“Two shotguns, a pistol, ammunition, flamethrowers containing thermite, and a cell phone,” Miles announced to open the Saturday session.

“Is that what we’re supposed to bring if we go to the VABC store before the next Bomb Cyclone?” Rocket asked.

“The ice mound in the left turn lane off Leesburg Pike from January is still there,” he added. “That seems…permanent.”

Splash stared at his orange juice and the platter of Dierdre’s sausage rolls—ground sausage, breadcrumbs, eggs and spices, wrapped in flat store-dough and baked to golden perfection.

“What are the shotguns for?” he asked, torn between pastry and peril.

Miles stood and walked to the north end of the Conference Room.

“Some young man assembled the weapons near his New York home. Then he rented a silver Nissan and drove 2,600 miles—through cities, mountains, deserts, parks. He rammed the car into a power substation outside Las Vegas and shot himself.”

“I won’t ask why,” Keith said. “Let me guess. Terror incident. Manifesto. Headlines.”

Melissa reached for a knife. “We have a mental health crisis. Addiction in the open air. Encampments. Random violence.”

“And some of it appears to sit in elected office,” Miles replied. “Our new Governor inherited a $2 billion surplus and the first instinct is to raise taxes.”

That drew no laughter. Only arithmetic.

Holly waved at the final half-roll. “Some of this has drifted into the social sciences. We’re at war with biology. Boys as girls. Motherhood suspect. Masculinity toxic. It feels…malignant.”

She slid the platter away. “I’m glad you liked the rolls.”

Miles smiled and lifted his iPad. “That reminds me. In 2013 we worked with the late Jinny Martin collecting embassy recipes from fifty years of entertaining in Washington and abroad.”

Dierdre narrowed her eyes. “I am not doing a cookbook. That’s gender assignment.”

“We aren’t at war with biology unless it’s editorially inconvenient,” Miles said. “But consider this: down by Kingstowne Center they’re building Banner Heights. ‘Affordable sophisticated brownstone-inspired exteriors.’ From the low $800s.”

The Boomers laughed. The Zoomers did not.

Melissa checked her phone. “That’s the entry price.”

“We could pair recipes with real estate,” Miles mused. “Sausage rolls and zoning law. How to live fifteen minutes apart without owning anything. Or tariffs. Or something we actually understand.”

Agreement all around. Coffee refills. Empty platter.

Two memos remain:

Snowstorm tomorrow afternoon.

War with Iran—possibly Monday.

Saturday planning complete.

This afternoon: U.S. vs. Canada in the men’s hockey final in Milan. After the women’s gold last week, the decibel level will rise accordingly.

A few of us will visit the store. Miles insists the Sugarlands reserves are held in abeyance until Lent concludes.

Planning continues at Socotra House.

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com