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In a century, will anyone really know what an apron was for?
Not its chief use, shielding a dress from stains. I remember the one Grandma wore. It was something more:
It was a handy pot holder when hot things needed to be moved from the stove.
It was a hand warmer when it was cold.
It was good for wiping sweat from a brow accustomed to a life of hard work.
It was a basket for garden vegetables when harvesting began.
It was an instant bag for carrying eggs from the chicken coop into the house.
When unexpected company came to the front door (because everyone else used the back one), it was a duster that cleaned up faster than humanly possible.
It was a good hiding place for when company came and you felt shy.
In a pinch it was a washcloth to clean muddy faces and dirty ears.
It was a hanky for drying up your tiny tears.
No microwave or K-Cup or piece of technology can ever replace the feelings of home, comfort and love that the memory of that apron brings. I remember it when I put on my own apron. And when I cook for my little girl. Grandma is long gone, but her memory is near when I gaze at my daughter. They look alike, somehow. And now, I have given her a tiny apron of her very own.
Not its chief use, shielding a dress from stains. I remember the one Grandma wore. It was something more:
It was a handy pot holder when hot things needed to be moved from the stove.
It was a hand warmer when it was cold.
It was good for wiping sweat from a brow accustomed to a life of hard work.
It was a basket for garden vegetables when harvesting began.
It was an instant bag for carrying eggs from the chicken coop into the house.
When unexpected company came to the front door (because everyone else used the back one), it was a duster that cleaned up faster than humanly possible.
It was a good hiding place for when company came and you felt shy.
In a pinch it was a washcloth to clean muddy faces and dirty ears.
It was a hanky for drying up your tiny tears.
No microwave or K-Cup or piece of technology can ever replace the feelings of home, comfort and love that the memory of that apron brings. I remember it when I put on my own apron. And when I cook for my little girl. Grandma is long gone, but her memory is near when I gaze at my daughter. They look alike, somehow. And now, I have given her a tiny apron of her very own.
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