In baseball, the batter deliberately makes an out to move up other runners on base thus helping the team and not helping their individual batting average. Batting average is a measure of performance for professional baseball players often used in contract negotiations.
That’s what sacrifice is about in life. We do what’s best for the team and society as a whole. I will sacrifice some of my salary in taxes to help those in need. I will eat plant based foods because it’s good for the planet and somewhere along the line it is one less animal sacrificed. Yes, I realize some plant based alternatives are not as delicious as their animal counter parts.
It is better than sacrificing my dignity and my conscience. So in the end there is no real sacrifice.
Today I’m walking around wearing a memory of the day I drove my daughter home from the hospital. That was 32 years ago. I just got off the phone with her and she had a great day in Germany.
I’ll take a verse from one of the worst songs ever written this is Rupert Holmes piña colada song
And in the personal columns There was this letter I read
If you like piña coladas And gettin’ caught in the rain If you’re not into yoga If you have half a brain
Poor pitiful Rupert was looking for a follower someone with half a brain. I cannot imagine anyone on this planet right now is walking over their turntable and putting that record on.
While drinking a piña colada.
Somewhere along the line, he sings the line. I am nobody’s poet..
Oh Rupert, you are neither a leader or a follower. None of us are.
One of my weaknesses in life is potato chips. I never eat my own potato chips as I don’t have the self-control to have them in the house. So, like a bad cigarette smoker, I eat other people’s chips.
I was sitting in the kitchen of the RV that belonged to my father-in-Law (Dick) and his wife. We were listening to Gary Puckett and The Union Gap. Nobody listens to Gary Puckett, rather it sneaks up on you like the smarmy person he can be. I made a comment about his creepiness, and this pissed off my mother-in-law.
It was the middle of the day, and it was rather warm for a spring day in Colorado. Much of the culture of the RV park is centered around sitting at a picnic table and eating. It is an art form lost on many. They were both sitting and eating from small chip bags much like I did when I packed my lunch as an eight-year-old. I seem to recall they had bolognia sandwiches as well.
I asked the wife of my father-in-law, if I could have a bag of chips. Not being heard the first time, I asked again, if I could have a small bag of chips. She was stubborn that way, as she could be protective of her food supply. Campers plan out meals with artesian precision.
I guess she is my step step mother in law. Let’s just call her Alexandra.
She was protective of her chips and yes weird at odd times.
Alexandra, glared at me for a second, and continued munching on her sandwich. Appearing to ignore me, she walked over to the refrigerator and took out a sweating cold grape soda.
And she handed me a sideways sardonic glance.
“Sure”
“Eat a bag of Dick’s.”
Dick handed me a bag of chips. Now I needed some salsa. I took out some of my favorites. That was lime tomatoes, mangoes and pineapple to enjoy with my bag of Dicks.
