It's January, colder than a witch's *%#!* outside. There's snow on my deck, more to come. The Christmas paraphernalia is gathered in the middle of the living room waiting patiently to be hauled downstairs when I get a whim. And I can't stop thinking about s'mores - the crowned jewel of August campfire fare. I'm not even a fan. I enjoy most of the components, but not necessarily together (much like a BLT...only BLTs are completely inedible). The grahams are crisp and dry (or oftentimes stale, the summertime box residing in the pantry a month between trips to camp), the marshmallow charred and sticky, and the chocolate hard and cold because you just can't let the whole concoction sit long enough for it to soften due to its messy nature. I hate a food that I have to gobble down in three seconds simply because if I don't its ooze will encompass my hand or skid down the front of my shirt. I like to linger. I'm a lingerer-er-er.
For friends that came to our New Year's Eve bonfire last weekend, I made a s'more pizza pie. Pizza crust topped with some of that schmancy white and dark chocolate peanut butter, mini marshmallows, and chocolate chips...then baked to perfection. I think it could be improved upon, but it managed to disappear into the mouths of the seven dreamy-eyed children (and some wine-eyed adults as well).
I once accidentally sent a fiery ball of mallow flying onto my husband's jean-clad leg up in Pittsburg, NH. He had to put out the fire with his bare hand. He wasn't pleased. He's still not pleased, some thirteen or so years later. But it's hilarious to this day. Jess and Steve (my BFF and her hubby) will back me up on that. They gave us a s'more Christmas ornament that year, so we wouldn't forget (we wouldn't). They'll also tell you my husband sounds like a wild gobbler when he's vomiting (repeatedly) lakeside in the middle of the Vermont woods. That earned an ornament too (Jess, she's a crafty one). Ah, good times...
Jess and Steve didn't make it to the bonfire last Friday. They celebrated in a hospital room instead, nursing Steve's broken hip and forced to ponder the possible cause, hoping it was no more than coincidence and an icy patch. Sometimes life just craps in your party hat and hocks a loogie in your kazoo.
I hate it when someone you love so much is the one to give you perspective, to make your own daily trials seem trivial. That job should be strictly held by strangers on the evening news or friends of friends of friends...the victims of fires and floods and tragic accidents. Because when its somebody close, you don't care about the perspective...you just get worried, you get angry, and you get remorseful. Remorseful because maybe you haven't seen that antagonistic, funny, sweet, stocky, red-headed guy in a year. A whole year?! Is that possible!? Yeah, it's possible, because you also went 6 whole months without seeing his wife, your best friend, when they only live an hour away. Pardon my French, but if there were ever a need for a "WTF!?" it's when you realize THAT.
But out of the worry, the sadness, the anger, and the remorse, grows a determination...to help where you can, even if it's just a daily e-mail of encouragement, a (heaven forbid) phone call, a dinner delivery now and then, some dirty dishes scrubbed...to let them know you care and that you'd turn the world over and make it all good again if it was within your power.
And so, this year, my #1 new year's resolution is not to a have a trimmer waistline or be in less debt (those'll run a close 2nd and 3rd, of course)...but to spend time with those that matter most to me. Having drinks and lunches and dinners , watching movies, sledding, shopping, swimming, sitting around campfires (with or without flaming mallows), together laughing and making memories.
Life is short, and that's the stuff o' life. I want s'more of that.
