April 23rd, 2012
We’ve been here in our new home for nearly four months now, yet still have mountains of boxes to open and sort. You’d think it would be easy since our last 10 years were spent in a garret. I mean, how much stuff can you fit in 250 square feet? You’d be surprised. Add to that the contents of my mother’s attic, including boxes and boxes of lavish wedding presents we couldn’t squeeze into our apartment so never got to use (think stainless fondue service for eight and imported Italian pasta maker), plus a number of treasured heirlooms from my maternal grandmother, a few from the paternal side, and you’ve got a pretty big pile.
A day or two ago I ran into a lifetime supply of aprons from my grandmother. Counting handful I already owned, I think I’ve now got about 20. And I plan to wear them. Well, some of them. This one, for example, is both too fragile and too special to risk soiling. First of all, it’s handmade. Machine sewn, but the tension is a bit wonky in places making it less than durable. The material is also rather weak. Notice the tear on the left side (your right as you look at the picture).
But more importantly, according to the note I found in the pocket, it was made for my grandmother by her mother-in-law, my great grandmother.
I’ll share more vintage aprons, from the 40s through the 70s, in coming posts.