Standing in my kitchen tonight, the oddest thought crossed my mind while I was making myself a cup of hot chocolate. You see, I had suddenly remembered that in the high cabinet above the stove, I had squirreled away a pack of tiny, minature marshmallows. Grabbing my favorite pair of arm extenders (kitchen tongs) I managed to get enough of the package to drop them into my waiting hands below. That was precisely the moment when my eyes spied the toothpicks and the idea was born.

Everyday life hardly calls for marshmallows in the mixture, and I must admit that I'm not exactly their biggest fan. However, I couldn't help but remember the good times me and the mallos have had. Singing camp fire songs at Camp Glengara back in my Girl Scouting days, family vacations spent rusticating at camp in the Adirondacks and occasional summer nights when S'mores go hand in hand with lightning bugs, distant music and a sweet, cool breeze.

So there I was, standing in my kitchen, loading mini marshmallows onto a multi-colored toothpick. Trying as I did so, not to let KC see what I was doing, since it required playing with fire. What a silly picture I must have been, torching marshmallows. But mmmm, it was as good as I remembered ... Even despite the fact that I was missing the chocolate and the graham cracker that would have made the experience totally euphoric.

It's like they say, you're only as old as you feel ... I think I'll stick with 8.