The Quest for the Tater Masher (Essay)

I came to the mountains yesterday for a write-cation. I have to get my novel revised if it is to have any chance (even as slim as that may be) of seeing published birth. I packed up three pair of jeans, some button up comfy shirts, a hard copy of the manuscript, pens, my laptop, jump drive, smart phone, and my dog, Truman; Truman is a little Maltese who has the eyes of a street beggar and the heart of a small lion. I loaded everything in my car and then drove four and half hours to get here. I also packed food. Lots of food. I also stopped at a Super WalMart halfway in the drive and bought fresh boneless chicken breast. Throw some parmesan cheese mixed with Duke’s mayo,  spread it thick on the chicken, top with bread crumbs, and then bake.. viola! Heaven. I was determined not to have to ride the seven or so miles into town while I was write-cationing.  But I also wanted to eat well.  That plan didn’t work.

                I peeled my potatoes to boil them for mashed taters (I do so love them smashed to a creamy concoction with plenty of real butter) and then discovered I had no tater masher. How can I have mashed taters without a tater masher? Put manuscript aside, grab car keys and wallet. Put Collective Soul in the car CD player and head out to get a tater masher. Five stores and twenty-five minutes later, still no tater masher, although I did find a white plastic strainer and a key ring with a cool red laser pointer thingy. I was starting to think if I was going to have mashed taters I was going to have to stomp on ‘em like they do grapes in Italy, but I wasn’t too crazy about the prospect of getting butter between my toes. On a whim I pulled into a small little EVERYTHING’S A DOLLAR store and there it was on a back aisle. A white handled tater masher. White to match my new strainer.  The Holy Grail of mashed taters.

I cooked and ate my taters and chicken, and then Truman and I took a nap. I had to get the creative juices flowing again and a nap always seems to help.  Tomorrow I have to find a corkscrew. I have wine and no way to open it. It is chilled in the refrigerator calling my name. I can hear it.  Tomorrow back to the EVERYTHING’S A DOLLAR store…. Thank the baby Jesus for it.