This was a special morning at Mylos, a fine little pub in a McLean that I passed every day driving to the CIA campus at Mclean but never stopped to sample.

JPeter convinced me otherwise, and I am glad he suggested the event. We were the only Willow Refugees who could make it, but we will figure something out to get together with the remaining exiles once in a while. I was taking this as a test drive. I am starting the long process of re-integrating with society after a couple months of irritating mal de mer. It was JPeter’s way of teasing me out of the self-imposed exile that has permitted me to slowly regroup on the way back to health. The whole thing has been really disconcerting, and in the process, it forced me to contemplate all manner of strange things that I thought only old people cared about.

Oh, wait.

Otherwise, it was a hectic week, given that the Government contract office I deal with appears to have lost it’s collective mind. Things are interesting enough when things work the way they are supposed to, but this was a week of kaleidoscope of Klown changes that made us want to throw up our arms and shout.

Add to that official lunacy in the Swamp, there was the Fall Meeting of The Naval Intelligence Professionals and the 51st Intelligence Dining In. I made it to the former event in staid business attire (I am normally in jeans and aloha shirt) and could not believe I could still wire up-the formal tuxedo shirt, non-regulation bow-tie and cummberbund and go to Ft. Myer for the latter.

It was a bittersweet sort of thing. I have been to several dozen of the events, and served as Mr. Vice, the emcee of the show, five or six times. The memories are intense, and the junior officers- all of whom I know as such are senior officers now- are truly exceptional Americans.

I think if you knew them, you would say the same thing. Inspirational, in fact. Fun evening.

The brunch this morning accounts for the disruption in regular Socotra production, which includes editing (and deleting many) photos from the fabulous Fall General Meeting and the Dining In. I hope to have the images posted to the NIP page on Facebook today or tomorrow, and the articles covering them sometime in the next couple days.

It is Aussie Week down on historic East Davis Street in downtown Culpeper tomorrow, and that demands investigation, so forgive me for being scattered, but I have to establish priorities. Back to our brunch companion, which threw this Saturday into disarray:

The General holds court there on weekends, and there were enough fellow vets having their eggs at the bar that it could have been the VFW. The conversation with the older Vets was a little surreal. I am part of the bridge generation of vets who spanned the leadership of Korea/Vietnam-era and the PC folks who seemed to worry more about social justice issues than killing the bad guys. Everyone has their perspective, I suppose.

The General was West Point Class of 52. It was funny- a bit like being with Mac again at the amazing Willow bar.

Not a bad morning, all parts considered, and Kate and Rosa behind the bar were exceptional public servants, and that means this is a restaurant review.

Vic

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