Costco - Chrstmas Eve

I hope this won't seem mean, but ...

[and don't we love sentences that start like that?]

I did a U-turn in the Costco parking lot yesterday, and went back home, because by 10:30, the competition for spaces was already ugly.  But I had to hit Costco again today, and planned to get there a half-hour early, to get a spot, and get in line at the door.  I checked their schedule online  this morning at about 8:40, only to see that they were opening, not at ten, but at nine.  Eek!  

I set aside my remaining half-mug of coffee, threw on the nearest clothes I could find, and bolted.  I got there about ten till nine, slipped right into a prime parking spot, and saw that they had already opened the doors.  I went in, and enjoyed one of the most relaxing Costco trips ever.  The few people there were in  good moods - smiling and laughing, casually chit-chatting about how pleasant the morning was.    I found everything pretty easily, then had my choice of checkout lines (well, not really 'lines', since there weren't any, but you get the idea).  I was out the door, shopping complete, and home by ten.  

That wasn't mean was it?  

Ricky Henderson

I've never been much of a dedicated sports fan.  I've enjoyed passing allegiances to Oregon, then Oregon State, but nothing serious.  But my move to the SF Bay area right after college in 1988 coincided with a high point for the Oakland As, and I was blessed With a convenient cohort of relatively new Chevron engineers, that didn't have a lot of competing plans for a summer weekend.  It was the first time I had been to a big league park, and I was floored.  The stadium was easily accessible via BART, and the outfield bleacher seats were cheap, with easy access to beer.  

Watching bash brothers Jose Canseco and Mark McGuire, along with an all-star cast of teammates play extraordinary ball was a fine way to spend an afternoon.  It's probably the only time in my life, before, or since, that I could name the entire  starting lineup of a team in any sport.  

But, as cool as they all were, there was nobody who compared to Ricky Henderson.  As good as he was in the field, and as lead-off batter, once on base, he was a combination of poetry and Vaudeville.  Pitchers couldn't concentrate on the batter, because they knew that any instant, Ricky would steal another base.  If baseball can sometimes be slow and lethargic to watch, that was never the case when Ricky was on base.  

I could go on ... but it's December 23rd, and other responsibilities call.  

RIP to the stolen base king!