This apron was made by my grandma; a person in history I always wanted but never had the chance to meet. She passed away when my mom was only sixteen.
This apron doesn't fit me by a long shot. Grandma was a good six inches shorter than me. I wear it anyway. I feel connected in it. Connected to my grandma, who could look at any dress, outfit, or apron and knew how to go home and make it (what is that like?!). Connected to my mom who can do the same thing with any recipe (and can make it better, if you ask me).
This apron connects me to a line of homemakers, each with her own strengths in this fine art.
In this apron, I am weaved into a line of mothers. Each one parented as best as she knew how. I look down at this growing baby belly, protected by this apron from cooking stains, and pray that I may raise all five babies, born and yet to be born, in the unique way each one needs to be nurtured. What a humbling privilege this is.
The colors and pattern of this apron are so cheery. I treasure the unique vintageness it brings to my kitchen.
This apron is a symbol of heritage preserved throughout three generations. It wouldn't have been possible for me to enjoy dawning it every morning had my mom not taken care of it so well. It makes me wonder what I'm doing (or could be doing) to preserve and pass down the richness that has been gifted to me.