I’m not much of a collector. I don’t have oodles of purses like some women or tiny blown-glass animals like my great Aunt Clara. But I am fond of aprons and have many than I can use. They have much to commend them; they don’t have to be dusted or displayed in expensive cabinets. They don’t cost so much I feel guilty.
A Aprons are artifacts of culture, whether home-made or manufactured. I love the ones sewn by creative housewives during the 1940s and ‘50s. Some aprons are pleated, many have clever pockets, while others are gathered and full as a dance skirts. I value them as bits of beauty.
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I love to display them. For example, here I used them as place mats. My back door window displays three in a column to keep the sun out. I have hung them on blank walls as textile art pieces, or draped them four and five at a time on folding rack.
R They remind me of people and places.
In Guatemala I bought an apron woven and sewn at a women’s collective. The fabric is heavy and dark, shot through with subtle variations in the threads that create designs within the design. This type of apron was traditionally a gift from mother-in-law to her son’s new bride to symbolize the change in kitchen leadership!
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Later at the market one of the weavers recognized me and helped me buy an every day apron, a gingham skirt of pleats and rick-rack with a concealed zipper pocket to safeguard the shopping cash.
Later at the market one of the weavers recognized me and helped me buy an every day apron, a gingham skirt of pleats and rick-rack with a concealed zipper pocket to safeguard the shopping cash.
My grandmothers wore aprons all of the time. I have one I took apart for a pattern and remade in vintage fabric. My great-grandmother hand-stitched a plain white apron of lightweight fine cotton with beautiful lace and a tiny gathered pocket. I can’t imagine she’d ever wear it to cook in.
A friend gave me her grandmother's tiny, tiny crocheted apron. It has a bib which she pinned to her dress while serving at church potlucks.
O Sure, they're old fashioned but not obsolete. There’s a web community of apron collectors. And there’s a resurgence in hand-made aprons. My grandkids and their momma received matching aprons last Christmas. (Not from me.) Window-shopping at the airport recently I drooled over a colorful bibbed apron which would have been a guilty pleasure had I bought it.
N I have to wear an apron to stay neat and clean when I cook. Otherwise, I’m like a kid who wipes her hands on her clothes.
S For so many reasons aprons are special. When I open my apron drawer, or look in the bags that keep my collection color-coded and dust-free, I see a metaphor for a synapse. Each one makes a connection between me and some woman I will never met--but wondered about while I handle her apron.
Can painted plates or salt and pepper shakers do that?
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