My fellow hut-to-hut snowshoers/skiers will be happy to know I have a brand new purple jacket to keep me warm on the trip to the Blue Lake Hut. More warmth, less whining. It'll make a nice pillow when not being worn.
Meanwhile the puzzle thickens.
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Lovely, just lovely. While browsing through my meager portion of clothes closet, to decide what to wear for the day's dog walk, brown or green or tan or yellow, nature's colors all, it dawned on me. I have no hue or shade of purple to garb myself. Why is that, I wonder? Purple is the color of royalty, mountains majesty, Phoenician wealth. A shade of blue and red, politically in between, pleasing to the eye. And then I remember. Once taking a "color test" to point out my proclivities, administered by none other than my mother, it was determined by her that my fondness for purple was an indicator of gayness, a flag for lightness in the loafers. Since and hence, no room in the closet for this lovely color. Isn't it odd what pushes us to our choices? So no lavender or lilac, mauve or magenta. And oh by the way, whining is an integral part of the hut experience.
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