallows?

I hope you were able to enjoy some holiday fun this Memorial Day Weekend. Also to pause and consider what it is we celebrate and mourn. Blessings, abundant blessings on all those good folk who serve, to allow us such freedoms.

Handy Man and I have alternated between very busy and very restful to our own tune this weekend. A tune I find most pleasurable. Due to endless rain and endless May activities, little had been done in the garden or yard. I was out by 7:00 this morning, planting corn, bulbs, flowers, etc. Handy Man helped with some unwanted flora that needed trimming and I drug it away.

This afternoon, we started on the house that has been just as horribly neglected. A lot to show for a day.

Tonight, a fire on the hill and some hot dogs to roast.

My mom always called me a firebug and actually worried about my love of a fire. It's one of those things that are hard to explain, but one of my great joys is poking in a fire.

I have quite an overactive mind. I fear I have limited success in quieting its roamings. A fire does that for me. The dancing, colorful flames entertain me with all their ease of movement, never still or dull. It seems my worries flee. If I had a fireplace, I'd never get a thing done. So Handy Man frequently fixes me up fire on the hill.

Handy Man is not quite so entertained by the fire, so it is necessary to feed him. How do people his size hold five hotdogs? Some of them with relish and onions, others with onions and his favorite Fire on the Ridge hot sauce he's eaten non-stop since I gifted it to him on his birthday.

Then, of course, marshmallows.Except those deceptive looking white puff balls are not really marshmallows. It is a trick. I want to know who is responsible! They say marshmallows on the lablel. They feel like a marshmallow and even smell rather marshmallowy. The similarity ends there.

I know about marshmallows. I'm not particularly fond of them in their room temperature state. S'mores don't do much for me either. I just think you can't improve on either Hershey's chocolate, or a perfectly roasted marshmallow. Don't bother detracting from perfection with a lowly graham cracker.

They have to be roasted very slowly. Then the outside is quite brown, not burned. You can pull off the entire brown crust, crispy outside, sticky inside, dee-wish-us, except when you can't. And you can't. I think it's been about two years since I've had a good roasted marshmallow. What happened? What is that alien marshmallow form in familiar Kraft bag? And why do I keep trying?

Not only are they alien, they are dangerous. I wasn't even close to flame when the stupid thing spontaneously combusted. As is my usual wont, I brought it to my lips to blow out, then pass onto Handy Man, who eats such things. Except, it isn't really a marshmallow, so I didn't get it that far before one jumped off the stick onto my ankle and the other my wrist, which now sport blisters for all my trouble. Fuss and bother.

So, I guess marshmallows have gone the way of Wink, perfect french fries, and other foods I've long had a fondness for. Boo, Hoo!