Sunday





For such a fun, exhilarating sport (or so I hear from those who do it well), the amount of gear that needs hauled, and worn is positively daunting. By the time I arrive to the ski lift, attired in the various layers, neck things, ear muffs, hats, goggles, hand warmers, foot toasties, in addition to the long underwear, sweater, liners, pants, jacket--I'm sweaty and d.o.n.e.

But on we go up the lift, and down again only to repeat the process incessantly. Usually the fleecy funnel neck thing has shifted and the frozen metal zipper pull on the jacket whips against my jaw. So the gloves must now be removed (from having been snuggly secured under my jacket cuffs) to adjust the fleece. Which now means the fistful of snow which had adhered to my gloves has gone between the fleece and neck. Time to go inside and reevaluate the day's activities. But through it all, my Tyrolean styled wristlet (similar to the photos above) has a stash of credit cards for the resort's shops, and balm for my rather flushed, exposed skin.