Day 31, January 31

I love aprons. Although I rarely wear one (I avoid cooking whenever possible!), I appreciate the artistry and design that go into making one.

When I tried to trace my love for aprons to its root, I came up with my grandmother, Mamaw. Mamaw donned an apron first thing in the morning and didn't remove it until she went to bed.

Made of sturdy cotton, starched and pressed to within an inch of its life, her apron was a workhorse. There were no frills, no ruffles. Such fripperies had no place on a garment designed to protect clothes. With no washing machine for much of her life, she wore the same dress day after day. She taught her children--my mother, her sisters, and brother--the same practicality and frugality.

Mamaw's apron had deep pockets. In them could be found any number of surprises. A stray button. A marble. A trinket to delight a grandchild. The long skirt could be doubled over to serve as a makeshift potholder as she removed something from the black pot-bellied stove ... and it could wipe away a child's tears.

Mamaw was no steel magnolia. She was pure steel. Weathering the hardships of the Great Depression, the death of her husband, and countless other challenges, she still made certain her four children attended school, went to church, and learned to work. Her apron defined her because it defined her love for her family.

So, for today, I am grateful for aprons ... and for Mamaw.