The old indestructible denim maxi-skirt, which also used to be indigo, will now be used for gardening in. The new indestructible will serve as my weekday uniform, worn over leggings and washed once a week. If I were courageous (and the charity shops were open), I would now rid myself of all other skirts, except my suit skirt, and retain only three dresses: the azure-blue (PPS's wedding), the dotted brown silk (PGD's christening), the red cotton (swing-dancing days) and the ankle-length navy (Vatican Press Office).
When I was a child, I was determined that I would wear designer clothes when I grew up. However, I never properly worked out how this could come about, and then I read about Dorothy Day of New York. As I have no doubt told you several times before, Dorothy Day thought money spent on luxuries was stolen from the poor and got her own clothes from the rejects in the Catholic Worker donation box.
Balancing out the Venerable Dorothy, however, is a late Sister Dorothy I once knew, who had unusually beautiful clothes for a plainclothes nun. The rumour was that she "came from money" and that she was given the clothes by wealthy family members: smart tweeds and intricate Irish cardigans, if I remember correctly, the sort of clothes I will buy myself when B.A. and I win the lottery and move to the New Town.
For the time being, though, we have very limited closet space and when I am not writing, reading, studying, gardening, houseworking, teaching over Skype, or buying groceries, I am going on long country walks with B.A. This is why I am so tempted just to chuck out almost everything left in my closet.
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