Have you TIED ONE ON lately?
Admission? Yes, I have.
I know what you're thinking! It "takes all kinds." And, you're right.
And they come in all sizes and patterns. What? you may be asking - is
Jan talking about? I've not gone daffy; honest. Some of you
spoke of the thoughts on aprons the other day and I wanted to share some
photos I've collected of Aprons in the past months. And, I have a nice
collection > that is growing < of my Own! I've noted that some aprons
are just not very useful. Those are the ones that tend to be made of
voile or some other dainty fabric. I imagine that was more for show than
actual use. Do any of you have photos of your Aprons? Your Mom's?
or your Grandma's? Here come some very splashy ones. Kind of
makes me feel nostalgic. How about you?
Brings back some memories for any of you? I like to think about
the person who first owned the aprons; did they wear it? was it handed
down to them? Did they make it? I have come across a few old
apron patterns and I have two on my list to make. My office & sewing
room is where I have some aprons hanging. I was able to set it up and
figured it'd bring some warmth and nostalgia into the decor.
Recently I came across a poem I'd kept. It's about Grandma's apron. I'd like to share it with you. After that I think you'd enjoy reading another version. Here goes.
This version is really so sweet. I do remember my maternal grandmother wearing an apron. Hence, the name of my Blog. She used to have butterscotch candies in her apron and would hand them out so lovingly.
Grandma's Apronby C J HeckGramma's gone, but not forgotten,
that's her apron hanging there.
It still hangs in Grampa's kitchen.
Sometimes he looks at it and stares.
When Gramma wore her apron
it was magical to see.
The pockets held such treasures
for the grandkids just like me.
Saw it shine up Grampa's fender once
just as pretty as you please,
and it wiped my brother's cheek off
one time when he sneezed.
It took cookies from the oven,
it rushed to wipe a tear,
got a grain of sand out of your eye,
made a lap for the stories we'd hear.
It wiped spills up from the counter top
when she was baking pies,
a symbol of her love and care
and it showed, too, in her eyes.
Sometimes I'm sad to look at it
when I see my Grampa stare.
Gramma's gone, but not forgotten.
That's her apron hanging there.