help find this hat???

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The whole story is here, but the gist of it is this:
b!x has been all over online trying to find this Bailey’s hat in a size large. He wants to wear it to his Dad’s memorial celebration on May 25, which means he needs to get one by May 21, before he gets on a plane to come east for the event. (His Dad passed away on April 10.) There are none available online by the deadline.
Here’s the challenge. If there’s a men’s hat store anywhere near you, dear reader, could you call them and see if they have that hat, which is a black “Johnny” braided (straw) porkpie from Bailey (item # 81680), size large.
If they have the hat, please leave a comment here letting me know how b!X or I can get in touch with you and arrange to have to hat bought and sent to him.
Again, there’s no way to get it on time online, so b!X is hoping someone out there will make a miracle and find him one that he can get on his head by May 21. (It’s a son-father thing.)
THIS IS A HAT EMERGENCY!
Well, why not.

Myrln Monday (3)

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Myrln is gone, but his spirit remains with us in the power of his words:
From a scrap of paper on his desk — quickly hand-scrawled, a stray thought, bit of story, strand of memory:
Dinner table – metal goblets

These goblets belonged to my mother. Asked us to drink a toast from them because had she lived she would have been 89 years tomorrow. She was 23 when she had me, and had only 4 more years left to live. There are 4 generations sitting here today. I ask you, in her memory, to remember to make the most always of the time you have with those you love and who love you. So, Mamma, here’s to you…salut…by remembering you, we remember ourselves.

salut
See www.myrln.com for information about the remembrance party being held in his honor on May 25, as well as plans for publishing his non-published works.

I don’t believe in yesterday

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Yesterday was the “National Day of Prayer.”
In acknowledgment of the occasion, I quote here from my favorite scientist/atheist’s weblog, Pharyngula.

I can scarcely believe my country is officially pandering to such willful stupidity — elevating evangelical kooks to positions of prestige, trumpeting the virtues of sectarian religion, and actually crediting the successes of America to the fact that a subset of deluded, demented fools sit on their asses and beg an invisible man to protect us and help us kill people in foreign countries. What a waste, and what an encouragement of further waste.

I feel like just declaring this the official National Day of Derangement and writing it all off, maybe spit in the soup of people who say grace, or flip off any group I catch trying to do a collective exercise in ritual invocation of nonexistent beings, but the Minnesota Atheists have a more productive idea: they are calling this a National Day of Reason and are setting up to demonstrate in the Minnesota capitol in St Paul today. They actually have a prime position, and all the legislators leaving their workplace to join in the National Day of Inanity will have to troop by them. In my dreams, these politicians would feel a little sense of shame at the foolishness of the official events, but in reality, I’m sure they won’t.

>

honk if you love truckers

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Now, I usually don’t have much good to say about big rigs. Out on the interstates, they slow me down going upgrade and whoosh by me going downgrade, while I have my cruise control set to the ultimate speed that won’t get me a ticket.
But I’ve gotta love those truckers who are banding together in a Fuel Protest that has import for all of us.
According to here (which is worth reading in its entirety):

The truckers who organized the protests – by CB radio and internet – have a specific goal: reducing the price of diesel fuel. They are owner-operators, meaning they are also businesspeople, and they can’t break even with current fuel costs. They want the government to release its fuel reserves. They want an investigation into oil company profits and government subsidies of the oil companies. Of the drivers I talked to, all were acutely aware that the government had found, in the course of a weekend, $30 billion to bail out Bear Stearns, while their own businesses are in a tailspin.

[snip]

But the larger message of the truckers’ protest is about pride or, more humbly put, self-respect, which these men channel from their roots. Dan Little tells me, “My granddad said, and he was the smartest man I ever knew, ‘If you don’t stand up for yourself ain’t nobody gonna stand up for you.’” Go to theamericandriver.com, run by JB and his brother in Texas, where you’re greeted by a giant American flag, and you’ll find – among the driving tips, weather info, and drivers’ favorite photos –the entire Constitution and Declaration of Independence. “The last time we faced something as impacting on us,” JB tells me, “There was a revolution.”

Today, on the west coast

Cranes and forklifts stood still from Seattle to San Diego, and ships were stalled at sea as workers held rallies up and down the coast to blame the war for distracting public attention and money from domestic needs like health care and education.

“We’re loyal to America, and we won’t stand by while our country, our troops and our economy are being destroyed by a war that’s bankrupting us to the tune of $3 trillion,” the president of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union, Bob McEllrath, said in a written statement. “It’s time to stand up, and we’re doing our part today.

Truckers joined the protests by refusing to cross the picket lines.
Also today, there was supposed to be a truckers’ protest convoy in New York City, but

Mike (JB) Schaffner, of www.theamericandriver.com, today announced that New York City has effectively canceled the convoy in Manhattan scheduled for May 1, 2008.

Spokesman Mike (JB) Schaffner said he was disappointed. “We were set to perform a peaceful demonstration to point out the frustration that working class America is feeling,” he said. “First they approved us. Then they changed our permits for no more than 35 vehicles in the convoy. Now they’ve placed so many unreasonable conditions on the event that it makes it nearly impossible. We’re asking the government of the great state of New York to address this, and the reasons why our freedoms to speak and peacefully assemble are being crushed.”

Brian Osborne, owner of B L Osborne Transport, said, “they’ve effectively shut us down all together.”

The trucker convoy that went to Washington on April 28 was more successful, and writer Barbara Ehrenreich chronicles her experience joining the protest on her blog (again, worth reading in its entirety):

We are to park the trucks at the RFK Stadium and walk from there to the Capitol, giving us about a half an hour to mill around on foot in the parking lot first. There’s a bobtail with “Truckin for Jesus” painted on it and, under that, “Truckers and Citizens United.” There are Operation Desert Freedom caps and a POW/MIA flag, as well signs indicting oil companies and “Wall Street speculators.” I chat with members of the mostly African-American contingent of DC dump truck drivers and with Belinda Raymond, a trucker’s wife from Maine, who tells me that people in her area raised $9000 to send a convoy of trucks down here, with the Knights of Columbus accounting for $2500 of that. Whole families have come, and I see a boy carrying a sign saying “What about My Future?” A smartly dressed woman from New Jersey carries a sign asking, “Got Milk? Not Without a Truck.”

Let’s face it. If all truckers went on strike, the economy of this country would grind to a halt as well. Once upon a time, Americans who weren’t going to take it any more dumped a bunch of tea into Boston Harbor.
And the Revolution began.
HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

music, music, music

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I’ve been thinking about my life’s soundtrack — the songs that have played in the background as I lived through various eras in my life so far. My still new car still has it’s free trial satellite radio connection, and I find that the only station I really listen to is the 1950s one. With each song, my being remembers the feeling of when I heard it played all those decades ago. I don’t necessarily remember events; I remember feelings. That’s the magic of music.
I have discovered that many of the songs from subsequent decades that I still like to listen to are the ones written by Leonard Cohen. Not sung by him, but written — or co-written — by him. They seem to generate the most visceral emotional response.
I’m thinking particularly of the songs on Jennifer Warnes’ Famous Blue Raincoat all-Leonard-Cohen-album, which was a gift from Myrln.
Simon and Garfunkel were major players in my 60s and 70s head — poignant and soulful and melancholy: “Cloudy,” “Bookends,” “Patterns,” “America.”
And Don McClean with his “And I Love You So” and “Winterwood” and “Vincent.”
Judy Collins singing “Suzanne” and”Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye” and “Sisters of Mercy” ….. — music that took me through bittersweet 70s.
Over the past decade or so, especially those years taking care of my mother, I haven’t been listening to much music. There is no stereo in her rooms, and I spend a great deal of my time there with her, watching television.
Occasionally, in my own space, I listen to Josh Groban. “Vincent,” again.
I’m finally starting to download songs into my MP3 player, but it’s not any new music that I want to listen to. I want to hear the old songs, the ones that bring me to remembering when I had a real life.

Myrln Monday (2)

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Myrln is gone, but his spirit remains with us in the power of his words:
Fathers and Daughters
Little girls are nice,
but we do them wrong
fussing with their hair and dressing them up
like dolls –
teaching them from the start
they are decorative playthings.
Better we should feed them
words and numbers and tools
to remind them
that before women, they are people.
Teach them love and caring and nurture, yes,
but not as the entirety of their being,
else those qualities
become walls and prisons.
Give them, as well, wings
and teach them to fly –
in case later in life
someone builds walls around them.
Little girls are nice,
but daughters who are their soaring selves
are better.
Fathers and Sons
All the time they’re growing up,
sons try hard to please their fathers.
They play ball, follow dad’s interest in cars,
or in building things,
or in fishing –
whatever it is that pleases dad.
Mostly learning how to be a man.
If they’re lucky,
they’re not required to embrace any of those
for a lifetime.
If they’re lucky,
somewhere along the way,
they’re let loose
to strike out after their own interests
and to please themselves.
And fathers,
if they’re smart,
realize that somewhere along the way
is a turning point:
a time when sons become teachers,
and fathers can learn
what their sons became on their own,
how manhood is not a fixed concept.
And say to their sons,
“Good job.”
Then both will know
they did right
in pleasing each other.
William A. Frankonis, 1937 – 2008

in support of melancholy

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From here:

I do, however, wonder why so many people experiencing melancholia are now taking pills simply to ease the pain. Of course there is a fine line between what I’m calling melancholia and what society calls depression. In my mind, what separates the two is degree of activity. Both forms are more or less chronic sadness that leads to continuing unease with how things are — persistent feelings that the world is not quite right, that it is a place of suffering, stupidity, and evil. Depression (as I see it, at least) causes apathy in the face of this unease, lethargy approaching total paralysis, an inability to feel much of anything one way or another. In contrast, melancholia generates a deep feeling in regard to this same anxiety, a turbulence of heart that results in an active questioning of the status quo, a perpetual longing to create new ways of being and seeing.

[snip]

Melancholia, far from a mere disease or weakness of will, is an almost miraculous invitation to transcend the banal status quo and imagine the untapped possibilities for existence. Without melancholia, the earth would likely freeze over into a fixed state, as predictable as metal. Only with the help of constant sorrow can this dying world be changed, enlivened, pushed to the new.

Poets are friends with melancholy. All artists are. Probably scientists as well.

a time for every purpose

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It’s hard to stop feeling melancholy, remembering and then recognizing that what’s gone is gone for good.
I play Mary Chapin Carpenter’s album with which blogger friend Dave Rogers kindly gifted me through ITunes. It’s melancholy resonates with mine and fills me. And then the melancholy is gone, at least for now. I can think of something else besides what’s lost.
I can think of something like the elections.
I’ve had mixed feelings about Hillary Clinton for the same reasons that many others do. But I’m slowly becoming more and more convinced that she’s the better democratic candidate.
I was particularly interested in the points made in the Washington Post by Geoff Garin, strategist on the Clinton campaign.

So let me get this straight.
On the one hand, it’s perfectly decent for Obama to argue that only he has the virtue to bring change to Washington and that Clinton lacks the character and the commitment to do so. On the other hand, we are somehow hitting below the belt when we say that Clinton is the candidate best able to withstand the pressures of the presidency and do what’s right for the American people, while leaving the decisions about Obama’s preparedness to the voters.
Who made up those rules? And who would ever think they are fair?

[snip]

The bottom line is that one campaign really has engaged in a mean-spirited, unfair character attack on the other candidate — but it has been Obama’s campaign, not ours. You would be hard-pressed to find significant analogues from our candidate, our senior campaign officials or our advertising to the direct personal statements that the Obama campaign has made about Clinton.
The problem is that the Obama campaign holds itself to a different standard than the one to which it holds us — and sometimes the media do, too.

There are no saints in politics. But there are those who can get the job of fixing this country done more effectively than others.
I originally supported John Edwards. Hillary Clinton is my next choice.

life is so confusing

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I’m back from another day of helping my daughter clean out her Dad’s stuff. I focused on his clothes, setting aside some that I’ll send to b!X, since they probably will fit him. As it turns out, I took a pair of summer shorts and a pair of cargo pants that fit me because they both have elastic in the waistband. Men’s pants always have lots of pockets. I wish more women’s pants did.
It was so strange going through his things. An invasion of his privacy. Except it doesn’t matter any more. Except it sort of does.
His being gone forever still doesn’t seem real.
I took a Best of Moody Blues CD. A blue pottery bowl. A mortar and pestle. An orange windbreaker. I don’t have a windbreaker. I took the two new deliciously soft bed pillows that he never had a chance to use.
I took five trash bags of clothes, a big box of shoes, and several suits on hangars to the Salvation Army. And there are still clothes left in his closets.
His walls and shelves (except for the full book shelves) are covered with art and crafts. Beautiful stuff that none of us has room for. It will all have to be disposed of.
We keep reminding ourselves that these things are not him, they are not his legacy. They are the things he liked to look at, to think about, to help him remember. They served an important function in his life. He no longer needs them. His legacies are our memories and all that he accomplished through his creativity and passion.
We assess his belongings with great practicality. One or the other of us will make use of his recliner, his couch, the chest of drawers that was part of the first real bedroom set we bought when we were married. (When we divorced, he got the bed and the chest of drawers. I took the dresser with the mirror. The dresser fell apart two of my moves ago. The chest of drawers still looks brand new.)
We go on with our lives.

Myrln Monday (1)

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Monday was the day that Myrln (aka William Frankonis and my once-husband) posted his rants here on Kalilily Time. He wrote a great deal more than political rants, however, and from now on, Mondays will be the place where Myrln will post some of his best writings, posthumously, through the auspices of our daughter.
Snippets from “A Letter to My Grown Children” — post 9/11 2001
[snip]
…We live in the Now. Sometimes drastic events make us aware of that simple fact we tend to forget or ignore; we always live only in Now. As Buddhism has been telling us for centuries. No matter how or how much the world changes, we can still live only in the right Now. How is ours to determine. We may mourn loss and worry what’s to come, but here we are – Now. And Now is sometimes good, sometimes bad; sometimes easy, sometimes hard; sometimes joyful, sometimes sad. But whatever it is, it is, and we have no choice but to live in it. Which, when you think of it, is a fine thing.
[snip]
It makes sense, then, to make Now the best possible o us because we never know. And that fact should teach us: no delaying, waiting around, procrastinating, habituating, sinking into torpor. Look. See. Be. Whether alone or with others, do it. Now…not tomorrow.
[snip]
So how do I know the validity of what I’m preaching? Because in many ways, I have always delayed Now for dreams-to-come or for fear of future consequences. But I know – Now – those dreams/fears will never come to pass. And even if the fears prove true in the end or the dreams went unfulfilled, so what? Why didn’t I at least make my Nows what I wanted them to be?
[snip]
Only love lives still in past and future. Strange thing, love. It’s why I can always say I love you Now, always have, and always will.
[snip]