My Lucky Star

February 22nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Linda. With the one tiny braid in her long blond hair. I had one just like it but mine was a deep dark brown.lucky star
Linda. The tiny gold star hanging on a chain at her throat. It was mine but I gave it to her. It was inscibed “My Lucky Star”.
Linda. Sitting at the kitchen table eating home baked cookies with my mother while I changed out of school clothes. You’d think the two of them were best friends instead of us. Chatting away and giggling.
I remember the first time I met Linda. I was maybe twelve, just on the brink of forming real friendships. Growing out of adolescence and into…….a “teenager”. I had a friend around the corner named Joann. One day Joann introduced me to a friend she knew from school. That was that. No more Joann. Linda and I became nearly inseparable doing the sort of things girls at that age do. Experiencing “first time” things together, although in my eyes, Linda was the more worldly of us two.
Like all best friends, Linda was the first person I ever confided in. The first one I shared the most personal part of myself… poetry. (She cried and I figured it was good). My “Diary Of a Mad Schoolgirl”, the side splitting journal of our day to day antics, embellished to make it even funnier.
Time passed. We formed other friendships. Got married. Moved away. But always, there was Linda. Outgoing. Fun loving. Adventurous. Writing me long long letters about her travels. Islands here. Paradise there. Dog mushing in Alaska. I was a little bit jealous after reading that last one. Kept it for awhile and then threw it away. Threw them all out, not out of spite but Spring Cleaned Linda into oblivion. Wish I had that letter now.
One day, several years ago, her mother called me from Florida. That was where they were all living now. Linda had had some surgery done. Something cosmetic. Unnecessary. It went wrong. Caused a series of strokes almost killing her. In a way it did. She went blind. Temporarily at first, then again, this time for good. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she lost almost all of her memory. Couldn’t even remember close family members. Not even her husband….her kids….Me.
I couldn’t get my arms around it. Doesn’t remember me? How can she not remember me? Me. Her best friend.
All those memories. Those ridiculously hilarious moments. Gone. Just like that.
I still spoke to Linda. Called her up and tried to make her remember but hit a wall every time. She just couldn’t. Instead, we’d make small talk. A thick black line drawn between us. As definitive as an iron bar. In my mind I was screaming…..I don’t want to talk about the weather! This is me, Goddammit! Maybe I should have screamed it out loud. Maybe she would have finally remembered the real me.
I even saw her once more. She came to New York for her daughter’s wedding. She was sitting on her aunt’s sofa and couldn’t even stand up by herself. They had to help her. She nearly broke my neck hugging me. That hug told me something unlocked. Something clicked. That she remembered “something”.
Yesterday I got another call…. Linda died. Linda. My Linda.
If what they say is true, then she has not only gained immortality but has regained her sight, watching me cry my eyes out. She’s still wearing that gold chain I gave her all those years ago. Hey. Remember me? I’m your Lucky Star.


When The Clocks Have Stopped

February 22nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

And so, I lit a candletwo girls walking together
When I heard the news.
And set the kettle to boil.
And walked with you
On the avenues
Of a hundred years ago.
Two twigs bent in the wind
And wondered…
If we knew then
What I know now,
With one of us here
And the other…
And the flame burns steady.
And my tea’s gone cold.
And the hour grows late
In your timelessness.
What is sleep?
Just another form of…
What is sleep
When the clocks have stopped?


What’s Inside An Edwardian Purse?

February 21st, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Recently, I came across a vintage Edwardian leather purse with lovely hand tooled art nouveau detailing; its well worn handle laced with whip stitching, and a sweet edwardian woman with pursesilver clasp to shut tight the secrets it once held for someone I envision as fashionable as she was intelligent. Its condition implied that it was either a favorite of many or a one and only prized possession. Anything old always inspires vivid imaginings in my on-line travels.
But first, let me define “Edwardian”. This is the era encompassing the reign of King Edward VII from 1901 to 1910 after the death of Queen Victoria transferring the succession to her son. In juxtaposition to his somewhat reclusive mother, Edward publicly embraced art and fashion along with political inclinations toward the betterment of the working class, particularly for women.
In 1903 the U.S. founded the National Trade Union League to improve the wages and working conditions for women. While in 1905 the U.K. led the formation of the Women’s Social and Political Union for the right to vote, although the fight began much much earlier than this.
So, with this in mind, it’s interesting to note what was going on at the time this particular purse came into fashion and into the hands of a certain owner in uncertain but hopeful circumstances. Again, antiques inspire thoughtful musings about who owned it when, and what may have transpired at the time of its inception. It’s always a lesson in history that never fails to fascinate.
Who was the lucky lady to carry this lovely article on her arm and what did it contain? Was she an intellectual, a suffragette with a strong sense of fashion and appreciation for beautiful things? The following is a list of things I imagine may have been hidden within the compartment of this handbag:
1) Currency. Either British pounds or American dollars. Perhaps both, if she was so privileged and worldly. How much would depend on her financial well being after spending a tidy sum on the bag. Or was it a gift from a well-to-do husband to his adoring but headstrong wife?
2) A handkerchief. No lady at the time would be caught sniffling in public without one. It was probably a starched white version (laundered by the housemaid) and embroidered with a scripted monochromatic initial of its mistress’s intriguingly elusive name and scented with her signature Parisian parfum.
3) A house key. In those days there was only one key needed with which to enter one’s castle and perhaps a second to the gated estate.
4) A love note. The lady may have hidden this indiscretion at the very bottom and rummaged nervously for its instructions leading to the Venetian gondola unbeknownst to her devoted but insufferably boring husband.
5) A timepiece. Essential in getting back to the estate unnoticed before the wee hours of the morning, birds twittering in the rosy light of dawn.
6) A cigarette. A hand rolled number indulged in the privacy of her room with the window ajar and a profusion of flowers from the greenhouse to rid the smell.
6) And finally, a political rally flyer. Slipped into her hand by the rebel rouser with whom she unwisely kept company culminating in the ruination of her marriage and reputation.
End result, an empty but still very beautiful handbag generating looks of admiration and envy….Alas! Where’s that starched white hanky? And the address to the factory with improved working conditions?

So………whadayathink? What arouses your passions? Do old things muster wild imaginings to rid you of the winter doldrums? Or are these fantasies a direct result of too many Downton Abbey re-runs?


Superman !!!

February 16th, 2014 by Michael Tabor

I think the reason I dislike Chris Weidman so much, is the fact that everything has come so easily for him; he simply is a freak of chrisweidmannature. He began wrestling as a child and simply cake – walked his way through NCAA Division I wrestling as a young adult. If he pursued the wrestling path, I guarantee he would have medaled and even won the GOLD. What drives me crazy, is that after only 3 months of jiu – jitsu training, he entered the EAST Coast Grapplers tournament &WON (How is that humanly possible ???) One might say that he used his wrestling skills to win the event but the fact of the matter is he submitted all 13 opponents – WHAT ??? (If people aren’t familiar with jiu – jitsu, it usually takes about a year to submit a white belt in live action). Weidman decided to give MMA and ultimate fighting a shot on a whim and won 10 consecutive fights. Unbelievably (but deservedly, since he was destroying everyone he faced) he was actually granted a title shot against the greatest mixed martial artist to ever step into the cage in Anderson Silva. Well we all know what happened – Weidman beat Silva soundly not once but twice just to ensure the 1st time wasn’t some sort of fluke. Chris Weidman is now the Middleweight champion of the world in MMA & quite frankly I can’t see him losing for a loooooong time.


Hearts and Flowers

February 15th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Hearts and flowers.king and queen
Mine and ours.
Love empowers
Or weakens me.

Bows and arrows.
Crumbs and sparrows.
De Bergerac borrowed

Blooms and bon bons.
Drums and tom toms.
Love makes fools of
Kings and Queens.


Needle and Thread

February 8th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Set aside your grief
Amongst your sewing things.
Unpatch the knee
With a pain that stings.

Let show the skinneedle and thread
Beneath the angry tear
And kiss the sin
With a mother’s care.

Bury your son
Under the winter sky
And when it’s done
Thread the needle’s eye.

Take up your grief.
Stitch up the restless dead
With disbelief,
With needle and thread.


I Will Never Be Able To See Another New Phillip Seymour Hoffman Film Ever Again!!!

February 6th, 2014 by Michael Tabor

The finest and best American actor I’ve ever had the great pleasure of seeing was far and away, Philip Seymour Hoffman. I’m a Philip-Seymour-Hoffmanpicfilm aficionado, and I certainly have a plethora of awesome talent on my list of immortals e.g. Robert De Niro & Al Pacino before they sold out, John Cazale, Newman, Hoffman, Brando, Redford, the amazing Jack Nicholson…. on & on.

However, here was Phillip Seymour Hoffman whose nuanced acting ability, subtlety, and range just simply swept you away, making it impossible to become unglued and detracted from the always-stellar performance from this rather short, overweight, unattractive and certainly non – leading man appearance.
When I Netflix a film, the most important variable I look for is “who directed the film ??? ….” 9 times out of 10 the director is the “Man” – he or she is essentially the author (auteur) and driving force behind any film or movie. Occasionally an actor can steal the show and turn a horrible movie, script, etc. into a classic or even a masterpiece. Two films come to mind (not classics but most definitely cult) 1. Al Pacino’s remake of the classic ‘Scarface’, – completely over – the – top, but Mr. Pacino made Brian De Palma’s film an all – time classic cult film (Incidentally, Mr. outrageous – over – the top, Oliver Stone wrote the script – lol) 2. There is absolutely no movie what so – ever without Jack Nicholson in ‘One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ & even ‘The Shining’ (although the most brilliant and genius director – Stanley Kubrick directed this).

I can hardly compile a list of my favorite Phillip Seymour Hoffman films, because he was brilliant in all of them but I’ll attempt to give you my top 3:
1. “Doubt”
2. “The Savages”
3. “Capote”

So WhaDaYaThink ? What do you think ? Thank you Phillip Seymour Hoffman for forever enriching my life and R.I.P. July 23, 1967 – February 2, 2014.