There are fewer than two weeks remaining before the midterm elections, and the national conversation seems to have taken a peculiar turn toward the distant past.

We have allegations involving childhood events from decades ago, elderly mothers being drawn into political arguments, and another round of revelations concerning O.J. Simpson, who has been dead for more than two years. Some of the people who might have helped sort out the stories are no longer around to answer questions.
It is an interesting way to conduct the affairs of a modern republic. The present apparently isn’t complicated enough, so we have begun recruiting the dead to help explain it.

Meanwhile, overseas, the war in Ukraine continues to consume lives and ammunition at a staggering rate. There is speculation about whether President Zelensky might be reconsidering his negotiating position, although speculation is not the same thing as an announcement, much less an agreement.

In the Middle East, the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps remains central to another dangerous confrontation, with military calculations, religious rhetoric, and the prospect of further escalation competing for attention.
You know. The usual.

Miles had listened to enough of it by the time the morning production meeting began. He suggested that the Section might concentrate on the things it could actually accomplish before lunch.

Deirdre had already reached a similar conclusion.

Splash was standing over the big kettle with kielbasa browning in the bottom, while potatoes, corn, carrots, and celery waited for their turn. Rocket had opinions about the sausage. Holly had opinions about Rocket’s opinions.

The first real cold snap of autumn and the smell of breakfast fritters made the whole business seem more urgent to greet a golden autumn morning.

There was something reassuring about the Galley. You could argue about the ingredients, adjust the seasoning, and generally expect that thirty minutes of honest effort would produce something worthwhile.

The same could not always be said of the news.

Splash stirred the kettle and told everyone to find a bowl.

The world could wait until at least the cheese melted.

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra
www.cicsocotra.com