“And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons”

I will let you know right off that I am not going to write about being naked. So now you might be wondering where this is leading, once you find out you will most likely roll your eyes, and think , "Whatever". Today, I am doing something a little (ok, ok, a lot) different). I am going to be talking about America's favorite subject--aprons. My cousin, Brent Prince, does a lot of reminiscing in his blog. I love it, as it brings back so many childhood memories of growing up in New Harmony. One of the things I remember is that the women always wore dresses. It didn't matter if they were going to church or weeding the garden. Of course, if they were weeding, they probably wore an apron. My guess is they had more aprons then dresses. I love the poem I am using as it fit my Grandma Davis through and through. There are many versions of this poem running around now. The origianal author was Tina Trivett. However, I like this one better. I hope it brings back memories to all of you.

Grandma Davis

Grandma's Apron
by C J Heck

Gramma'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.

Mama, myself and Roland Mama 1956ish