Beech Tree News Network

If you were to drop by my house unannounced, you’d probably find me in one or the other of my two favorite outfits: cut-off shorts or brown and white checked, seersucker shorts, paired with a tee shirt I’ve cut the sleeves and neck band from—with a small slit in the newly-bandless shirt for extra comfort.  Ragged sneakers and no-show socks complete the ensemble to give me a bag lady sort of appearance.
I wear these things because I can.  We live on a farm, set back from the main road, and I can usually hear someone coming up the driveway before they reach the front yard.  I keep better-looking clothes nearby, so as not to embarrass myself if I have unexpected company.
Occasionally, someone will surprise me and knock on the door when I’m unaware that there’s anyone on the place.  That happened in the early spring when the temperature was in the thirties outside.  It was a guy with the electric company wanting to know exactly which tree it was that my husband, Garey, wanted cut because it was too near the power line.  I tried just sticking my face out the door, but my granddaughter squeezed in front of me to see who it was then said, “Well, let him in, Gee, it’s cold out there!”
I was busted, so I opened the door to reveal my pasty white legs, frayed cut-offs and a sleeveless tee shirt that read, “Got TV?” on the front, and a list of shows like “Battleship Galactica,” “House,” and “The Office” on the back.  (The shirt came from my stint as book manager at a Hastings almost eight years ago, so you can imagine what shape it was in.)
There are reasons I dress like this year round.  The first is I get hot really easily.  Garey used to tell me I kept the house so cold he had to get in the refrigerator to get warm.  I am a pretty hyper person, and I’ve just about always got some project or the other going on.  I can’t focus if I get over-heated, so most of the time I do keep it cold enough to hang meat in my house.   Many of my projects involve getting my clothes dirty, and growing up, I was taught not to wear my good clothes when there is work to be done.  It’s a hard habit to break.  There is also the comfort factor.  I have to be able to move freely or I can’t get anything accomplished.
In the work clothes area, Garey is just like me, times ten.  I usually try to make sure my shorts and tee shirts match---like that’s going to make a difference if I’m hoeing in the garden or drilling holes in bottles—but Garey usually  just grabs what’s at the top of the drawer.  He’ll put on a cranberry tee shirt, tie a scarlet bandana around his head and top it all off with a green cap.  His socks have little elasticity left, and subsequently slump around his ankles.  A few of his shorts are frayed and torn in circular sections around his legs.  You could probably count the rings and ascertain how old the denim is.  Then there is always carbon dating.
I do make the effort to dress better if I’m going somewhere in my car, even if it’s just to a drive-through.  I have friends who strike out in pajamas and flip flops, but the thought of breaking down at McDonald’s or the drive-through at the bank terrifies me.  When we ran Greggarey’s Market, we had a customer who would drive to the store in her night gown then call us on the phone when she arrived in the parking lot with instructions to bring lottery tickets to her car and collect the money.  I’d rather be seen in my seersucker shorts and “Got TV?” tee shirt—just saying.