Scene
It’s evening, in a church’s fellowship hall cram-packed with tables and metal folding chairs. I am sitting at a table, friends across from me, friends beside me. Friend A, let’s call her Tina, takes a bite of some squash cubes she has on her plate.

Tina: Wow… (moan) … wow.

Friend B, let’s call him Matt: The squash? Oh, yeah. I made that.

Me (fork hovering over Tina’s plate): Can I have a taste? (Jab. Pierce. Chew.) Okay, Matt. What did you do.

Matt: It’s just some butternut squash that I roasted in the oven.

Me: It’s more than just squash, Matt. Come on.

Matt: No, really! I just tossed the squash with olive oil and salt, added some garlic—

Me: One clove? Two? Minced?

Matt: Two? I don’t remember. Minced, yes.

Tina: There’s an herb…

Matt: Oh, some rosemary.

Me: Dried or fresh?

Matt: Dried. It’s what I had.

Tina: But it’s sweet!

Matt: Oh, yeah. Towards the end I drizzled in a little maple syrup. Squash gets sweeter the longer it sits, and since the ones I was using were new, I thought some syrup might help.

Me: How much syrup?

Matt: I don’t know! A drizzle!

Me: (piercing glare)

Matt: A tablespoon, maybe? Two tablespoons?

Me: Anything else?

Matt: No, that’s it.

Me: Are you sure?

Matt: Yes! That’s it!

Maple Roasted Squash
Matt’s recipe. But that was already obvious.

I’ve made this roasted squash twice (and still have no pictures of the final product). My mom and my husband were both
impressed. My husband said he had never eaten squash that tasted so
good. Also, I took a crockpot load to a potluck. The dish came back
empty.

I love to serve this squash as a side to a bean meal. With corn tortillas, it’s the holy trinity of food. Because foods that grow together—and everyone grows squash, beans, and corn together—tastes good together. But you knew that, right?

So far, I’ve only used maple sugar, not syrup. Also, I always double the recipe.

1 large butternut squash
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
½ teaspoon dried rosemary
lots of salt
a couple tablespoons maple syrup or maple sugar

Wash and peel the squash. Chop it into medium-sized cubes. Discard the seeds and pulp.

In a large bowl, toss together the squash cubes, garlic, olive oil, and rosemary. Sprinkle liberally with salt. Tumble onto a large baking sheet. Roast at 400 degrees for 20 minutes, or until nearly fork tender. Remove from the oven and drizzle/sprinkle with syrup/sugar. Return to the oven and roast another ten minutes or until tender. Serve hot.

There’s nothing quite as demoralizing for a writer as reading back through previous published and/or posted works and getting smacked in the face with typos and misspellings. It’s like being caught with food in your teeth, but worse. Print immortalizes your stupidity.

In the last newsletter I sent out to dozens (and dozens) of people, I wrote about living “oversees.” Catching that mistake this morning, weeks after the letter was sent, was like a slug to the gut. Really, Jennifer? REALLY?

I routinely have minor panic attacks in random places, like the shower or while watching a play (check the comments) or driving home from town. Hang on a sec— Did I POUR over those pictures or did I PORE over them? AHHHH!

The other day my mother pointed out that I’ve been mixing up my peeks/peaks. (I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother keeps a running list of all my mistakes, waiting for just the right moment to smack me with them, bless her ever-grammar-loving heart.) I know better. Really, I do! It’s just that I get so focused on the idea of what I’m saying that my brain glosses right over the mistakes no matter how many times I proof the piece. Good editors are worth their price in gold. I don’t have either—an editor or gold. 

Now that my mother alerted me to my “peak” problem, I’m kind of tempted to type the word into my blog search engine and make corrections. But I’m scared, too. What if I’ve been climbing mountain peeks and peaking in closets on a routine basis? Can my tender psyche handle the shame?

Lately, I’ve been tied up in knots over my writing. I’ve been getting up most mornings at five and plunging straight into the work of wrestling swirly, slippery thoughts onto paper. I drink coffee, but the going is still sloggy-slow. (But it’s rewarding, too. Not because I’ve actually produced something readable, mind you—I’ve usually only succeeded in digging myself in deeper—but because by the time the kids wake up I can shut the computer and know I’ve done at least some writing for the day.)

I may be getting a little obsessive, overly fretful about redundancy and tight sentences and being perfectly logical (probably not something I’m even capable of). On the other hand, it’s good for me, this discipline of the three Ps: patience, persistence, and perfection. Fast writing (i.e. frequent blogging) is a discipline, too—a discipline in letting go, putting out, and grinning boldly even when there is food in my teeth. Which is why I am doing a fast post today: to keep me limber while I’m in the throes of obsessing.

Smile onward-ho!