Melvina Rushnock owns an apron from the 1940s, and it’s been a friend for decades. In an original essay about the apron, she describes the item as being well-loved. The fabric, she writes, is so thin she can almost see through it. She calls it her friend and confidant.
Rushnock writes of her apron:
“My mind has wondered of the previous owner of my devoted apron and friend and can’t remember if in her youth she was my mother’s assistant or (from) an anonymous donor. Either way, our impassioned friendship sometimes leaves me jealous that we couldn’t have known each other when we were younger.
“There were other aprons, of course, who have done their duty, as I learned to cook and make a home, but they were usually pretty half-aprons with a ruffle barely covering my then-thinner lap.
“My matronly friend and I connect with life’s joy and pain and cherish a life too-quick to flicker where we are often too-soon-old and too-late-smart. I have prayed, cried and laughed as she supported me in relationships, as friends and family we love parade through our lives and share our heart and home.”