Reflections
on the Eleventh Week of Summer – Swish,
Swash, Splash
Janet with Gathering Apron
I
confess.
I
dip my hands into
hot soapy water, gaze
out the kitchen window at pink sunsets
behind Wells Wood trees, and
splash.
Others may wash dishes without soaking their middles, but I’m
doomed to swish, swash, and splash―drenching
my jeans, pantyhose, and undies. Sheesh.
And wearing
a cloth apron just
adds
another soggy
layer.
Four
years ago,
tired
of soppy garments,
I created
a waterproof apron from
the
1960s raincoat I
wore while walking to college classes.
I spread the green vinyl on the kitchen table,
traced
an old bib apron, and wrinkled
my nose at the
permanent
marker
stink.
Snip
snip.
Stitch stitch.
I had a raincoat apron trimmed with
navy
blue
remnants.
Practical.
Grinning
so wide
that my
cheeks ached, I tied the apron on,
strode to the sink, and
dipped my hands into
hot soapy water. The
sun set, plates dripped in the dish rack, and my abdomen stayed dry.
No soggy middle, but
. . .
Like
raindrops dripping off an umbrella,
dishwater
rolled off the vinyl and soaked my knees.
Not
practical.
Discouraged
yet
determined to make the waterproof apron waterproof,
I
rummaged
through a kitchen drawer
for paper clips, attached a dishtowel to the middle of the vinyl, and
attacked a pot blackened by burnt beans.
The
towel caught half of the dishwater.
The
rest rolled and
dampened my knees.
A
year later,
I designed a two layer
apron―a
waterproof bib apron under
an absorbing half apron. I
wanted practical and pretty this time.
In
search
of thick vinyl and terrycloth, I stalked
Joann’s
until my feet throbbed and
the
smell
of starch permeated my sinuses. Thick vinyl cost too much, and the
only terrycloth came in puke green.
Not
practical.
Not
pretty.
I
lifted a heavy, fifty-four inch roll of cheaper
plastic
tablecloth material off a
high
rack and stuck
it into a
shopping cart. A
third
of the roll fit. The rest
extended
over the end
so
steering―to
fetch
the
denim fabric
with
delicate white flowers that
I’d
admired
earlier―became
a
balancing act of pressing the handle bar down so
the cart didn’t
tip
and jerking
forward and back to navigate
corners.
In
hindsight, I could have left the tablecloth fabric on the
rack and asked the clerk to lug it. Whatever. I
had the materials.
Snip
snip.
Stitch stitch.
I
created two pairs of aprons with
extra
long straps
on the bib apron that
strung
through loops on the denim to hold the aprons together.
The set
with my
neatest
sewing
won a blue ribbon at the Cochranton Community Fair while
the
other set kept dishwater splashes off my abdomen.
Singing
“I Feel Pretty,”
I gazed out the kitchen window at a
pink
sunset
and
swished,
swashed,
splashed
through
the
dishes. No
soggy middle. No
soggy knees.
Over
time, the white plastic split
in
several places
exposing the cotton backing.
I
ignored the tears.
The
tears
lengthened,
formed points, and peeled to
create
a bouquet of
drooping daffodil leaf
shapes.
Despite
weekly machine washing, soapsuds’ grime
soiled the denim. And wearing the ugly apron gave me a soggy middle.
I
tossed the apron and wore its prize winning twin.
Ande and Old Apron |
This
summer,
it shredded too. After
two months of soaking my abdomen, I had a choice―stop
eating to
avoid dish washing
or sew a better apron. Losing
weight
would
be a plus. Vertigo
from not eating wouldn’t. I
needed to sew a better apron.
The
last Saturday in August, I drove up the rutted dirt drive to Homespun
Treasures Quilt
Shop.
Lugging my sewing machine, sewing notions, and fabric into the quilt
store, I squinted my eyes to pass the racks of tempting fabrics and
plunked
my machine onto
a table in the back room.
The
two
other women
at the class chose civil war fabrics for their
reversible aprons.
I’d chosen seed sack
fabric―made
from a washed and dyed empty grain
sack. I’d
passed the basket of seed sacks every quilt guild meeting since
January and just couldn’t pass them one more time without
buying one.
Besides, the idea of re-purposed sacks pleasured my recycling gene.
For the reversible side of the gathering apron, I chose a green print
that the other sewers called grunge.
While
Cheryl―a
professional quilter and sewer of over forty of the gathering
aprons―lead
us step by step through constructing
the apron
and securing
the
gathering ribbon, my classmates’ granddaughters munched muffins,
colored pictures, and crawled under the sewing table. They all
left at lunchtime. I
didn’t.
Not needing another UFO, aka UnFinished
Object,
I stayed until
I’d stitched the last stitch.
A
much better apron. But not waterproof.
Three
days later while
wearing the gathering apron in the rhubarb patch, I
fingered the
seed sack material
then
slapped
my forehead. Duh. I’d
found the solution to my soggy middle.
A
seed sack.
Not
the printed grain
sack that I
bought for thirteen
dollars at Homespun
Treasurers,
but the empty, plastic,
sunflower
seed sack in the cold cellar.
Jogging
in from the garden, I clomped
downstairs, fetched the seed sack, and climbed
to the loft. Snip snip. Stitch stitch. I fashioned a bib apron from
the sunflower seed sack,
made a half apron from a white hand towel, and trimmed them with
remnant fabric from my stash.
After
dinner,
I tied
the apron on
and snuggled against the sink. Watching
the sun glow behind Wells Wood trees, I washed dishes. The hand towel
caught the splashes. Without spending one penny, my jeans, pantyhose,
and undies stayed dry. Practical. But―
Crinkle,
crinkle, crinkle.
When I fetched dirty glasses from the kitchen table, the apron
crackled like wrappings
being torn and crushed into balls for cats to chase on Christmas
morning.
Now
I wash dishes with a crackling,
waterproof apron that sparks happy memories.
New Waterproof Apron and Rills |
I remember your fair apron, Janet. And, wow, that's a pretty, if not noisy, new apron you have! Kudos. Consider making another for the fair and entering into the "Other" category of aprons. At Crawford County Fair, I think they still have a class for "Made with recycled materials"---but I don't have a premium's book. Then again, you might go online and see if the 2019 premium list is still posted.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kudos, Catherine. I do have the other side of the sunflower seed bag left. I could use it to make another recycled, waterproof apron. I appreciate the suggestion.
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