Deirdre was looking at the calendar with the expression normally reserved for discovering that somebody had returned an empty carton to the refrigerator.

Veterans Day on Wednesday. A proper grill afternoon. Thanksgiving on the twenty-sixth, with a large and distinguished turkey expecting supporting performances from potatoes, dressing, vegetables, pies and bread.

Then December.

We wanted to include a Hanukkah gathering this year, a visible welcome for Jewish friends and neighbors in difficult times. Christmas was coming behind it and then, the New Year’s seismic event. Somewhere beyond the meals, shopping bags and dishes stood a New Year for which Socotra House ought to be ready.

Deirdre counted the people who might eat, then the people who would actually be available to cook.

These were different numbers.

That was why she had been improving the Galley.

The polished stainless looked sharp, certainly. The red microwave contributed a little attitude. The wall-mounted vegetable cutter promised to turn a succession of potatoes into useful pieces without consuming an entire watch. The cookware offered enough capacity to feed people together, with handles and lids that belonged to the vessels beneath them.

But the real improvement was in the work.

Food came from the refrigerator to the preparation counter. Vegetables went through the cutter. The sink was close. A turn brought the cook to the air fryer and griddle. The pressure cooker could take an assignment of its own.

Less carrying. Less searching. Fewer people attempting to occupy the same square foot while holding something hot.

Bones had come to examine the proposal on behalf of Socotra Finance.

As a former submariner, he understood the value of a small space arranged properly. As the man responsible for the figures, he also understood that an attractive appliance could arrive with several unattractive accessories.

He had his clipboard.

Deirdre had the calendar.

“We can feed the regular watch,” she said. “We can feed the larger gatherings. What we cannot do is treat every meal as a surprise.”

The protein groups already supplied the beginnings of an organization. Splash had chicken. Rocket had beef. Vic had seafood. Holly had pork and a growing interest in what could be accomplished under pressure. Kelly could make the vegetables worth arriving for.

They needed holiday assignments, shared preparation days and a cleanup watch whose members had been informed of their good fortune.

The baking required another arrangement. There was no full oven in the fourth-floor Galley. Sixth-floor oven time had to be secured before the pies and rolls became promises.

Some bread could be baked and frozen ahead. Some sides could follow. Other dishes belonged in Thanksgiving week. Deirdre intended to know which was which before somebody filled the refrigerator with fourteen portions of something needed sixteen days later.

Pastor Frank arrived in time to find Bones considering the cookware.
It was Sunday. Counsel was available.

“These pots will serve more than one celebration,” Frank observed. “And more than one group of cooks.”

That was part of Deirdre’s thinking, too. The younger people could learn the work alongside the older hands: preparation, timing, portions, cleaning and the habit of leaving a station ready for whoever came next.

A useful meal. A useful skill. Something to carry into the New Year.

Holly’s six-quart, eleven-in-one Instant Pot had already acquired a second Thanksgiving assignment. After the potatoes and the feast, turkey bones and vegetables would become broth.

Cooled promptly, portioned, labeled and frozen, Thanksgiving could contribute to December’s soups and gravies.

Bones made a note.

There were other stories waiting around the table. Vic had memories of a Michigan migration to Park City, construction work and the supply road to Evanston. Refuge Farm had taught him something about the distance between independence and medical assistance. A Montana builder was putting shelters beneath mountains.
We would get to those.

First, Deirdre needed to know who was coming to dinner.

And who was washing the pots.

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com