There are enough stories this morning that we have quite run out of fingers.

As our Boomers are a group of world ramblers, we were always sensitive to how people lived overseas. When moving through other societies we tried not to intrude too far into what their culture accepted as normal. The idea was to keep a low profile in public events.

Just in case.

That sensibility has come home lately.

The big Jewish center in the town next to where Vic grew up—Bloomfield Hills, Michigan—was suddenly big news in the Conference Room. A disturbed fellow attempted to drive a truck down the main hallway toward the day-care center.

Here in Virginia, Old Dominion University had an active shooter.

Both cases come from something we are not supposed to mention, though it is obvious to anyone willing to look.

That was what had Vic going this morning.

He arrived carrying a large black-framed portrait of a serious-looking older man and slid it carefully onto the conference table with a solid thump just as Dierdre and Keith entered with two bags that clearly contained groceries.

The aroma of rotisserie chicken filled the room.

Dee looked cheerful—almost merry—with the mid-March snowfall from yesterday’s blizzard still lingering in the parking lot outside.

“Soup’s on!” she declared.
“Or it will be once I get things together. They say more nasty weather is coming this weekend. We’re going to need some of the best damn chicken soup I can make.”

Miles looked at Vic and the portrait.

“I suppose you have a story about that,” he said.

“Just the informal announcement from London.”

“Announcement of what?” asked Splash.

Vic leaned back with a mug of Flat Yank coffee.

“No. Just the end of one of history’s great institutions. So long, British Empire. It was amazing wandering through what was left of it when we were younger. But the end has arrived.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Rocket.

Vic tapped the portrait.

“A great man from the old world died in 1965. It was a huge deal—a state funeral honoring courage and self-sacrifice. My Dad asked what I wanted for Christmas that year and I told him I wanted a portrait of Winston Churchill.”

He lifted the framed drawing.

“Dad did this from the famous photograph taken in Ottawa in 1941. The photographer removed Churchill’s cigar just before snapping the picture. That scowl has been on the walls of the Western world ever since.”

The room looked at the portrait for a moment.

“So what’s the deal today?” Rocket asked.

“They’re taking Churchill off the currency,” Vic said.
“Replacing him with a bird or something.”

The room went quiet.

Dierdre set the grocery bags on the counter.

“Well,” she said briskly,

“the end of empire and a war coming home may require soup.”

“And here is how to do it over at the transient quarters at Big Pink. And wait till you see what I’ve got for lunch tomorrow to go with it!”

Dierdre’s Kitchen
Above Tyson’s Corner
Field Service Chicken Soup
Simple meals hold morale together when the weather turns ugly and the news cycle turns worse.

This one is easy and dependable.

Ingredients
• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 medium yellow onions, chopped
• 4 medium carrots, cut batonnet (strips)
• 2 large celery stalks, chopped
• 2 large cloves garlic, minced
• 1 rotisserie chicken, dismantled and shredded
• 8 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
• ½ teaspoon kosher salt
• ¼ teaspoon cracked black pepper
• 2 cups wide egg noodles (Reames frozen or dry)
• 4–6 tablespoons grated Parmesan
• Fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Method
In a large cast-iron Dutch oven, heat olive oil to medium-high.

Sauté onions, carrots, and celery until tender but still lively—about ten minutes. Don’t rush it. You want them soft but with a little resistance.

Add garlic and stir briefly.

Stir in shredded chicken, broth, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper.

Bring to a bright boil, then reduce heat and simmer gently for five to six minutes.

Add noodles and cook until just al dente.

Serve garnished with parsley and grated Parmesan.

A glass of white wine while assembling is recommended.

Keith pointed the remote toward the big screen at the north end of the room where the Potomac snakes east toward the Capital.

“This will sustain morale,” he said.

The Old Salts nodded.

The war may be getting closer to home.

But lunch would be ready soon. Soup’s on!

© 2026 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com