Dear Grama, You always find the perfect gifts to welcome in each season of the year, be it Easter or Autumn or Christmas. And it was no exception when we saw you earlier this month. You know how we girls love our aprons. And you found the most adorable Christmas aprons for all three of…
The FlyLady says to get dressed to your lace-up shoes when you start your day. Others like to step into their pumps to stop the frumps. Me? I’d be a barefoot-in-the-kitchen kind of girl—except for our concrete floor. I’d be a wear-my-comfy-foot-shaped-Keens-for-housework-each-day kind of girl—except that I like to be able to easily slip into…
I’m so glad you dropped by my kitchen! Let’s pour a cup of tea and swap apron stories for a bit, shall we? I’ll cut a slice of homemade bread and get out the raspberry freezer jam. And then, if dinner-time’s a-comin’, I’ll tie on an apron and you can keep me company while I…
Big aprons. Little aprons. Floral print aprons. Striped canvas aprons. Our aprons are as varied as we are.
And the stories behind them are even more numerous than the aprons themselves!
Hair ribbons. Aprons. They lend beauty to the ordinary, everyday tasks of dishes and dusting. They make it easier to have a spring in my step as I go about the same housewifely rituals I know must-needs be done again tomorrow. There’s something about these little touches of femininity that make me feel like I’ve stepped out of Little Women or Little House on the Prairie.
Over-mixed cakes. Cookies that taste like a bit too much something was added. Licking the vanilla spoon. Sampling the dough with no thought of raw eggs. Little floury hand-prints everywhere.
Little helpers in little aprons. They make cooking a joyful mess!
The thing I love about aprons is that they are so practical. I mean, what is an apron for, but to get soiled—and in so doing protect what you’re wearing underneath? “Go and make yourself tidy. Your hands are dirty, your apron soiled, and your hair looks as if it hadn’t been combed for a…
Why do some women love to cook? Because behind their skill deciphering a recipe and prowess with a mixer is the hidden secret of their talent: a darling apron.
I grew up looking at the pictures of my parents in their first little home (a trailer decked out in all those 70’s colors), my daddy wearing the hat as he prepared their first meal in their new home (an omelet—what else? my dad has always been the breakfast chef, especially on Sunday mornings), and them sneaking a kiss behind the “Kiss the Cook” washcloth.
They hang there in my kitchen. Often hidden by the bathroom door. Overflowing off a double hook screwed to the pantry cupboard. My aprons. All seven of them—and counting. They hang under the double-sided spice chart telling me which herb to choose for poultry or for beef. Adding to the vintage look of that corner…
There is a row of hooks behind the door in my grandmother’s walk-in pantry. Each hook holds a hanger upon which is carefully hung an apron. The pantry is in a newly remodeled section of the house, but the aprons speak of vintage kitchens in older homes of previous generations. Oh the stories they could tell!
Mondays are usually laundry day here on our corner of the farm. Unless we’ve used our day off from tending the store to go to town, I usually tackle sorting the loads of laundry as soon as Merritt’s off to do his day’s projects. It’s the kind of thing one wants first-of-the-week energy for. Especially…
The End.
The End.