Grandma's Aprons

APRONS

By Tina Trivett and By Robert Ragan

I don't think our kids know what an apron is.

The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect

the dress underneath, because she only had a few. 

It was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they

used less material; but along with that, it served as a

potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on

occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying

eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to

be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were

ideal hiding places for shy kids.

 And when the weather was cold

grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a

perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove.

Chips and kindling wood were brought

into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables.

After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

 In the fall, the apron was used to bring

in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road,

 it was surprising how much furniture that

old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out

onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men

folks knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents

something that will replace that 'old-time

apron' that served so many purposes.

REMEMBER:

Grandma used to set her hot baked

apple pies on the windowsill to cool.

 Her granddaughters set theirs on the windowsill to thaw.

They would go crazy now trying to figure

out how many germs were on that apron.

I don't think I ever caught anything bad from an apron.

I caught a case of LOVE from one.

The Streets Hit The Road

I talk a wild talk about Harley-Davidsons, but in truth, I am scared to death of them ;-)… Let’s just say that I have been given rides on the back of five different motorcycles. Of the five trips, I have been in wrecks three times. The last ride was with my husband who had just bought a nice road motorcycle. He begged and pleaded with me to get on. I finally relented. We were cruising through our town and were passing by a friend’s home – both of us were waving at our friend because he was outside in his yard. We were not paying attention to the road. Suddenly, “wwhhaackk..ssplaaaatt..whuuumppp” I flew and my husband flew and we both skidded across the asphalted street. The motorcycle had hit something in the middle of the road…the friend watching said it was a dog. I was upset and got up from the road to see if it was okay; but it wasn’t there. It had run off. I checked to see if my hubby was okay. He was scraped a bit but fine…so I kissed him and took off in search of the dog. Now, I’m thinking that we had hit a small dog who now needed major medical attention. Nope, it was a huge Great Dane, and believe it or not, it was in better shape than my husband or myself. The dog is still alive today…my husband and I recovered from our scrapes and bruises; however, I have not gotten on a motorcycle since.

The dog was the only Great Dane in the neighborhood and everyone was familiar with it, (a crazy dog some said) so it wasn’t hard to find. He was a little shaken, but okay. I went back and checked on him for the next two weeks and he was fine. The motorcycle now has a little bent bar that surrounds the engine. I feel kind of sad for my husband because he bought the bike thinking that we could cruise together around the countryside and now his wife is too afraid. I keep telling him to just go and enjoy the ride and that I will wait for him. He won’t go though.

An Early Biking Adventure

Yes, it is worth it

Paulo Coelho

Life is like a big bike race where the goal is to fulfill you personal legend.
At the start, we are riding together, sharing the camaraderie and enthusiasm. But as the race progresses, the initial joy gives way to the real challenges: tiredness, monotony and doubts about our own abilities.
We notice that some have withdrawn. They are still running, but only because they cannot stop in the middle of a road. They are numerous, pedaling alongside the support car, talking to each other and performing only their obligations.

Eventually we distance ourselves from them and we are forced to face the loneliness and the surprises of the unknown curves with the bikes. And after a while, we begin to wonder if it’s worth the effort.

Yes, it is worth it. Just don’t quit.

****************************************************************

 After reading this in Paulo's blog, I remembered an experience/adventure that changed my life.

IS "THAT THING" A BOY OR A GIRL?

When I was much younger, around 11 years, I loved riding bikes with friends and also alone. At this age, I discovered that I had matured much faster than my friends; however in this race, I decided, at first, to remain, as much as possible, “with the pack.” I wore huge shirts to cover my size D cup breasts. Even though my mother insisted, I would not wear a bra. I just wanted to be like the other neighborhood children my age — most of them boys. I even cut my hair short to fit in. We had a baseball park next to my home, and I could pitch a baseball with the best of them.

One morning, “braless,” I put on my huge shirt and started on a solo bike ride to the nearest store to buy some penny candy. As I was pedaling past the ballpark, I noticed a motorhome that had parked there for the night. An older lady and a man were sitting in folding chairs sipping their morning coffee. As I rode by, the lady commented rather loudly and snippy, “Is THAT THING a boy or a girl? I can’t tell.”

I rode on contemplating her remarks. "People from the sideline during the race of life CAN influence the outcome if you let them."

"I AM a girl, lady…How dare you!!!"

When I pedaled back from the store, the lady was still there sipping away at her coffee… I edged my bike close enough to her so that I could see that she really didn’t have much up front in her blouse. Then, I lifted my shirt proudly showing her my well developed front and remarked to the old coot, that I was one hundred and ten percent girl and that she had better not judge people so rudely especially when they had more than she. Then I continued on my trek.

I really don’t know what possessed me to do that; but, I’ll have to admit, the look on her face was priceless.

“When onlookers make negative remarks at your progress toward your personal legend, let their remarks flop in a can like garbage…that is unless you have a great comeback line that will leave them thinking – especially with their mouths open."