A'painting I will go...

All packed up for day at Marin County Fair, participating in the en plein aire contest, which just means we set up our paintboxes and slap pigment on a canvas all day, then get judged for our efforts. It is like when I learned to play bridge, at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, Pied Piper Room, Maxfield Parrish mural on the wall behind the bar, cutthroat duplicate bridge, complete with award of master points. No simple, innocent, anonymous, housewifey contract bridge for me, oh nonono. So, I am braving the thousands of onlookers, who will probably walk away shaking their heads. No problem, I will be standing near a professional artist who knows what he is doing, my teacher, actually. I think I have all the essentials to paint: easel paintbox, pigments, medium, thinner, brushes, rag, pliers to open pigments, palette, various containers, Saranwrap to preserve palette till I can transfer leftovers to studio palette, canvases. And in the Monet tote bag: ticket and parking pass, water, sunscreen, glasses, comb, lipstick, apron, paper towels, Kleenex, money, ID. Add a big floppy hat and I'm all set. Oh, and a folding chair, just in case I want to sit down for a while. I expect to lose 5 lbs laboring out there in the heat. That alone is worth the $12 entry fee. And the experience of putting myself out there, for the whole world to see, doing something I am not sure I am any good at doing. Ah, recovery. Once again, pushing the envelope.

I couldn't help myself!

My palm has been itching, and, according to my Gran, that means money is coming to me. I just love it when that happens, don't you? So, I bought a ticket for tonight's Super Lotto. I know, I know, you are rolling your eyes, wondering if I know the impossible odds of winning. And I don't. But I do know the odds if I never buy a ticket. (I got to say that out loud once, to my boss, the man who knew everything, and don't you love it when that happens, when the right snappy answer to a rude question is right there, on top of the mind's trash heap?) The jackpot is $90 million, which makes it worth my while to buy 5 quick picks. That's a doable number for me, and any time I have won something, $5 here, $10 there, and a couple of times, $80, it has been on the 4th or 5th line of the ticket. So I don't understand why anyone would buy just one pick. And 10, well that feels obsessive. I always tuck my ticket in with my cash in my wallet, sort of give it a hint about what I expect from it. Then I imagine all the things I could do with the money (half would be out the window immediately for taxes, then they would want to parcel it out to me for 26 years, so I would have about $2 million a year if I won). I could buy a house with lots of bedrooms for people to come and visit. And I could have a swimming pool with a big pool house and attached personal gym so I could bounce around, but privately. I would endow a foundation to send women to college who want to finish their education. And give all my loved ones money and gifts. And travel, see the world. But mostly, I would do just what I do now, go to AA meetings, work with others, and continue my education, forever. Just take one course after another, get a doctorate, or two. Actually, I am pretty rich, right this moment, when I think about it. I consider my $5 investment to be eminently worth it, if just for entertainment value. For a couple of days, I get to imagine a season in Tuscany or a house on the hill that looks down on my ex-husband's neighborhood. That's golden all by itself.

May I gripe?

I don't know about you, but I don't like my food to talk to me. So those bozos on Madison Ave. who make commercials for Chips Ahoy, this singing, dancing cookie, really annoy me. Like the one at the obnoxious little girl's birthday party who asks "where's the cake?" And she replies "we're not having cake" and he gets all worried. It gives me the shakes. This does not make me want one of those cookies. And what's with the rejected suitor who gets the door shut in his face, gets in the car and pulls a Snickers out of the glove compartment. The candy morphs into this Charo look-alike and tells him he is a "buffet of manliness", so he bites her head off. Eeeeyouuu. What kind of sicko message is that? Not that I would ever consider eating either of these products. If I eat cookies or candy bars, they would be a lot more scrumptious than these. And there can only be one conclusion; I am watching far too much television, again.

Country mouse steps out...

Off I went, to the big City, over the Golden Gate Bridge into the heart of the beast. My navigator, daughter dear, had the directions, and we still got lost. However, we recovered well, and found our way to the parking garage for the new and improved De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. We already had a review from my son, who was impressed with the building and nonplussed by the collection. We decided he was right, though I really enjoyed the antique photographs of Toulouse Lautrec, Victor Hugo and Queen Victoria, and Europe in the 19th century. My favorite piece was a "sculpture", a room-sized, free-floating cube of burned timbers from a Baptist church that was torched by arsonists. There were a lot of modern pieces, in many mediums. Cast glass fascinated me, huge pieces, how do they do that? And as avant-gard as some of it was, some was old-fashioned and seemed horridly stilted in comparison. The highlights were the tower, nine stories above the museum, that gave a panoramic view of the City, which was fog-veiled and mystic, and lunch, really yummy salad and an opportunity to rest our hot little feet. Tender time with the kid, too. I arrived home happy and sad at the same time.

A trip to the art supply store...

I remembered that our local store was having an anniversary sale today, and so I went traipsing over there this afternoon, Boo in tow, because I was feeling guilty about leaving him this morning, and am going to leave him again, tonight. So, he ambled along beside me as I checked out the bargains, bought a tube of cadium yellow, the most expensive pigment, a brush to sign my name with and some liquin. Then I saw this dandy paint box, the kind that is all self-contained for painting en plein aire, out on location in nature and it was only $49.95, so I bought that, too. Many people made a fuss over Boo, and I was saying what a good boy he is, just as he laid a big pile of Boo poo at my feet. Ah, hubris. Higher Power has such a sense of humor in my life. That'll teach me. No more trips to Riley Street for Boo. Maybe I should shop online.

Ah, the irony of it all...

So, our heat wave seems to have fizzled. Take that, Lloyd Lindsay Young (earstwhile histrionic weather person on KGO radio). Thank God, we were all gasping here. Just in case, though, I scheduled a solo trip to the movies, because I really wanted to see The Lake House, and my friend who is my usual companion on these forays, did not, and I couldn't round up a kindred sappy soul to go with. And I expected to sit for 1 and 1/2 hours in frigid splendor. Then I arrived and bought my ticket, senior, $6, and they announced that the A/C was out in that theater, and it was currently about 84 degrees. Fortunately, I had my trusty little spray bottle with me, 89 cents at KMart, and 84 degrees was still cooler than outside. And I loved the film. I cried, and that is saying something. I figured it out, of course, way before they filled me in, but that was OK. I felt all tense and worried for the second half, like, will they ever get together? But I forgot where I was, just got sucked into the screen and that means it did its job, the movie. It took me to the land of possibility where anything could happen, and that was good. And when I emerged, I felt about 30 years younger. Young enough for Keanu Reeves. Too young, even.

Wading in the shallowness...

The trouble with having all kinds of time and no particular agenda, no work, no school, no significant other, no kids, nothing but a vague intention, is that there is an awful lot of thinking time available. And while mulling over a cup of Sumatran coffee the other day, I realized that all three of my husbands owned sports cars when I met them. My first had a yellow Austin Healy convertible 3 speed, and he taught me to drive it. This was in the days before syncromesh, when you really knew you were doing something. Husband no. 2 had a yellow TR3 convertible, with side curtains that rattled constantly, and if you picked up the carpet on the passenger side, you could watch the road run by beneath you. Very interesting. And no. 3 had a blue 260Z. At least it was not a convertible. Of course, as soon as we got married, the sports cars went byebye. And sadly, so did a lot of their appeal. OK, I am exagerating a bit, but this is an awfully embarassing coincidence, if you ask me. I like to think of myself as a discerning and intelligent woman. And that is true. I also seem to like sports cars.

Sloth in five syllables...

That's procrastination. My favorite character defect. I had been putting off this $%^#@ math placement test, thinking I would bone up and get right into the one class I have to have to graduate and go on to a four year university. And it just didn't happen. So, I got my registration priority yesterday, and I have to register (gulp) Monday! Which means I had to get my bony butt down there pronto and take the test. Which I did, and I got into the class I need to get into the class I need to graduate. Sigh. Well, I did plan on doing a whole year at the JC as I have a scholarship to do that, so this works, I guess. Whatever, it is a huge weight lifted. By the way, I didn't take the weinie competency test, I took the algebra prep. test, so I am not a total dunce.

Summer, with a vengeance.

Back when I lived in the house on the edge of the world, there was one movie theatre within 40 miles of us, that played one movie a week. We went to the movies for a lot of reasons: to escape the boring movies on our satellite, that they played over and over again; to escape cooking dinner, you could get a hot dog, fizzy drink and red whips for $5; to see who else was at the movies; and sometimes, we really wanted to see the film. Now I am in town, where there are a good 10 theatres within 10 miles, some with a dozen or more screens, and I could choose from a whole plethora of entertainment. And I discovered another reason to go to the movies: to escape the heat in the air-conditioned darkness. By Friday, I think I will be ready. We are destined for triple digit weather for the next week. Let us hope that, as always, the meteorologists are wrong. Pray for fog.

How annoying!

Last year, my VISA check card was replaced because my bank got caught in one of those identity thefts. So, the old one was cancelled, immediately, and I was left to wait for the PIN to arrive before I could use the new one. I am not a patient person, by any means, and this did not make me happy. I whip that little doodad out several times a week, depend on it mightily. And this was not like all the times I lost it and had to get a new one, and probably deserved to be inconvenienced. This was someone else's fault, and I felt pretty put upon. Well, just when I had that new PIN down pat, low and behold, here comes another new card. That sucker wasn't supposed to expire till June, 2007. This time I thought I would outsmart them. I waited till the PIN arrived in the mail to activate the new one and cut up the old one. Yesterday. Today, off I went on my weekly Costco run, and my card was declined! You've got to be kidding! I wrote them a check, after telling the idiot cashier, that, yes, I called and activated it, do I look like the dunce of the Western World here? So I marched into the bank, and complained. The child behind the front desk kind of simpered at me. "We upgraded our system," she explained. "And the PIN will work tomorrow, as explained by the flyer that accompanied the card." Like I read that stuff. I could paper my house three times over with all the stuff my bank sends me with my statements. Why would I assume I could still use the old one after activating the new one, I wanted to know. "Because it said so," she replied. Sigh. So I am in shopping limbo here, raring to go look for my weedeater, and no VISA check card. And the economy is depending on me here! Guess I will have to hunker down, and wait. Again.

Lack of sidewalks, that is my dilemma...

I got all enthused because I tried on all my pants last night, and the eating plan is succeeding! I could get into all of them, some fit terrific, some made me look like an Italian sausage, but hey, I could zip! This is good. So, full of energy and wanting even more success, Boo and I set off for a walk through the neighborhood this morning. Usually, we double back the same way, but today we ran into Al, dear man, who was pruning his trees and fell in love with Boo, and wanted to talk. And talk. And talk. So, we came home up West College, the busiest street in town, where there are no sidewalks, but lots of ditches. And, while sidestepping the garbage cans, I slipped on the loose gravel and took a real header. Really. I hit my head, not too hard, just hard enough to feel it. And it was a surprise on a lot of levels. I didn't immediately decide that I was the clutz of the western world. Instead, I kind of shook my head, thought "how interesting", assessed the minimal damage (no lump on head, got my face dirty but not scratched at all, not bleeding anywhere I could see) and then got really grateful, picked myself up off the ground, and travelled on. Now have found that my shoulder is pretty banged up, a little bruised and scratched, and my knee is kind of blotchy, too. And my head aches. But that could be a from lot of stuff, not just the bump. It could have been a hell of a lot worse. A fall in the opposite direction, and I could have bounced into traffic, and Boo and I would have been toast. We call this "life on life's terms" where I come from. It's often not pretty, but always interesting.

Trashy novels and transcendental pears...

Ah, it must be summer. Perhaps not officially, but soon. We got a taste of it last Friday, when the hydrangeas drooped and gasped. I am being very laid back, austere, actually. My last trip to the library yielded a Thomas Tryon horror novel, a Jane Smiley angst-ridden tome, and this amazing little gem called Better than Chocolate, actually a step above most of my usual suspects, funny and smart. And there are a couple more lurking in the wings, including The Devil Wears Prada, which I am saving for a particularly bored moment. Meanwhile, in the back bedroom/studio, my pear is emerging slowly from the canvas, a great succulent sumptious pear, worthy of many hours of painstaking stroking and contemplating. My inner critic is fairly screaming at me, whatever were you thinking, you talentless twit! Yet, my stalwart artist-wannabe plods on, and the idea is emerging, as I trusted it would, just sort of blooming there on the easel like the liliums I planted earlier this year. It is the same process, actually. Higher Power is hard at work, fueling this great creative force. And like the herbs on the windowsill, I need only turn toward the light.

Dirty bird week...

I will never complain about my dear, messy Phoebe bird again. My friend is on a cruise, bless her soul, her very first one. And I am bird-sitting her canaries, Peepers and Chichi. Now, I love my friend, but these are the messiest creatures I have ever welcomed into my home. They poop on everything, and none of their seed cups have lids, so my countertop is sprayed regularly with seeds and lettuce and little bits of masticated apple, not to mention they also have that projectile poop thing down. I have already gone through half a roll of paper towels trying to stay ahead of the mess. OK, I am a little anal here. And Phoebe is enjoying the company. I can tell, because she has been squawking regularly. Chichi has a hormone condition, and is missing feathers on her neck and head, which gives her a little old lady look that is far from attractive, but she tweets all the time. Peepers, the handsome male, seldom says a thing, but, occasionally, when I am not in the room, he will sing, but I think he is depressed and missing his mistress. I am just trying to keep them alive, healthy and undamaged till she comes home. I am thinking of taking a little drive to Petco for better seedcups though, in self-defense.

Get thee behind me, lethargy!

Boo is depressed. He doesn't want to get off the bed, ever. And he is closely followed by, well, me. It didn't help that yesterday was gray, all day long. And today is eye-watering bright, but windy. Yuck. That means all the leaves I raked off the front pseudo-lawn will be magically back again. And as untidy as they are, it is all the little twigs that really freak me out. What if I miss one of those suckers and the mower throws it up in my face and puts out one of my eyes, so I will never paint again! Like, if I ever paint again. I think I suck at painting. I have the idea, but the execution is truly mediocre. Bad is even better than mediocre. Who ever aspires to be a mediocrity, I ask you. Okay, this is supposed to be la grand experiment, an opportunity to PLAY, for God's sake, create something original, something that is pure ME. So, I am off to get dressed, and put some more blobs of pigment on my puny palette, and smear it around for a while. As soon as my right brain wakes up.

Bright ideas...

Just back from a trip to the neighborhood market, where I pondered and poked at many sundry veggies, searching out truly photogenic specimins. I had this bright idea to pose them on my table, suitably draped, and photograph them. That way, they will not have to give their life to my art, I would get to eat them instead! How smart am I! So, there is now on the easel a growing portrait of an exceptionally lovely pear. I hope to give it such a wondrous rendering that I can then donate it to Art for Life, our local silent auction benefiting Face to Face, an AIDS foundation providing education and hospice for our many afflicted here in Wine Country. This is a worthy cause, but it is also a ticket to the reception, where you get to watch all the funny looking rich people smirk at the art and try to buy it for a song. I guess that is how you stay rich, once getting there. Anyway, I now remember how frustrating this process of getting the picture out of my head and onto the canvas. It is coming, indeed, just not there yet. I am experimenting here, just playing with the paint. What fun!

The big picture...

It occurs to me that mine is a little life, like Shirley Valentine's, one of my on-screen heroines, sweet, kind of poochy middle-aged woman searching for happiness on the Greek Isles. Well, if it isn't there, it must not exist, right? Actually, it is here, on Wild Rose Drive, too. And while this is a tiny existence, I like to think it is also a meaningful one. Because I do see what is happening, even without Al Gore to enlighten me, and I do my small part. If we all did that, how wondrous would this world be? I recycle, I drive an economical and low emission vehicle. I belong to the virtual march against global warming. I am educated about it. Beyond that, it is beyond me. I am powerless over this great global force fast overtaking us. So I don't dwell on it. I just do what I can, and let it go. If I didn't, I would get very depressed. Doris Day was right, what will be, will be, with or without worry-lines between my eyes.

I don't know how he does it...

Boo only weighs 18 lbs. So how could there be 40 lbs. of dog hair in the car? I just spent a happy couple of hours dredging it out, after my zen carwash. It always feels so great to step into a clean car. I still did not find the nifty little red clip that fell between the seats, the one that holds my sunscreen in place in my very wide windshield. I remember a cartoon when I was little, about the place under the sea that all lost things go to. Do you suppose it is there? Oh, I found the dustpan I lost while sweeping the front walk the other day. In fact, I ran over it when I came back from the market. Sigh. Anyway, Boo is getting better at staying in the yard while I am busy washing and cleaning the car. Actually, I think I am better at checking on him every few minutes. He is sly, that dog. He knows when I am engrossed, and he can just amble away, sniffing as he goes, so that if I look up, he can pretend he really wasn't headed for the lawn next door or across the street. And he has to amble, because if he trots, I can hear his tags jingling. Life is good when the car is clean and shiny. Of course, it looks now like it might rain. Sigh. Oh, well, I won't have to water tonight, at least.

Herbs and orchids and aloe, oh my!

When I moved here from the house of the edge of the world, a dear friend who lives in denial of my black thumb gave me an aloe vera plant. Now, I really love aloe, and as I tend to be a little bit of a clutz, it comes in handy for burns from curling irons and such. And, surprise, a year and a half later, it is not only alive, it has reproduced! Twins! I gave it a shot of water and trimmed it back this morning, the dear little thing. Then I repotted the orchid my dear son gave me for Mothers' Day, in the pot that was supposed to grow lavendar seeds, but didn't. The orchid is looking happy, too. Then my dear friend Sue gave me a do-it-yourself herb garden, basil, oregano and rosemary. The sweet little pots are sitting in the kitchen window, germinating, I hope. They got a drizzle this morning, too. So, except for the gasping forget-me-nots out front, the black thumb thing seems to be a thing of the past. I am sure all these little plants, which I didn't ask for but got anyway, hope so.

That little old spring chicken, moi!

Today is my birthday. To be accurate, it is the 23rd anniversary of my 39th birthday. For most of my life, I thought I was born in the summer, but, truth be told, I was actually born in the sweet spring. I share this day with three other people I am close to in my town, too. Anyway, I was born just after noon, which makes me a double Gemini, and just a little more nuts than most people. It explains a lot about me, like I cannot just sit and watch television; I have to be reading, or knitting, or doing a puzzle, too. My interests are scattered all over the place. I write, I paint, I take photographs. I can knit, crochet, tat, quilt, sew and embroider. And now I am going to college and learning to garden. There is no overwhelming talent that engrosses or propels me, but many that satisfy me, for a short period of time. All of which makes me really grateful, really. It is a blessing to be my age, feel like I am 16, and have so much to keep me busy and out of trouble. And how wonderful to have carrot cake for breakfast on my birthday. There isn't anyone here to look at me funny, either. This is probably a good thing, too.

Yet another trip to Costco...

I have noticed that it is not really necessary that I look all that good when stepping out the door these days (it is pretty hard to do that at my age, all I can do is be sure there are no spots or wrinkles, on my clothes, I mean). But it is necessary that I think I look good, which enables me to feel like a look good, and act like I look good. Hence, I never look at myself in the mirror with my glasses on if I can help it before embarking. I found that 10:30 AM is a great time to arrive at Costco, because the parking lot is mostly empty, probably because the only members who can shop at that time have Executive memberships, mega-expensive. I do not, so had to adjourn to Target for a leisurely stroll around their fascinating bazaar. Target is just an upscale WalMart these days. Groceries are cheap, but most everything else can get pricey. Like $4.00 greeting cards. Give me a break. I was shopping for a sweet but inexpensive gift for my sponsee, who shares my belly-button birthday, and found just the thing, an incense gift set with little porcelain holder. I also found a glycolic peel and a perfect bra, so the trip was not cheap after all. Costco was already booming by the time I got there, and I hurried by the wall of mixed nuts, trail mix with chocolate chips, with just a momentary flash of longing. My first stop was the ladies room, which took me back around by the fenced-in cigarettes. Really, what is that all about? Are they afraid they will run away? Or are they so freaking expensive even at Costco prices, they are likely to be stolen? Whatever, Costco had cleverly piled up the Nicorette gum and patch kits at the entrance, to give consumers a choice. I love that. I love walking up and down all the aisles, marvelling at the huge containers of things like mayonnaise jars the size of baby elephants. I actually bought one of those once, and used it, too, over a year. And the people, getting muscles pushing around huge carts loaded with all kinds of food, or those great big dollies that can carry refrigerators, and frequently do. Fortunately, there was nothing in my perusal that was irresitable, well, except this Sweetee, black with a Battenburg lace inset. I already had one in blue, and it fits and looks great, how could I resist. Hey, it's my birthday month! I get to indulge here.

A'mulching I will go...

I always wanted to pull one of those little wagons around the nursery, and I got to do just that yesterday. I bought forget-me-nots, and some other little white flowers, and a big bag of Paydirt, aka mulch. I have been meaning to do that, mulch the roses, for a while now. And once I heard that it would keep the weeds down around them, well, that was for me! I have scratches up to my elbows from pulling weeds between the canes, and that gets old, fast. So I planted all my little sweet flowers in the front yard, which now looks neat and well-loved. Then I hastened to the hardware store for a bucket, and began hauling this foul-smelling stuff out to the back yard. Guess what. There were more weeds poking up through the thorns. I got two bushes done before I quit for the day. It is a beginning. And it is looking really grand, my yard, both the front and the back. I am a credit to my neighborhood. Oh, and speaking of neighbors, the ones across the street had a big noisy party last night. In case anyone was feeling a little hung this morning, I made it a point to get up early and mow my lawn, with my putt-putting power mower. Evil, but the grass is cut, and it looks really swell.

What a day!

Beautiful here, little breeze, warm and luscious. I am in my sweet linen dress with a straw hat, about to embark for a friend's wedding. Unlike the extravaganza at the Ritz Carleton, this is a country wedding for a couple of simple folks. And, also unlike the ritzy wedding, where the principles were mature and had been together for six years, these are young and inexperienced kids, both still floundering and trying to figure out who they are. I am going to pray for them, and hope this is not a train wreck in the making. Who knows, this could be wondrous. Certainly, it will be a big life lesson, whatever happens. On a personal note, I had a little dilemma last night when I could not find my one, five year old bottle of nail polish. I know I had it recently, and I'm sure I put it back where I would be sure to find it when next I needed it, but, alas, it has evaporated. So I was at Walgreen's early today, and used the outing as an excuse to get my non-fat latte for the week, too. Now, suitably suited up and fortified with coffee, off I go into my day.

License to spend!

Today is the 17th anniversary of quitting smoking, a very big day for me. I always buy myself presents on this day. So far, I have bought two boxes (I love boxes), one to hold things from my altar which has become somewhat crowded and disorganized lately, and one to hold my pigments in my burgeoning studio. Also a picture frame, a spare spatula for when my only one is in the dishwasher, a cow creamer, and three tees, all very sweet. And I only spent $67! I think I need to make another trip, later. One year I decided I should spend the equivalent of the cost of smoking for a year, until I added that up, and there was no way I could afford that. At the rate I smoked, that would be over $3,000 today. It beats me why anyone would not quit. Smoking is anethema, you become an instant pariah, relegated to the patio even in the dead of winter, shivering and puffing. You smell awful, your health suffers, and you are limited in friends and environs by your habit. I felt absolutely enslaved and obsessed when I smoked. It was a huge freedom once the awful withdrawal period was over. I dream about it sometimes, still. OK, I gained a few pounds, but I also increased my exercise, and they fell away eventually. And the net results of over 20 years of smoking will never be totally reversed. There seems to be a decrease in lung capacity that I really notice when hiking up hill. But after all these years, it is wonderful to think of my lungs, all pink and healthy again. I haven't had pneumonia now for about 20 years, and I had it 5 times before I quit. I'm kind of a slow study. Anyway, I think I will hit Best Buy for some CDs I have been wanting. Yes.

Decisions, decisions...

It is difficult to decide what to wear here in summer. There is the summer "marine layer" to be considered, of course. That is fog to the rest of the country. It is frequently overcast until around 11, so one must ponder; short sleeves or long, short pants or long, sweater? But beyond that, there are activities. For shopping, neatness is paramount, so a crisp shirt and slacks with slides is best. For gardening, I dug out those overalls I used to wear all the time when I was living in west county, and fat. For a meeting, something in between, jeans and a tee with thongs probably (on my feet I mean, not those other horrid things, I spent my teenaged years trying to keep my panties from creeping up that crack, and now they do it on purpose, you've got to be kidding). This morning, it is gray out there, and my inclination was not to get dressed at all, to just stay in bed for some Boo love. OK, that sounds kinky. Really, it's not. He is a veritable explosion of soft, soft fur after his bath the other day, sweet smelling, too. I just love those moments when he cuddles up next to me as I sip my Ethiopian coffee and nibble at the cheesecake I bought for my bridge on Sunday, and only eat for breakfast, where calories have all day to work themselves off. I did get dressed. I chose the overalls, because I may actually do a little work in the garden. And I may not. It's a surprise, actually. And I can always change.