It’s National Secondhand Wardrobe Day, and I’m proud to report that most of the clothes in my closet were “pre-owned.” I’ve always loved shopping at thrift stores because I love finding bargains—even though I’m not a huge fan of shopping. One of my best finds was a Barbour jacket (I still have it), which Hubby found at an estate sale several years for $10, hardly worn. In the shops it would have been $150 or more. As a teenager, I coveted a pair of jeans handed down to me from big sisters as well as a very much worn button-down, long-sleeved shirt previously worn by a sister and my brother. Very fashionable and very cool, which counts for a lot when you’re sixteen. These days I’ve hardly worn anything in my closet for nearly two years, since I don’t have occasion to much. I have, however, broken out some of the nicer dress tops for going into the office. It matters not that hardly anyone is at the office on the days I choose to go in, you know, to see my wearing my nice clothes. Before the pandemic I purged my closets of four large garbage bags of clothes, giving most of them to a friend I thought could fit into them. My closet could stand another purging.

The basement insulation was finished today, and they mistakenly added soundproofing insulation under the floor of the dining room and kitchen, which sit above the soon-to-be basement family room. I didn’t ask for it there, but there they left it, their mistake and too much trouble to remove. Nope, I don’t even have to pay for it. Those are the types of mistakes one can live with. The drywalling starts tomorrow, so in a couple of days it will start to look more like a proper living space. The rain came down hard tonight; still no leaks showing in the basement so we’re good to go for drywall—and let’s hope it stays dry walls. Coupled with lightening, the storm curtailed an anticipated walk this evening. However, my ankle started bothering me today for the first time in several weeks; it’s slightly swollen and I’m concerned about a setback. Time to make an appointment with the foot and ankle orthopedist that Hubby saw. There’s too much to do to suffer from being hobbled again.