Ah, the rain! On Rt.29 yesterday it came down so hard that visibility was quite limited and the cars crept. I sat in the cruiser in the driveway for about ten minutes waiting for the pounding to ease. I wandered around inside the house, unable to start hauling this weekend’s load in from the trunk. Three pieces of artwork, two of which were  unexpected; two duplex framed color prints from Marylyn Monroe’s “Seven Year Itch” that my framer was desperate to unload.
 
I saw them when I picked up the re-framed heroic steel etching of Wellington Meeting Blucher on the field at Waterloo, the carnage of victory all around them, nearly three and a half linear feet of it.
 
I had purchased it long ago, shortly after college graduation, and I found it in the crawl space at my parent’s place when I was up in Michigan, and the antique frame was falling apart and the print could not have stayed intact much longer. The choice was to let it crumble into the soil or try to save it, and I have to say that the eclectic crew at the Tajik-owned frame store did their usual great job.
 
Anyway, leaning against the counter were the two double-framed Marilyn pictures. Jimmy, the owner of the frame store, had purchased them when they came on the market a few years ago, thinking to sell them at a hefty profit, but he misjudged the popularity of the American Icon of beauty, perhaps trapped in his central Asian idea of what we think is beautiful these days.
 
The four images from 1955 include a color shot a mili-second before Marilyn’s skirt came down to the Iconic image, one of co-star Tome Ewell in his bow-tie, khaki suit, brown shoes and straw hat standing next to a Marylyn. He has an open, goofy grin, and she is rubbing her leg in that white dress with an absolutely fetching look of slight distraction.
 
The other two are demure color pictures of Marilyn in the bath, mostly of chaste white bubbles in the bath. Sweet and innocent, though they might have been racy in 1955, when I was four years old.
 
The market for Marilyn is not there in Arlington, and they languished in overhead inventory at the frame store for years until I took them off his hands. We haggled- he wanted $295 apiece, then I said I was a huge fan but not six hundred bucks worth, he countered with both for $295, and I said I would do it except for the incidental damage that had occurred to the one frame that would cost him a hundred to fix.
 
I said I would take them both “as is” and left with Wellington, Blucher, and Marilyn Monroe in the trunk of the police cruiser.
 
In the back seat was a flat-screen television to replace the little portable that had served to prove the satellite connection was good, and a Blue Ray DVD player that promised to up-quality my existing movie collection to something approaching high-definition quality.
 
We’ll see about that. With the weather as bad as it was, I thought that indoor projects would be good.
 
I don’t watch television as much as I once did, and now that the good dramatic series are released as box sets, that is about perfect for my needs. The complete versions of “The Wire” and “Mad Men,” seasons one and two, “The Tudors” and “Sons of Anarchy” are projects I will never get to this winter.
 
Once everything was hooked up to my satisfaction, I turned it all off and listened to Prairie Home Companion on the satellite radio and hooked up the gas grill on the deck and did a steak with potatoes. Only three deer and one cat appeared while I was out there.
 
The nights are long here on the farm, and I like them. With the windows open I hear strange sounds- no sirens, no racing cars from Route 50. Animals of varying species. A lone car came down the farm road at around 3:30 AM; bar staff or patron I could not ascertain from the comfort of my bed.
 
I rose late, after seven, to brilliant blue skies. Outside chores today at the farm; a good day for something mild but satisfying at the conclusion.
 
A pal from the Boston area sent me a recipe that I had been meaning to try. I have inclined to the nuclear school of chili warfare, considering it to properly be a member of the weapons of mass destruction food group. I like it over Eastern Market franks on nice crunchy mini-baguettes, with grated cheddar cheese and plenty of diced fresh red onions.
 
He cooks for his kids, though, and their palates are more delicate than ours. He used to go to a place called the Rosebud Diner, which was founded in 1941 in the stainless cocoon of a Worcester Lunch Car (#773) and has been meticulously restored to original specifications. Marilyn and Tom would look right at home on the stools in front of the granite counter.
 
The Rosebud is one of only a few Worcesters that survive in the Bay State. The others include The Owl in Lowell, which used to serve the mill workers when there were mills and workers there, and my personal favorite, the Miss Florence just north of Northhampton.
 
Diner fanatics consider Worcester diners to be the best examples of the genre, with superior craftsmanship like the Airstream Trailers and the B-29 Bomber, that included marble countertops and lots of fancy stainless steel detailing.
 
Since short order and heartburn are specialties, and nothing too aggressively spicy is going to be a comfort item there. As my gastric system has aged, I have found that I am not as able to deal with the consequences of the arms race in the chili pot. My pal raves about the sweetness to this recipe, which riffs against the hard-core Southwest tradition.
 
Accordingly, here is a mild chili from the Rosebud Diner, in the original lunch car:
 
Rosebud Chili:
 
2 ½- 3 pounds ground beef (go ahead and use 80% if you want, but drain, for goodness sake).
4 cans red kidney beans (drained and rinsed)
4 cans baked beans (drained and rinsed)
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 jalapeno pepper, diced (you have to have something hot)
1 large Vidalia onion, chopped
1 red pepper, diced
1 green pepper, diced
6 cans diced tomatoes
¼ tsp cumin
¼ tsp chili powder
Sea or Kosher salt to taste
Fresh ground black pepper to taste
 
Directions? Shoot, it doesn’t get any easier. In a large pot, brown the meat. Once browned, drain. Add beans, celery, onion, peppers, tomatoes and spices to pot.
 
Cook until tender.
 
Serves several. If you want to ladle it over hearty Eastern Market frankfurters and fresh mini-baguettes, with the flat screen projecting flying footballs, even the New England Patriots couldn’t stop you.
 
Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com