Tuesday, January 30, 2024
By Donovan Baldwin
In 1962-63, while a senior at Pensacola Catholic High, I worked as a theater usher at the Saenger Theatre (that's how they spelled it), on Palafox Street, in downtown Pensacola, Florida. On Saturday nights, we would have a midnight movie. At about 12:30, all the adults went home leaving us teenage ushers in the "custody" of an off-duty Pensacola police officer... in uniform.
Ralph, a Pensacola police officer, who shall remain last nameless, was a nice guy and the cop who usually worked the midnight movie with me and my coworker, Jim.
It was customary for the ushers, to hold onto an empty popcorn box, to dip extra popcorn out of the leftover popcorn bin (usually a lot). We would set the box up on the half wall between the lobby and the back seats and would dip into the box as we watched the movie.
On Saturday nights, Ralph the cop would dip in with us.
One particular Saturday night, Jim, the other usher, dipped into the popcorn box and accidentally knocked a shower of popcorn over the back row. People jumped up angrily, including some large, angry specimens of humanity. Jim apologized, and all seemed forgiven.
A few minutes later, I went for the box and, being a bit clumsy sent another popcorn shower over the heads of already disgruntled patrons.
Like Jim, I apologized profusely, and, with a few growls, and tugs on their sleeves from wives and dates, they sat back down.
After a while, Ralph the Cop, reached for the box and sent it AND the fresh load of popcorn it contained into the back rows.
I didn't wait to see how Ralph was going to handle his faux pas. I ran for the lobby and hid behind one of the ornate pillars. On the other side of the lobby, Jim had chosen the same tactic.
And there, between us, behind another pillar, hiding out in full uniform, badge, gun, cuffs nightstick, and all, was one of Pensacola's finest, Ralph the Cop.
Labels: Pensacola, Saenger Theatre, short story
Sunday, January 14, 2024
By Donovan Baldwin
Over the years, I have been an instructor in many different situations, although most specifically as an Army NCO, and a truck driving instructor. I have also had to train new employees at various jobs, one fairly technical (optician in an optical lab), and several other general, retail sales, customer service, food preparation and service, etc.
One of the more common attitudes that I encountered was, "I never realized this was so complicated..."
Or, "So THAT'S why you do that!" (And why YOU will do it THAT way, Padawan."
Of course as a truck driving instructor, another common attitude was, "Those people in the little cars are crazy, and I used to drive like that..."
Or, "They're going to get somebody killed..."
I guess the key point is "ignorance". Now, ignorance, unless intentional, is not a sin. It just means that, for some reason, you simply don't "know"... haven't been enlightened yet.
Maybe you haven't had a chance to learn, maybe there was no reason to learn, or opportunity, or, maybe, no one to teach you. No Obi-Wan Kenobi to your Luke Skywalker...
Okay, enough already with the Star Wars references.
And yet, up until the epiphany of enlightenment of my instruction, or whatever showed them "the light", they were certain they were "right"... even though "wrong".
Well, maybe not even "wrong", just the information perhaps did not apply to their life's needs, decisions, or purposes.
You usually don't know you're lacking something until you've had it and THEN lose it. So, if you didn't know the knowledge existed, or that it might do you some good to have it, why should you feel any lack in your life for not having it?
How do you know what you don't know?
I guess my point is, I've stepped into many situations in my 78 10/12 years, and still do from time to time, where I suddenly realize that I have just learned something that I've lived over three-quarters of a century without knowing... and suddenly something made sense, and I realized that something had been missing.
Epiphany.
-----
Copyright January 14, 2024 by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: donovan baldwin, epiphany, essay, ignorance, right and wrong
Friday, January 12, 2024
By Donovan Baldwin
In the 1980's an American fast food restaurant chain, A&W, offered a new product, a 1/3 lb (0.15 kg) hamburger at a price competitive to McDonald's 1/4 lb (0.11 kg) burger.
It failed in the market, and, eventually pulled from distribution.
Now, it was a tasty product, as such things go, and, as stated, competitively priced, offered by a lesser-known, yet well-established chain. Yet, in head-to-head sales, the A&W 1/3 lb. burger failed, and failed badly.
Hence a focus group.
Long story short, and skipping snide remarks, the focus group exposed the product's fatal flaw... it was a fraction.
Oh, it was customary to sell fractions, 1/4 lb. burgers, 1/2 lb. burgers, but the 1/3 lb. burger failed.
However, the buying public, the consumer making the optimum decision for return on investment, fractured the math and reached the conclusion that a 1/4 lb. burger (0.11 kg. of meat) was a better investment than a 1/3 lb. burger (0.15 kg. of meat) for the same price.
The common reasoning seemed to be that "4" was greater than "3", therefore, ergo, and to wit, the McDonald's 1/4 lb. burger was more for the dollar than the A&W product.
Keep that in mind the next time that weird guy who used to sit at the desk next to you at a job 20 years ago, the one with the foil hat, sends you a potentially questionable claim about the relative value of some politician or program.
Just some early morning meanderings.
Copyright January 12, 2024 by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: A&W, donovan baldwin, fast food, fractions, hamburger, McDonald's
Sunday, January 07, 2024
Path I create with its deceitful web
Verses strung across the road you tread.
Each whispered word, each stroke of pen,
To guide you to the gate, to lure you in.
Mysteries and riddles in my rhymes,
Secrets soft as the tinkling of chimes,
Hidden in remarks on day and night,
Words change meanings by candlelight.
Through the lines hints of longing flow,
As if recalling some time long ago,
When you and I with souls on fire,
Lived lives of love and sated mad desire.
A dark when embers rose up bright and high,
And your blaze burst out a wordless cry.
In silver moonlit streams shadows interlaced,
In most loving ways they are embraced.
All these secrets hidden in the ink
The spaces which provide a vital link.
With key in hand unlock the poet's gate,
Heart unravels mysteries I create.
Find the clues, the secrets that lie hidden,
Walk the path to pleasures long forbidden.
Your hand bold within this poet's grip,
Come with me upon love's joyous trip.
You and I seek love's eternity,
Hidden in my poems there lies a key.
Step into the trap if you will only dare
Cage your heart with mine within my snare.
Let tapestry fall, hiding us away,
As in secret our love games we play.
Our story passed along from age to age,
We two forever joined in love's dear cage.
Copyright January 7, 2024 by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: donovan baldwin, love, poem, poetry
Saturday, January 06, 2024
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Copyright January 6, 2024 by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: donovan baldwin, Healthy Living, Liver Health, Shaklee, Wellness Journey
Friday, January 05, 2024
YOUR VERSE A DEEP PARADOX
Your verse, a paradox that cuts so deep,
Where flaws dance with the light, secrets they keep.
Beauty a shield, a whispered plea,
"Forgive the dark, for it shaped me."
Is it the brushstrokes bold, the crimson stain,
That paint your canvas with a haunting pain?
Or lines etched fine, where shadows play,
The tapestry of soul, worn in the fray?
Perhaps the sins, confessing in your art,
Become confessions torn straight from the heart.
Each blemish holds a story, dark and bright,
The threads of being, woven in the night.
And so, the beauty that your pen commands,
Redeems the scars, forgives the faltering hands.
It is not grace that makes the demons sleep,
But owning them, the fire you hold deep.
So let the ink flow, wild and free,
Embrace the cracks, the shattered entity.
For beauty forged in shadows' bitter kiss,
Is truth unveiled, the soul's own wilderness.
In every sin, a brushstroke bold and true,
You paint your being, raw and ever new.
And in that honesty, a solace lies,
A whispered pardon in your tear-filled eyes.
So write, dear soul, of darkness and of light,
Let beauty bloom from wounds that pierce the night.
For in the telling, you yourself are freed,
A masterpiece of scars, finally at peace.
Copyright January 5, 2023 by Donovan Baldwin
Wednesday, January 03, 2024
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Copyright January 3, 2024, by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: Choose Shaklee, HealthMatters, Osteoporosis Prevention, Shaklee OsteoMatrix, Strong Bones
Tuesday, January 02, 2024
I was reading an article in which the author (truth, it was a speech, ergo, the speaker) took the position that a poet had more leeway to produce his or her effect than a painter.
Their point was that the painter had to capture and convey the essence of the subject in a single, static exposition.
As an occasional poet (for over half a century), I took mild umbrage at this. While it is/was true that the poet can make the poem as long as is necessary, in poetry, as in other things I'm told, size does NOT matter.
In fact, making a poem longer, simply to get your point in, can be counterproductive to the intended production of art, and may be an admission of failure or defeat.
In my personal opinion, paring the poem down to the essentials, of both the art and the message, is a mark of the "professionalism" of the poet. Of course, like the practitioner of the visual arts, the temptation to use all the colors of the palette is tempting, but, like them, knowing which ones to stick with and which ones to leave out, to create the "best" art, is part of the challenge... and the fun.
Copyright January 2, 2024 by Donovan Baldwin
Monday, January 01, 2024
A TOAST - BUT NOT THE KIND YOU EXPECT
It's January 1, 2024, and, for those who can get their eyes open, a toast. No, not the one you did last night, but bread, buttered, browned.
When I was a wee lad, my mom made toast in the over, in the broiler pan. Gas range, real flames above the buttered bread.
That's the toast I grew up with.
You would butter the bread first, then arrange the slices on the rack, and slide it under the flames. Every few minutes you would open the door and pull the rack out, checking to see if the toast was "done".
Of course, "done" had different meanings to each family member, and mom wasn't always worried about whose expectations were being met.
Eventually, I achieved an age and leveled up (as they say these days in video games), to the point where I could be entrusted to oversee the making of toast.
Everybody got what I liked. Yellow and buttery in the middle, golden brown along the edges with streaks of delicious, buttered, crunchiness running to the middle in spots.
Toast was not only my first cooking experience, but, in a way, my first exposure to art. MY toast was not only functional and factual, but it was fantastic in appearance as well.
Disclaimer here; I said "buttery"... actually, mom used oleo, margarine... artificial stuff. I loved it.
My maternal grandmother lived in Atlanta, Georgia, 330 miles away from our Pensacola, Florida home. We only got to visit every other year or so, but, when we did, I was introduced to something strange... a toaster AND real butter.
Although I held my tongue, I really didn't like Grandma Blue's toast. It came out a dull, universal brown, and you smeared this pale stuff with little or no flavor on it. Still, over the years, I learned to look forward to it, because it was at Grandma's... like the steel shower from Sears in her basement.
At least at Grandma Blue's, the butter went on the toast while it was still hot from the toaster. When I went into the army, you ran the bread through a toasting machine, grabbed some butter, and hoped it would still be warm by the time you got your drink, got a seat, and settled down to eat.
But, this did not complete my toasting... New Year's or otherwise.
At a small hotel in London, they brought cold slices of toasted bread to the table in a wire rack. I would smear the cold butter on the cold toast, and it would crunch.
English people: I love England, and London was fantastic (even if I did nearly kill myself and others turning down the wrong way RIGHT in front of Buckingham Palace. Damned Americans! Anyway, take it from a southern boy from the U.S., toast should not be served cold and brown, but, most of all, it should not CRUNCH!
I miss the toast Mama used to make, but, having traveled extensively over the 3/4 of a century I've been on this earth. I've learned to take my toast where, when, and how I can get it.
I forgive all of you and that's my "toast" to you on this first day of January, 2024.
Damn. Now my coffee's cold!
Will this NEVER end?
Copyright January 1, 2024, by Donovan Baldwin
Labels: donovan baldwin, happy new year, toast
