My buddy Julie had this picture on her blog this morning. I got to thinking about my estrangement from a certain color. I almost never put any orange in my quilts and on the rare occasion that I feel like I need a bit, I have to dig and dig or -- heavens! -- go to the LQS. There's no orange anywhere in my home, and none in my closet. The closest I can find is a seldom worn rust sweater.
I guess an experience from many, many years ago had a greater impact than I realized!
When Joe and I were dating, way back in the winter of 1965 I do believe, I saw this ORANGE dress in a shop window and was smitten with it. It was BRIGHT orange, solid color, nubby texture fabric. Very plain A-line with long sleeves; they belled at the ends. The edges of the sleeves and the neckline were trimmed with velvet that exactly matched the orange of the dress. I was a gray and navy and cranberry sort of person back then (though in the summer I fancied Villager blouses in tiny distinctive Liberty-like floral prints with solid skirts), and the color of this dress was so not me. But I bought it anyway.
The first time I wore it, Himself was astounded! He blurted out, “Never show orange in public!” And that phrase has become classic in our extended family, usually abbreviated to NSOIP.
I remained a gray and navy and cranberry person, though I wore that orange dress in public just enough to jeopardize our relationship. Then I discovered black. And black with brown or camel, a combination I still fancy. And I’ve never shown orange in public again.