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Sweet Charlotte

June 29th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Paper me in Waverly,sweet charlotte
My heart’s a broken ledge.
Anyone who looks at me
Sees me sitting on the edge.

From the tower I can see
The river at a glance.
Won’t you come and rescue me?
The two of us could dance.

Eighteen ninety four or so,
Set upon this stone,
Gathered from where no one knows,
To build someone a home.

What better than a cup of tea
And stories I would share.
Paper me in Waverly,
Is anybody there?

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A Morning Rankle Through The Massapequa Preserve

June 23rd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

As I’ve oftentimes mentioned, I cannot stress enough the healing powers of nature. It seems that whenever I’m out of sorts, I seek some quiet wooded glen for solace and comfort. It never fails to bring me to myself. Ideally, the best places for this are not always within easy access of suburban Long Island, at least not within walking or biking distance and so we utilize what we have. Trouble is, so does the rest of the populace which defeats the whole purpose.
I set out at 9:40 am on a Monday morning but to my utter dismay, it still wasn’t early enough. Already, there was the usual gamut of characters that should have been at work today but, like me, decided otherwise.
The Massapequa Preserve is a stunningly beautiful natural habitat placed smack dab in the middle of a densely populated neighborhood, but you wouldn’t know it once ensconced inside its wild array of canopied overgrowth, streams, ponds, bogs and wetlands, hidden pockets of abundant wildlife with only a narrow 2 lane bike path separating you from it. There are dirt trails that lace through it as well,massapequa preserve but for the most part, it seems people take to the black top.
My morning began with a sweet little duck family at the fishing bridge. Up a little further, 3 pairs of lovely snow white swans were grooming themselves at the creek’s edge, close enough to reach out and touch. One of them executed a very nice backwards leg stretch. (I must remember to ask the name of his Yoga instructor on my way back when he’s not so busy.) Not long into my trip, a duo of loud mouth New Yawkahs broke the silence with aimless chatter in their brisk walk to tight buns. It was apparent that this was their ultimate goal in life, oblivious to all else with specially devised outfits to heighten the effect. Thankfully, they soon dissolved into a bend in the road and left me to examine the inhabitants of the pond; another stark white swan and a red winged blackbird that darted into the bushes. It might have been at the strange appearance of a man jogging with a baby stroller while yelling “Bam, da Bam, Bam! Bam da Bam Bam!” I had to crane my neck to make sure there was actually a baby in the stroller to assess the mental stability of the one producing this most unusual sound. There was. Poor kid.
I spied a small brown bunny hopping alongside the path and watched as he (she?) darted into the brush. At a certain distance I about-faced for my return trip and opted to walk with the bike for a change of pace. (Actually my butt hurt.) Apparently, this was considered odd behavior for some, as I was asked by a kindly fellow if I didn’t need asistance with the bike. I politely refused and thanked him. I don’t know why this rankled me, but is there no where in this suburban conglomerate one can disappear and not have to interact with anyone and everyone? I just want to be invisible sometimes. God bless them, Long Islanders are extremely friendly, but must one always feel obligated to greet each passer by with “hello. hi. good morning. hey” or a smile? Then if you don’t look at them you get the feeling they may be offended, snubbed, or slighted and spoil the rest of their day. All right, already…… “Hi.”
I glimpsed the same little brown bunny coming back, although I can’t be entirely certain it wasn’t a different one this time. It wasn’t wearing a name tag, but then again, neither was the other one. It did, however, possess the same spirited hop. Of the same grouping of swans I was absolutely sure; they made slow progress up the creek without a paddle. (They didn’t have one last time.) Strangely, there were no chipmunks in sight. I’m convinced they all took to the mountains some 200 miles away as there were thousands of them frolicking during our last visit there. I can’t say that I blame them…….Bam, da Bam, Bam!

So……….whadayathink? Where do you go to seek solace and seclusion when you want to get close to nature without rubbing elbows with the human species?

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Saying Goodbye

June 22nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

I shy away from calling our kids “pets”, our cats “animals”. They are nothing less than family and as they age we mourn the passing of isistime in their fragility. And we dread “the day”. We say we’ll know it when the time comes. We’ll know when the time is right. We say it with such conviction.
But when the day actually arrives, we procrastinate. No, she isn’t eating. And yes, she is emaciated…..but look how she greets us! See how she perks up whenever we enter the room! What we fail to realize is that her deep love and devotion is unfailing. She will greet us with her dying breath. Living on love alone.
Are we being fair in letting her wither away? Aren’t we suffering alongside by refusing to let one another go? Do we stave off the inevitable with prolonged treatments that will ultimately end in bitter disappointment? Tortuous visits to the vet that only place more stress on both her and us? Or maybe, just maybe…..we should try this….
A favorite home cooked meal. One she cannot possibly resist…..C’mon baby, it’s easy. All you have to do is eat it. Just a little nibble.
But food no longer has the appeal it once had. Food is sustinence. Life. A life that no longer requires what food has to offer. The body is, quite simply, shutting down. Why is that so hard to comprehend?
Today, I’m spending time with her. Sharing the bed on a lovely summer day. The quilt is like a picnic blanket spread with a banquet of her favorite foods, all of which lie untouched. But no matter. Today, we’re celebrating her birthday. She’s just about a week shy of 20. Long time. Lots of memories. I tell her about the day I first brought her home while Dad slipped away to a Giant’s game: “Remember when we were on the back of the bus? I took you out of your carrier and you snuggled up close under my chin. You were so small.” She’s heard that one a thousand times. I can see her practically rolling her eyes. But it bears repeating. It has weight.
Her blanket is freshly laundered. There are soft murmurings of “I love you” spoken between us. Her restlessness tells me what I still refuse to accept. But I know it in my heart.

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NYC – From Skyline to Highline

June 18th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

I have to thank my cousin Lisa for my introduction to NYC’s Highline which came about two years ago. We work just a stone’s throw NYC Highlinefrom one another in Manhattan and upon occasion get together for “lunch”. Well, the first time we actually ate but from then on we became walking buddies in an effort to work off what eating puts on. She led me down to the west end of the city not far from where we set out, and we proceeded to climb an elevated platform. I had no idea what to expect but was quite simply thrust into a part of the city I’d never known existed. How could this be? I thought I knew it all when it came to the city. But it was quite apparent I’d been out of the loop.
Here was a world where nature extended her hand and literally led you down the city’s primrose path. What was once an expanse of abandoned elevated train track, had been transformed into a private pedestrian walkway; an unexpected vista of ever changing cityscape interspersed with surprise elements of wooded glens, petite lawns, flora/fauna and you name it. As if that weren’t enough, the intriguing view above the city streets free from the intrusion of traffic and blaring sirens, highlight the architectural interest of brand spanking new buildings alongside Victorian Chelsea. With a nod to the city’s talented art community, this montage also injects a gallery of sculptures mounted on the sides of buildings scattered along the way just for good measure; we wouldn’t want you to get bored.
There was a time when this bed of railroad track that lay abandoned for some time, was considered by some just a stretch of wreckage and should be demolished. Nature began to reclaim what was hers and determindly took root there. With a vision not unique to New Yorkers alone, for the idea germinated with the existence of the Promenade Plantée in Paris, a plan to create something similar was born. But it became something much more; a necessary element of which many city people are deprived. A backyard. A place of respite. A moment’s pause reminding us how important it is to integrate ourselves with nature, even in a place as bustling as NYC. Perhaps even more so because of it.
Children playing on lawns. An old woman in a straw hat biding her time amongst the flowers. People on a leisurely stroll mid afternoon. Others, sunning themselves on newly mown grass in bare feet. Some time in New York City? You betcha. The Highline soars.

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Tony Gwynn – The Consummate Hitter Dies At The Tender Age of 54

June 17th, 2014 by Michael Tabor

If you happen to be the casual baseball fan and didn’t know who Tony Gwynn was (it is possible inasmuch as he played for the lowly tonygwynnSan Diego Padres for 20 years) you would probably think, simply by his appearance (stout & portly) that this was a guy who tried to yank the ball out of the park every time he stepped up to the plate. Indeed, many of the hall – of – famers, including Mickey Mantle, have always maintained that if it wasn’t a home – run, even a base – hit, then it was less than a perfect at – bat. This was not the philosophy of arguably the greatest “pure” hitter to ever play the game of baseball.

Tony Gwynn was not a very tall man (5’11”) but he was a husky fellow 230 lbs. but Tony was not there to knock the ball out of the park. Mr. Gwynn was a craftsman, artist, and master at seeing the ball with hawk – eye vision and going with the pitch (fast ball or breaking ball) and literally using the whole field, very often in the gap between third and short which is prodigiously difficult. It’s a known fact that Tony Gwynn saw baseball and hitting a pitched ball as an esoteric science. He took his profession very seriously and would always study the video tape of every one of his at – bats in order to improve his game.

Here are some statistics from him which are nothing less than staggering:

·        His career batting average was .338.

·        He hit .350+ five years in a row (wow !!!)

·        Tony was a selfless team player who would with unparalleled consistency hit a grounder to the right side to move a runner on second to third when there were 0 outs.

·        Gwynn made the all – star team 15 times.

·        Won 8 NL batting titles

·        He hit over .300 basically his whole career – 19 years.

Tony Gwynn was beloved by everyone in baseball and especially obviously by the San Diego Padres whom they called “Mr. Padre. Sadly Mr. Gwynn died of salivary gland cancer caused by the horrible habit of chewing tobacco (I chewed myself for more than a decade) which all baseball players used to do back in the day.

So WhaDaYaThink ? What do you think ? Incidentally, Tony Gwynn was not only one of the best players to ever play the game of baseball, but he was also, as told by countless friends, teammates, family, etc., an unbelievably nice and soft – spoken man. R.I.P. Tony Gwynn  – you were truly a class act and made the game of baseball a better and more interesting sport.

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Here Lies Prose

June 11th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Edgar’s shadow lingers here,purple
Pauses in the mire.
Pen and ink are bottled near
By his heart’s desire.
She wore a purple mantle of
Creeping Myrtle.
But upon her ankle, sod,
To dream a dream so fertile.

As I said, he lingers by
The crooked stones.
What is written in a sigh
Lies beneath the bones.
She wore a bow of lavender
That she might sleep.
Thus the reason pen lies nigh
And the myrtle creeps.

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Throw Away Your Cell Phone And STOP Social Media

June 5th, 2014 by Michael Tabor

I very rarely use my cell phone (I have one only for emergencies) and I was very seriously considering disconnecting myself completely cellendfrom Facebook and only keeping LinkedIn (only for business purposes). I decided to stay on FaceBook only because of our blog. Most of our readers are actually not FB members, but I think we have a few, so….

Surely, Facebook has certain redeeming qualities i.e. finding old long lost friends and classmates, etc. but after that, ENOUGH !!!

Have you ever been to an engagement or family function and everyone seems to be playing with their mobile – texting, taking pictures, surfing the net … everything, but being “present” enjoying the company of one another i.e. human interaction and being in the “now.”

What is it about “us” (myself included) that 1. Constantly wants to be distracted & 2. Thrives on attention.  We all have thoughts, opinions, feelings about everything under the sun and part of being human is sharing it with other people. The aforementioned is fine and dandy but when you feel the need to throw a picture of yourself up on FB after getting a haircut or giving a blow – by – blow description of your recent colonoscopy procedure, well …

This is nice and short, because addition to the theme of this blog, we also all have Twitter attention spans (another blog) Anyway, WhadaYaThink ? What do you think ? There’s a term out there for us folks who are fed up with technology – Neo-Luddism.

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Losing Leo

June 4th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Each day moves closerlosing leo
To losing Leo.
From the day they found him.
To the time they named him.
To when he slipped out the door
And they plastered his face
On every neighborhood pole.
Help find Leo.
Orange and white.
But Leo is part
Of the fabric now.
A distinctive tawny streak
In the mesh
Of someone’s heartache.
A fixture
At someone else’s
Back door.

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