Awhile back someone invited me to a bi-monthly outdoor gathering.  I was happy and surprised but asked if it would be OK if I brought my nine year old along.  My husband works late hours and I will not leave her alone.  Given that we are still in the midst of a pandemic I try to be cautious with any type of socializing — whether for her, myself, or with my husband’s extended family.  They said she’d be the only kid but that she was welcome.  I assured them, as an Episcopalian (or “Whiskeypalian”) she was no stranger to seeing wine.  I TRULY did not think my little one would want to go but I asked.  Before I had even finished she’d run upstairs and donned her winter hat, coat, gloves and boots; jumping up and down and pronouncing she was ready!  Blinking, I said I would put on a wrap and get a bottle of wine from our pantry.  It was almost dark, but we could just make out the welcoming crackle of the fire pit and the soft, portable chairs arranged in a circle around it.  I only recognized the man who’d so kindly invited me but the little group was open and nice.  To this day, the greatest culinary delight I have ever had remains in discovering freshly roasted chestnuts when it was only October in Paris.  All those years I’d heard my beloved Nat King Cole sing of chestnuts roasting by an open fire, but I’d never actually tasted one until I was 44.  My gluten intolerant one had literally plowed through two and a half bags of jumbo marshmallows but she was so grateful and ecstatic no one seemed to mind.  To my surprise and delight, I discovered my friend had brought chestnuts.  CHESTNUTS!!!  I’d only ever had them that time in Paris and, as we roasted them, he and I agreed that Paris is magic and nothing compares with theirs.  Still!  I had no idea where one could even acquire any chestnuts in Dallas and I was thrilled.  Meanwhile, another kind man was showing pictures of his grandchildren to my little one on his iPhone.  Everyone watched out for her with a firm but gentle collective eye as it became darker.  The moon rose overhead and our circle moved in a little closer to the fire.  I snapped the picture above and I will never forget the look of sheer delight on my only child’s face.  The ancient Greek philosopher and essayist Plutarch said, “The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled.”  I love that.  I took us on this outing intending to stay about an hour.  It turned out I had to cut my little party girl off after almost three; ironically coinciding with the number of bags of marshmallows she’d consumed.  We walked away chilled and a little tired, but happy.  I couldn’t help but reflect upon how welcoming these people were to have included us.  She and I left feeling there is a special kind of magic in firelight and fellowship.