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The red apron


I have always been a "get in and get it done" sort of person. If my clothes get dirty along the way, so be it. I will simply put on another (cleaner) pair of jeans and another shirt. Run a comb through my hair and away we go.

Aprons always seemed like a nice thing, but I never remembered to put one on. After a few years (like 30 or so) I no longer had aprons, having given them away. Until Christmas. My Daughter made me a red apron for Christmas. It is beautiful and is red and a gift from her. It has a permanent home, folded neatly next to the Kitchen Aid mixer. A couple of weeks ago, my daughter asked me if I used the apron. I had to confess, no. She remarked that no one, she had made aprons for at Christmas; used their gift.

At the time, I did not feel bad, simply a bit sad. Sad that I had not even tried the apron, simply folded it and placed it neatly in the kitchen, much like a decoration.

As a child, I had been taught that something "too pretty to use every day" was saved. And the red apron is certainly that. Too pretty to use every day.

Saved for what I do not know, because "it" was never ever explained.

Certainly not saved for a rainy day, we have hundreds of them here in Vancouver. Certainly not for a dinner party, I really don't have parties. I have "company" and when company comes, it is my responsibility (and pleasure) to make them comfortable. An apron is not required for that.

This morning I threw a pan of apple rolls into the oven, and before I began; I reached for the apron. I slipped it over my head and began working. It felt comfortable, much like my daughter herself. I completed the pan of dough and placed it into the oven to bake, and knew instantly what I would blog about this morning. My daughter's apron.

She is a fighter. A quiet, strong fighter. She is tall and beautiful and dedicated. She is fearless. She is accomplished, always willing to try. She makes me proud.

She will be 30 on her next birthday. I had a long labor with her, 30 hours actually. Our running joke had been she "owed" me a year for each hour. She knows it is a joke, but I have gotten many a cup of coffee delivered to me, using that as a ploy! But really I owe her, and my Son for the love they taught me, how to grow.

Life is funny, we learn lessons everywhere, we just need to stop and take a moment to notice...as it turns out, no recipe could ever top this!

Enjoy your day,


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