I left the cat in charge

What I did: like you know, last year, a barn friend, S., invited me to join her on this trip to Florida to watch the winter circuit horse show, shop, and do sunshine; I was like, "Pick me," but then couldn’t get shit organized at home. I have pets and sourdough to feed, don’t you know. This year, I said yes, and left the cat in charge.

What I did beforehand: you don’t have to leave written instructions for the cat. I figured the dogs would  let him know when they were hungry or needed to crap someplace other than the kitchen floor.

What I packed: sunscreen, gray jeans, white J. Crew linen swimsuit coverup, bathing suit, yoga clothes, three polo shirts, underwear and socks.

Something I packed and didn’t wear: a sun hat.

Something I ran out of: shirts.

Who went with me: S. and K. from the barn. S.’s friend D. joined us from Germany. 

How I got tickets: online, from JetBlue, at the end of November.

Why I saw this show: I think S. wanted us to be able to see the FEI  Grand Prix CDI 5* at the 2017 Adequan® Global Dressage Festival in Wellington, FL, which we saw, in addition to the Grand Prix freestyle competition. 

Where I sat: in the bleachers and in the VIP tent, because S. is well-connected through volunteer leadership work she does for the Jewish World Games. 

Where I stayed: at the Casa Passivo-Aggressivo, a bed and breakfast  in West Palm Beach which you should not confuse with the nearby Passivo-Aggressivo Bed and Breakfast, just a couple of blocks away. And don't mention the confusion to your hosts, because the rivalry is old and bitter.

We were told we couldn’t have breakfast, 

which was included with our rooms, 

because we didn’t tell them the night 

before what time we wanted it. 

Things that were not funny: hearing S. explain that the Jewish World Games have been around since the 1930s and how Jews might want their own international sports competition, and, of course, why. She’s quite upbeat and polite. Then there was like this famous trainer who I met at a barn visit on S.’s World Jewish Games business, who was sure we’d met.

Things that were interesting: S.’s friend D. whispered to me all about what to look for in a correctly ridden and trained Grand Prix horse and told me that she thinks this one famous U.S. Olympic Dressage rider SP is an artist; he took third in both classes we saw him compete in.

Things that were sort of funny: K.’s connections got us seats at a super cool fundraiser where we were assigned to sit at SP’s table. I could only imagine myself saying something I would regret, so I didn’t have the courage to talk to him, but S. did. He was very nice, and so was his staff who also sat at our table.

Things that were not actually funny: a second snowstorm rolled into New York while we were all in Florida and our flight back on Sunday was cancelled. JetBlue sent us emails saying they’d re-book us, but we didn’t trust them to get us home in time for our obligations so we all scrambled to get back on the same flight only on Monday. By the time we heard from JetBlue, they'd booked us to leave several days later.

That thing where you go for a goofy selfie
and your friend doesn't 

Things that were cool:  S. wanted a ride to the show grounds on a golf cart because she wanted to experience everything, and we got it on the bonus day. The benefit show featured a group that works horses at liberty, up to eight at a time. It was beautiful and exciting and I could hear horse people at other tables comparing the performer’s control over her herd to their own horses. 

Something I ate: there were these short-rib empanadas being passed by a woman carrying a tray that we had to chase around the room.

Something I didn't eat: breakfast at our B&B.

Casa Passivo-Aggressivo hospitality 

included notes that appeared on the doors. 

Who should see it: fans of dressage. 

What I saw on the way home: the Atlantic Ocean, which is acidifying as a result of global warming. The last half hour of the flight was super bumpy because of a windstorm, but the flight attendant said they knew what they were doing so I just tried to close my eyes and deal with it. A woman in the row ahead of me whooped and commented about the bigger bumps. I wanted her to shut up. At least the kitchen floor was clean when I got home.

Boots

This past Sunday, Mars and I competed at our second rated show together. The judging was harsh. This week I’m wondering when and if I’ll ever have a more independent seat, softer elbows, and a more elastic connection. The one positive comment was, “Attractive pair.” It’s not nothing.

Last summer, just before I moved out of TriBeCa, I went to visit Vogel Custom Boots, in SoHo, to be fitted for my first pair of dress riding boots. I changed riding disciplines in the last few years, moving sideways from the hunter/jumper world to the other, even more froufrou, dressage. The tiny Vogel store front sat on a narrow, quiet street in a neighborhood of exquisite historic cast-iron buildings now bustling with high-end retail stores; it fit in nicely with its carved wood sign with gilded lettering, and custom shoes in the window, displaying the full spectrum of English riding boots.

My trainer likes to remind me that the word “dressage” is from the French, meaning “training.” It’s the flatwork, the not-jumping part of riding. At the Olympic level, the horses seem to dance, and they perform freestyle choreography to music.  At my level, you learn a test, in advance, that is written out on paper, with different gaits and figures performed at the letter-labeled points of the ring. The test takes 5 or 6 minutes, a long time for an athlete (horse or rider) to concentrate and really give a peak athletic performance. It looks like plain old horseback riding, and it’s judged by a person with a scorecard, giving you marks for the different movements and then a written score at the end. You can read where the judge thought your horse hollowed or fell in or bulged or hurried, where you needed more bend or impulsion, and you are welcome to use it to become a deranged and obsessive perfectionist about your riding and your horse’s way of going. Or, you can use it to reflect on those things you need to work on, and get to work improving.

The way a test is written, “3. K-X-M Change rein; 4. Between C &H Working canter left lead. 5; E Circle left 20m,” is not how it always rides. At a recent (unrated) schooling show, for example, my 6-year-old horse Mars whinnied violently at M, beginning at step 3 of the test, and then again, each time he passed the corner marked M or even got close to it: at step 5 when we circled at E, between step 8 & 9, at step 11 when we circled at E again, and then, again after step 13. I think another horse somewhere on the property was answering him.

A horse can whinny gently and quietly, almost under his breath. This wasn’t that kind of whinnying. This was like the horse equivalent of screaming. You can feel it emanating from the bowels of the horse, rumbling up under the saddle, vibrating through his chest, and then erupting from his great jaws. What are horses saying when they whinny? Maybe the horse version of, “WHERE YOU AT?” and the reply, “WHERE YOU AT, BRO!?” Whinnying during a test does not do much to earn a horse “submission” points, added to the end of one’s dressage score, for “willing cooperation, harmony, attention and confidence, acceptance of bit and aids, straightness, lightness of forehand and ease of movements.” Alas.

Coming from the hunter/jumper world, where flatwork is to prepare a horse and rider for jumping courses, it was my experience that trainers had limited patience to teach me flatwork in a way that I understood what I was doing, or why I was doing it, and how I might do it better. I was vaguely aware that I was bad at it, that flatwork, with my stiff, arched back and turned-out toes, my unforgiving arms and hands always at odds with the horse. But I didn’t have the slightest clue how I was supposed to get better at it until I started serious dressage lessons. And I’m still working on it, every ride.

Dressage was also a way to use my older, semi-retired horse, whose old injuries have meant that she will only be sound for trail riding and light work. Soon, though, I had ordered a new, black custom saddle, made in France, of course, specifically for dressage. And I had a new, young horse; a project we named Mars. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know.

Of course, I owned tall boots for riding already, but they are field boots, with laces at the top of the foot, going a short way up the ankle. The subtle and not-so-subtle distinctions in equestrian disciplines start with big, expensive things like boots and saddles, but also include variations in show apparel, and fundamental differences in the rider’s position. A dressage rider will wear a white stock tie, with a pin, as a foxhunter would; a showhunter wears a backwards collar called a rat-catcher. A dressage rider has a long stirrup and an open hip angle; a hunter jumper will run her stirrups up and crouch in the tack. It will take me years to develop new riding instincts.

Now, I had been to Vogel before this visit, when I had my trusty old field boots serviced the previous year, getting new soles and heels and having a ripped boot loop replaced. But it’s such a small shop with only a few chairs for customers that it can be quite awkward to walk in. The Vogel showroom was a few steps above the street, and smelled intensely of leather and leather dyes. I stood there in the small showroom, my messy, dirty hair going in strange directions, my wrinkled shirt untucked, and asked the first person in the back who noticed me if I could be fitted for some dressage boots, please.

“Do you have your riding pants?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She took me through the crowded work area to a small changing room in the back, where I put on my riding pants. When I returned to the front room, there

were two customers being measured for custom shoes. Both were sizable men, with shiny, combed back, black hair. One wore a suit and tie. They were peppering the salesman with questions.  “Why would it take so long? Why didn’t they make a mold of your feet? Why are the soles leather? Which pair is the most comfortable?”

Somehow, in New York City, there are still people who aspire to dress and talk and comport themselves publicly like mobsters. They purposely ask dumb questions, demand to know why everything is so expensive, excessively quote mob movies, and constantly assess whether others are with them or against them. For the purposes of this story, I am going to call these guys in the custom boot shop mobsters.

The younger mobster of the two asked, “How long do these shoes last?”

And the salesman said, “Well, it depends how much walking you do.”

The older mobster pointed to his fat stomach and said, “If I did a lot of walking would I look like this?”

I was introduced to Jack, the guy who fits the equestrian boots. He asked me if I’ve had boots made by them before, and I said I have. We reminisced about Olson’s, near Seattle, where I bought my boots a number of years ago, and Mike, who he’s known since he was a young employee there, long before he was manager or owner. I go back that far with Mike, too.  Jack went to look up my earlier order, and came back out with a clipboard, pencil and tape measure. I was still standing.

Jack sat in a chair next to the coatrack; one of the mobsters had left his coat draped over the seats, instead of hanging it up. Jack took down my address and email, perched on the edge of the seat so as not to crush the coat.

The mobster grandly offered to move the coat, and now that Jack had their attention he was able to find me a place to sit. Jack took a lot of measurements, all with me sitting, tracing my foot onto a piece of paper. We talked about my bunions, and the scary surgeries suggested by the two podiatrists I’ve seen. He told me no one he knows is happy with their bunion surgery. I concurred. He made me pull up the leg of my breeches, over my knee. Underneath my legs were really hairy, of course. 

The mobsters were still discussing leathers and soles. They were not coming to a decision. They said they’d call with their final decisions, but it seemed they’d be making no purchase that day. Though they’d said nothing to me, as they left the younger mobster called, “Good luck with your horse.”

He didn’t even say it like he believed I have a horse. He said it like he thought I made up the horse, the way that a kid in elementary school who didn’t believe your uncle was an NFL kicker would say, “Yeah right, sure.” Also, tucked under the “Good luck with your horse,” was, of course, that scene in the Godfather movie, where revenge came in the form of a horse head in a guy’s bed.

I learned my left calf is bigger than my right, and I’d have to have an elastic gusset if I didn’t want a zipper. I chose a squared toe, and a spur rest. I didn’t want mine as stiff as the sample he brought me, though I liked the stiff souls and the ribbed bottoms. As I paid (a sobering $1366 with tax), I asked how long it would take. I was told 10 to 12 weeks. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t even live in the neighborhood anymore in 10 to 12 weeks because I couldn’t face that at all. Moving in New York City is another tale of mobsters; with complicated rules of daily tipping and separate insurance and the always suspicious requirement that the whole thing be transacted in cash. I promised to lend Jack my orthotics for a few days without a word about my move.

Only six weeks later, I got a call that my boots were finished, and was told Vogel was two days away from packing up the place and closing. They were moving to Brooklyn. Someone made them an offer for their location; it was an offer they couldn’t refuse.

A New Sewing Machine?

Back in October, about six months ago, I was working on a quilt called “Moby Dick,” and my sewing machine broke. I hadn’t had any problems with it in a couple of years at that point, and felt that the need for repair was understandable, given the punishment it was taking.

I do free-motion machine quilting, where you drop the feed dogs and move the quilt in a meandering pattern as the needle sews. It is a challenge to keep the stitches the same length as you make curves, and it’s tricky to get the thread tension right. Mostly, it’s murder on motors. I waited to hear from the shop, but had to call them after about ten days. They claimed they had tried to reach me, maybe on my other number; I don’t have another number. Anyway, said the grumpy woman, my machine needed a new motor. I ok’d the work and chalked it up to being a quilting bad-ass.

And the thing didn’t still seem right after the motor replacement. It sounded different. There were new tension problems. When it seized up in the middle of quilting Sunday night, I struggled to even get the needle to come up out of the work.

I went to call the grumpy woman at the shop where the repair was done, and the number was no longer in service.

I found another place that services Bernina machines, and despite my car’s navigation system losing me in the worst parts of Poughkeepsie, I got it dropped off without incident. The drive home inspired me to think about finding a new sewing machine with a heavy-duty motor, just for tackling the punishment of free-motion quilting.

I did some research online, but mostly was frustrated. You can read advertisements, or blog posts about very specific models people own, but that high-level question of which machine is going to be able to take it? Not really addressed. And then there is the question of feel. One woman raves about the Janome and the next gave hers away. You have to sit down at a machine, put your hands on a quilt sandwich, and move it under the needle to know.

I found a sewing machine shop in New York City about a 15-minute walk from the apartment and gave them a call. I asked if they sold the Juki TL-2010Q. It seemed like the machine I was looking for. The man on the phone said they did. I asked if they had one in the store that I could try.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “He have a used one, and you can try it, and we can sell you a new one, in the box.”

I canceled my plans for the next day, and called the dog-sitter.

Winter is lingering in New York City. The sky persists in a bright gray-white overcast. The smokers on the street smell especially bad; they dally on the narrow sidewalks of Hell’s Kitchen, carelessly pointing their burning embers out towards other people. Greasy puddles linger where the sidewalks dip to meet the crosswalks, drowning cigarette butts, leaves, and disintegrating food wrappers.

My route to the shop has to avoid all the Lincoln Tunnel crap, and the Port Authority. I’ve forgotten to wear gloves. Block long lines of buses spew diesel exhaust. Concrete dust rises from the jackhammers of a constructions site, flimsily encased by a green painted plywood fence. People are stalking to work, collars up.

The shop is smaller than a residential suburban kitchen. It is crammed with sewing notions. A few new machines are out, but they aren’t plugged in or set up. One is still mummified in plastic. A large machine built into a table sits in front of the counter, taking up about half of the available floor space. The young man behind the counter and another man in a coverall with his name on it are conversing in a language I don’t recognize. This is how it is in New York. I can’t tell if the man in the coverall is a customer or another employee, but they aren’t talking to me until they are finished talking to each other. I wait.

Finally, I am noticed. I explain that I called yesterday, that I came down to the city specially to try a Juki TL-2010Q.

“I don’t think we have one of those.”

“I spoke to someone on the phone yesterday,” I say, peeved. “He told me you have a used one that I can try.”

He finds one on the repair shelf. It belongs to someone else, and has a note on it, describing the needed repair.

Back when my husband owned a Saab, I talked him out of getting a turbo model because whenever we went to the shop it was full of turbos. I assumed they broke a lot. Maybe it was really because they were all turbos. Who knows? They don’t even make Saabs anymore.

“We’re a small shop,” says the guy. Like I don’t know. “We don’t keep things like that in stock,” he admits. “Write down your name and number and I’ll have the owner call you about it when he gets in.”

The owner will never call. I don’t know why I bother to write down my actual name and actual number.  They lie on the phone and they lie to your face. This is what it is like in New York City.

Detail: Moby Dick, the quilt

By midday, the shop hasn’t called. I go to City Quilters and get a gentle salespitch about the full line of Berninas. All the Berninas. The latest Berninas. They have computer screens, and hundreds of decorative stitches. I have a Bernina; it is in the shop. It has some decorative stitches; I rarely use them. If you had a platter with a turkey painted on it, you might get it out once a year for Thanksgiving, but if you didn’t have it, you’d use another, plain platter. Those decorative stitches are, to me, like that decorative turkey platter.

I sit with a woman who is going to give me a demo on a top of the line Bernina. She pushes the buttons on the multiple screens of embroidery features. I am quiet. I do not care about embroidery features.

“What kind of sewing do you do?” she asks, as I drift away.

“Mostly quilts. Lots of free-motion quilting,” I say.

I show her a picture of “Moby Dick.”

She offers to show me the Sweet Sixteen, from Handi Quilter, a sit-down, long-arm free-motion quilting machine. Heavy-duty motor. It’s even American made.

Sweet Sixteen from Handi Quilter

There is a sample piece of a quilt sandwich in the machine, black, with variegated thread running through. With some gentle prompting I try it. It’s exactly like the feel of what I have been doing on my Bernina, but because the machine is set in the table facing me, I can put one hand on each side of the needle and move the quilt. I make a meandering pattern, smaller and smaller. It comes out exactly as I intended. I am very quiet.

It will be delivered in about a week.

Actual Transcript of Today's Chat Session with Optimum Cable

Rabindra R.: Hi, my name is Rabindra R.. How may I help you?

Me: I have been contacted via text from an Optimum customer without phone or internet connection. They can't report the outage
Me: Account # is #####-######-##-#. The address is ##### #####. The account is in the name of #######.
Rabindra R.: I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, Margaret.
Rabindra R.: I am sorry to hear the customer contact you.
Me: Is this a known outage?
Rabindra R.: They should be call us.
Me: ?
Rabindra R.: I do not see an outage in the area.
Me: They cannot call. Phones down, also internet. They need a service call.
Rabindra R.: The modem is online I am getting a connection to the modem.
Rabindra R.: They need to call us from the residence where the services is.
Rabindra R.: It could be something minor.
Me: THE PHONE DOES NOT WORK AT THE HOUSE
Rabindra R.: I am not seeing an issue on our end. If they can get a cell phone and call us.
Rabindra R.: If I send a tech and there is no issue due to Optimum they will be charge a fee of $39.95.
Me: No Cell phone coverage in the area. Remote rural area.
Rabindra R.: I have the to get permission from the account holder to set up this services call.
Rabindra R.: It seems as if the phone wire is unplug or something really minor.
Me: There is a business at this address as well. Their phones are down, too. They have no internet either. No one can call you from there.
Rabindra R.: I can set up a service call but they will be charge because there is not issue on our end.
Me: They have no service at either building at the address.
Rabindra R.: I am sorry the business needs to call in.
Me: I assume they can send a carrier pigeon or smoke signals
Rabindra R.: Would you like me to set the service call?
Me: You need to get someone over there.
Rabindra R.: Okay let me see what time and day we have open.
Rabindra R.: I can get a tech there today from now until 8pm and it will be a $39.99 charged.

Me: OK
Rabindra R.: What is the best number that I can have the technician call you ahead on before they come, such as a cell phone for example?
Me: ###-###-####
Rabindra R.: Thank you.
Rabindra R.: When the technician is there, they will check to see what is causing the issue. Also, someone 18 or older must be available for the service call.
Rabindra R.: You are all set for today between now and 8PM. I have made all the notes necessary and I am confident we will be able to resolve this issue for you, Margaret.
Rabindra R.: Is there anything else that I can assist you with today, Margaret?
Me: no thank you
Rabindra R.: Thank you for choosingOptimum. Have a great afternoon, Margaret.

Rabindra R. has disconnected.