{"id":22223,"date":"2021-10-06T22:58:00","date_gmt":"2021-10-06T22:58:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/?p=22223"},"modified":"2021-10-10T23:01:12","modified_gmt":"2021-10-10T23:01:12","slug":"life-island-times-eggs-and-sausage","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/life-island-times-eggs-and-sausage\/","title":{"rendered":"Life &#038; Island Times: Eggs and Sausage"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Eggs and Sausage\u00a0 But I Still Want a Burgundy<\/p>\n<p>Editor&#8217;s Note: There was mild chaos left over today at Refuge Farm, with family sadness on the one hand, and five working parties of skilled and ebullient people laboring to bring order to the outbuildings and rationality to infrastructure: plumbing, electrical and HVAC. Stop me if you already heard enough about &#8220;infrastructure&#8221; these days. Another pal sent some images of the guys on Tinian Atoll in 1945, putting together two devices that would change the world. It is important history, but grim. As a relief, Marlow provides a more personal account from his &#8220;Four Corners&#8221; journey around our lovely and sometimes fractious nation. The saga was impressive even in the episodes he recorded at the time, but as an integrated tale, it is precious. More as it comes, but Marlow reminds us about what is real this morning&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>-Vic<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignnone  wp-image-22227\" src=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-1-LIT.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"479\" height=\"570\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-1-LIT.jpg 599w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-1-LIT-252x300.jpg 252w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-1-LIT-236x281.jpg 236w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 479px) 100vw, 479px\" \/><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-22226\" src=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-2-LIT.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"610\" height=\"204\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-2-LIT.jpg 610w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-2-LIT-600x201.jpg 600w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-2-LIT-300x100.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-2-LIT-500x167.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 610px) 100vw, 610px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>For the two decades I rode motorcycles on 700+ mile long days to see, feel, smell and touch places like the above, I had a partner who was a veritable Chippendale, who attracted thick and dark swarms of females of nefarious intent at gas stations, rest stops, and diners, while we prowled at high speeds America\u2019s back country roads. We always ate at diners, drive-ins, and dives, while staying in more-than-garishly-neon-lit motels. Our source waters were the nation\u2019s Capital city, where we considered ourselves pioneers of fine dining palettes.<\/p>\n<p>When there, we wined, dined, sipped, glugged, and slurped in some of the most demonstrably epic bistros in the District of Columbia. We ate strange looking flesh of dodgy wild land mammals and sea monsters, unbelievable veal cutlets \u00e0 la fran\u00e7aise with glasses of French Burgundy that blinded us with their excellence.<\/p>\n<p>At back road city cafes, it was breaded Salisbury steak, maybe if we were lucky in Shake-n-Bake with Velveeta sauce and half-n-half.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignnone  wp-image-22225\" src=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-3-LIT.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"407\" height=\"381\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-3-LIT.jpg 541w, https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/10\/100621-3-LIT-300x281.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 407px) 100vw, 407px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Sometimes our tummies volcano\u2019d after an entr\u00e9e smothered in what the menu claimed was Campbell&#8217;s tomato soup-based sauce.<\/p>\n<p>We learned to only trust the rare waitress who wore rhinestone glasses for the real down low on what was what on the menu, since we wanted to avoid entr\u00e9es that would come down and try to beat the shit out of our morning cups of coffee that wouldn\u2019t be strong enough to defend themselves.<\/p>\n<p>Here\u2019s a brief remembrance of those places which we visited and in which we dined:<\/p>\n<p>We ate with the nighthawks at an Arizona diner<br \/>\nOn a Flagstaff backstreet they called the 49er<br \/>\nNo dark hour rendezvous of strange gypsy hacks<br \/>\nSharing dessert bottles of brown liquid like insomniacs<br \/>\nThe day\u2019s papers been read<br \/>\nSo, they one and all said<br \/>\nThey were burning in trash cans<br \/>\nOver which we warmed our chilled hands<\/p>\n<p>Every morning CnD ate eggs, sausage, a side of toast<br \/>\nA roll, hash browns over easy, and a coffee, dark roast<br \/>\nMe? Some chili in a bowl, maybe a pork slider and fries<br \/>\nAlways asked the waitress what\u2019d the cook bake for today\u2019s pies<\/p>\n<p>Never no graveyard charade, no early or late post meal masquerade<br \/>\nWe fed jukeboxes 3 for a quarter, one for a dime<br \/>\nSometime when our bills the register ringed<br \/>\nWe\u2019d hear last nite\u2019s echoes of what the counter waitress singed<\/p>\n<p>Small town papers offered no daily directions<br \/>\nThese places offered hot caffeine in a nicotine clouds<br \/>\nWhen they\u2019re absent, we still miss the touch of our beloved one\u2019s fingers<br \/>\nA burning pulsing longing for them still lingers<br \/>\nThey\u2019ll never be 86ed from our current schemes<br \/>\nWe\u2019re still lovers of simple domestic nocturnal scenes<\/p>\n<p>Copyright \u00a9 2021 From My Isle Seat<br \/>\nwww.vicsocotra.com<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Eggs and Sausage\u00a0 But I Still Want a Burgundy Editor&#8217;s Note: There was mild chaos left over today at Refuge Farm, with family sadness on the one hand, and five working parties of skilled and ebullient people laboring to bring order to the outbuildings and rationality to infrastructure: plumbing, electrical and HVAC. Stop me if [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-22223","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-island-times"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22223","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22223"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22223\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22229,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22223\/revisions\/22229"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22223"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22223"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vicsocotra.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22223"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}