Aprons, Part 3
April 28th, 2012
Cotton gingham was, and still is, a classic choice for women’s working clothes, including aprons. Originally a striped fabric from the famed Near East cotton regions, it was imported to Europe and eventually manufactured by the English mills, where (according to Wikipedia) it took on a checked pattern.
This pair of gingham aprons is hard to date. I’d put them anywhere from 1950 onwards. Machine-sewn from stiff (aka cheap) cotton or cotton blends, they boast “country” style decorations in keeping with the fabric choice.
Number one is lime green and white, with rows of white rick rack trim attached by hand using green embroidery floss across the hem and pocket.
Number two is lemon yellow with a blue star pattern cross-stitched over the gingham grid. The decoration runs across the hem, the pocket, and the waistband.
I can imagine wearing one of these as I ring the dinner bell out the back porch, summoning the field hands in to their midday meal. Cooooome annnnnd get it!
Aprons, Part 2
April 25th, 2012
I promised to share more from my new wealth of aprons, so here goes. The two I’ve picked today are fairly new — based on fabric and style I’d guess no earlier than late 1960s, possibly as recent as the 1980s. What makes them particularly useful is that they both incorporate hand towels.
See the little pink towel sewn into the waistband? I’ve been known to shove a towel into the waistband of my apron or even my clothing while I cook. Or else tear the kitchen apart frantically searching for the towel I just put down. What convenience to have one built into your apron!
This next one, which I’ve already worn for a few sessions of housework, takes it a step further.
It IS a towel. With a pretty blue binding and waistband to turn it into an apron. It may not be the most fashionable garment on the face of the earth, but it’s cheerful, cute, and oh so handy to have around your waist!
Aprons, Part 1
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.
Waltzing Widow
April 22nd, 2012
Our town is given to amateur theatrics, as many were back in the day (and too few are now). In a couple of weeks my sweetheart and I will take part in a musical revue featuring songs from the turn of the 20th century. He — a professional musician — is going to sing “In the Good Ol’ Summertime” accompanied by his own guitar. I — who usually refrain from singing publicly out of respect for the rest of humanity — decided to be grandiose and volunteered to sing “The Merry Widow Waltz.”
This lilting waltz is the grande finale of an operetta by Austro-Hungarian composer Franz Lehár called “The Merry Widow,” or “Die lustige Witwe.” Based on a mid-19th century play about a rich widow being wooed for her bank roll, the production made its Vienna debut in 1905. In 1934 it became a Hollywood musical under the direction of Ernst Lubitsch with new English lyrics by Tin Pan Alley’s own Lorenz Hart. Jeanette MacDonald and Maurice Chevalier starred.
Believe it or not, I’d already decided to sing the song when I came across this sheet music in one of my moving boxes. It belonged to my grandmother, who dated it 1935 in the upper right corner; presumably the year she purchased it. She also had three other lead sheets from “The Merry Widow” — more than she owned for any other musical. What does that say about genetics? Of course I immediately discarded my old arrangement and opted to use this one, along with the new lyrics (I’d been using a 1930 arrangement and translation published in the Maxwell House Showboat music book).
Luckily, a supremely talented friend who is accompanying the rest of the revue has offered to play my music as well. I was trying to both sing and play, but kept forgetting to breathe. Which will be especially important since I’m going to do all this in an outfit that requires a Grecian-Bend corset…
Embroidery Machine
December 17th, 2011
If you’re wondering why it’s been (gasp) more than two whole weeks since my last update, it’s because I am preparing to move 3,000 miles across the country. I’ve been packing madly, and growing more and more astonished at how much stuff we managed to store in our little Greenwich Village garret. Here’s one of the treasures I uncovered.
It came in a cardboard box that promptly disintegrated as soon as I opened it. The instructions were crumpled up, in nearly as poor shape. There was no way to save the box, alas, so I made the instructions my priority.
The paper was torn into three pieces, each one folded up like an accordion. And it was VERY dry. Lacking proper humidification tools, I broke out the steam iron and got to work, gently puffing steam at the paper until it relaxed enough to lay flat.
After a week or so resting between sheets of acid free paper under a heavy book, I was able to piece it together well enough to take this picture (edited a bit to take out the worst of the rips and flaws).
The embroidery machine belonged to one of my forebearers. I wonder what she made with it. I wonder what I’ll make with it…
« Newer Posts — Older Posts »