Still-life in the morning light, with the rest of the house still asleep. The children went out to parties last night; my husband and I had a lovely dinner in –– steak, cauliflower gratinée, baked brie, and butter-lettuce salad out of the garden –– talked and watched an episode of Poirot, by the end of which it was almost midnight, so although we hadn't planned to, we did see the new year in.
We could hear black-powder-pistol shooting, which is traditional in these parts, as well as firecrackers and other noise. Poor Dora was so frightened that when it was time to go outside before bed, she crept on her belly as far as the top of the porch steps, then slunk back to the kitchen door and begged desperately to go inside. I was a little afraid she wouldn't come out this morning, but she was over it, thank heaven. Otherwise, she seemed to enjoy her evening, spending a good bit of time in ecstasy with a squeaky ball on the kitchen floor.
Although I maybe don't love New Year's Eve so much, I'm a huge fan of New Year's Day: quietness, clear light, and the illusion, at least, of a clean slate. Is today materially different from yesterday? Only in the way that any day differs from the one before it. Yesterday has been lived; today offers itself to be lived. But then I suppose, since we do mark time in years, the same thing is true on a larger level. We've put 2021 to bed. 2022 opens before us, in the words of a Dana Gioia poem I just read, as "a field of snow without a single footprint."
Another poem for the new year, also evoking the unprinted winter field, by Rhina P. Espaillat.
And a poem of mine, from 21 years ago, when my children were small in Cambridge. This one too includes the image of the unprinted winter field, oddly enough.
More prosaically, I have concluded my 2021 clothing purchases, and embark today on a new challenge: No-Buy 2022. Now, as I might have noted, this doesn't mean I won't buy anything at all. I'll still buy groceries. And books. And things for the garden. But what I am committing myself not to buy in this calendar year is clothing.
As I've noted before, this commitment comes with some caveats:
*If an item wears out or becomes irreparably damaged, I will replace it.
*If I find a good pair of hiking boots to replace my 30-year-old Vasque boots, I will buy them.
*If I discover some real need, I will meet it, especially in the way of accessories. I still want a thin tan belt, for example, and haven't found one I like as much as the one I had that broke.
What I want to do, though, is break the habit of reflexively buying clothes, a thing I've allowed myself to do rather haphazardly, mostly because I buy secondhand and it's cheap. Going to paw through the Goodwill racks is fun. It's an adventure of sorts. But almost invariably I come home from this adventure with a bunch of stuff that isn't really what I want. It is what was there, and I bought it because what I wanted wasn't there, and I wanted to buy something. Sometimes what I buy winds up being a thing I wear for years. There are many good items hanging in my closet that came from Goodwill, which I have had for some time and will continue to wear.
But too often what I wind up with is a stand-in for what I've really envisioned, however unrealistically, that I would find. Too often, I don't find the wool sweater –– but I find an acrylic one, and I think I might as well buy it because there it is. If I don't snap it up now, it will be gone. My outbox has been full of things I snapped up as a consequence of that train of thought. Sometimes my wardrobe has been improved as a consequence of that train of thought, but more often it has not been. I've gotten the rush of buying something, but at the end of the day, that's all I have, and it –– like the day itself –– is ephemeral.
A new year presents the opportunity for a reset. This is a cliché, of course. An article I was skimming some time back indicated that some ridiculous percentage of New Year's resolutions –- how do they know? I don't know –– tank by the third week of January. I can't remember the last time I made a New Year's resolution, actually. If there's anything I have resolved, it's not to believe in resolutions. Largely this is because I'm so bad at keeping them. My habits habitually break down before they form.
But in 2021 I did wear the same wool dress for a hundred days straight, and that taught me something, I think. It taught me that you can do a thing one day at a time, and that this is easier and better than thinking in larger terms. The sobriety movement counts days sober –– One Day at a Time is a slogan of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I can see why. Think in terms of the rest of your life, and all you want is a drink to get you through. But a day: maybe you can get through a day all right without the drink. Maybe you need some accountability to do it, and maybe you need some creative ways to fill your time, but the idea of a day is sustainable.
So this is Day 1 of my No-Buy 2022. I plan to take it one day at a time. Blogging about it gives me accountability; I also hope that this challenge, like the hundred-day wool dress challenge, will push me to wear the clothes I have more creatively, with more enjoyment, ease, and gratitude. I hope I'll be pushed to focus on what I do have, not what I don't. Mind you, I don't know that I want to over-spiritualize this challenge. It's not Lent yet. But if anything we do can give rise to unexpected grace, because reality itself is sacramental and shines with the presence of God, it's my hope that I will encounter some grace this way.
I did make a handful last-minute purchases yesterday: one more merino tee (Icebreaker this time, in a very fine pink stripe that will look good as a layer under my wool dresses as well as with my navy trousers, my sage-green twill skirt, etc), one gray bamboo top with 3/4-length sleeves, and a final bamboo dress, for $8, which I bought mostly because I thought it would work well as a nightgown if it doesn't work as a dress. I really need a nightgown that isn't cotton, and I don't want to relegate my wool Camellia to that role. So I will have a few final dopamine hits landing on my front porch in the next week or so, but nothing after that.
One thing I belatedly wish I'd found is a solid navy midi- or maxi-length skirt, but oh well. I've gone this long without such a thing, so I imagine I can make it through another year. Or possibly I'll retrieve from the outbox this rather strange split skirt/gaucho item (you'll need to scroll down), which I got from the neighborhood thrift shop for very cheap. It's made of a very synthetic gauzy fabric, and while I did wear it some last summer, I'd thought it was a piece that could go its way. BUT I might really appreciate having a skirt-like solid navy bottom, so I give myself permission to consider retrieving it. It would be something else to go with these pink merino tees I've been acquiring, as well as other things –- the gauze top I'm wearing with it in the linked photo, for example. That also is not a natural-fiber piece, but I really like it anyway and need to remember that I have it. That beach-capsule post reminds me that I do have two new bathing suits from last year, after wearing the same one for more than a decade. I've gotten rid of so many of those items, though, since last year –– the only pair of shorts I currently still own are those sage-green ones, which I love. Most of the dresses have gone, either because they were worn out or because I replaced them with something better in a natural fiber. We go to the beach every summer with my mother and brother; it'll be interesting to see what kind of capsule I make this year. It's bound to be even smaller and simpler, and to consist almost solely of dresses.
It will be interesting, meanwhile, to track what capsules develop in day to day wear, out of the closet I now have. In the immediate future I will need to figure out my packing for five days on the road, taking the kids back to school week after next –– once again we'll have a car crammed with college-student belongings, so even if I weren't naturally inclined to pack light and small, I would need to do that because there won't be room for anything else. It'll be interesting to see what the weather's doing by that time. Realistically, I expect Texas to be warm. At the moment, it's hard to imagine anything but warm. This morning outside feels like absolute springtime. I'm thinking that I'll take my Sierra, because that dress is so very go-anywhere, but also at least one bamboo dress. They roll up very small, so that I might be able to take as many as three dresses, plus a tiny selection of layers and shoes. Maybe I can fit in a long skirt to wear with a bamboo dress to Mass in Texas. We shall see.
Wearing today, on this first day of No-Buy 2022:
Secondhand long-sleeved Piko bamboo swing dress in dark blue, as a tunic over a thrifted gauze patterned maxi skirt I've had for two or three years. As I said, it's warm out today, but I wanted some leg coverage that wasn't leggings for a change. I've tried tucking dresses into this skirt, to wear them as tops, but on the whole I prefer a tunic look, which feels more flowing and graceful. I might have worn my short-sleeved version of this blue dress, but decided I didn't want to have to deal with a cardigan if it cools off. Thrifted Birk Madeiras: closed-toed shoes are at least a nod to the fact that supposedly it's winter around here.
I like to wear blue for Marian feasts. And this whole outfit is as comfortable as pajamas, so score. Combed my hair but haven't done anything else with it; might put it up later, we'll see. My plan for the day consists largely of not doing much, other than prepare for a houseguest tomorrow.
Probably going to put an apron on, too –– I did treat myself to a second one before the year's turn.
Happy 2022 to one and all!
LATER:
Apron shot, after planting the last of the massive haul of daffodil bulbs my mother gave me for my birthday in November. They've been outside all this time, in the same temperatures as the bulbs in the ground, so I hope they'll be okay. I figure: the only way to ensure that they won't come up is not to plant them.
Navy apron, so the outfit looks basically the same as without it.
ALSO: Started 2022 with Confession, a Good Thing To Do.