A new love

I hate electric stoves. One of my favorite parts of living on Arsenal was having an old fashioned, gas dragon, burn your hairs off your arms if your not careful, the gas inspector telling you they probably wouldn't pass something like that in new construction, but that you're grandfathered in. It wasn't vintage,just old and cranky, fart up the air if you let a wisp of air past its pilot lights, and sometimes sneakily drift to sleep, if you let the flame too low, or skip to 11 on the dial when you first start her up.  The Wyoming estate has only a ceramic stove top, that glows, almost for effect, I think. But the element reminded me so much of the perfect red warm glow of marshmallow roasting coals. We made the most amazing toasted marshmallows. It makes me think I should always have one around, but it would keep me inside too often, rather than working up the perfect coals outside, in the snow, circled by a starry winter night.