Most people I know don’t wear aprons anymore. I guess some foodies, chefs, or bakers do, but the daily wearing of aprons for home cooking, is probably a thing of the past. Like many pieces of my past, aprons bring nostalgia.
My mother had a lovely assortment of aprons. She had everyday aprons made of inexpensive, floral-print cotton. Some she embroidered. I remember her making many aprons from all colors of gingham fabric. She used black embroidery thread to cross-stitch designs along the bottom of the apron. My favorite was a lilac gingham apron with little windmills and dutch girls. I wished that one could be mine, but I was only 7. Sometimes she gave these aprons as gifts or donated them to sell at the Church Bazaar.
Mama also had Sunday aprons that were a little fancier. They were made from organdy (a dressy translucent fabric), trimmed in lace or with ruffled edges. But even those were not as fancy as her party aprons which she got out for when she had invited guests for dessert or other social events. As a child, I could often take cues for my behavior based on the apron mama was wearing. I knew that the fancier the apron, the more I needed to stay out of her way and be as helpful as possible.
An apron is a simple piece of clothing, but to me, an apron is love.