In one of my earlier blogs, I shared that my paternal grandmother died when I was two. Today I just have to share a poem that describes perfectly my maternal gramma that I was blessed to have for 12 years. Back in those days grammas wore a bib apron to keep their dress clean. The only time gramma didn't wear an apron was on Sunday when she went to church. But, the minute she got back home to make dinner for all of us, she quickly changed back into her everyday wash dress and an apron. Her pantry was her executive office, and that was her 2-piece suit!
Wish I could claim authorship of this poem, "Grandma's Apron," but its original version must be credited to a Tina Trivett who wrote it after her grandma passed away in Kentucky. She couldn't make it to the funeral cuz she was stranded in a snowstorm in the North Carolina Mountains.
"The strings were tied, It was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed
For Grandma, it was every day to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
The things she used it for, that made it look worn out.
She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found.
Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some kitchen broth.
She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.
She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best."