The Apron Legacy

I sat looking at my sugar on the table - the plastic, store-bought, tip-and-sip type.  Nanny’s sugar: fancy; double handled, silver,

genie-in-a-bottle style of sugar dish with a tiny spoon. It sat on her rustic table in her kitchen; totally different in every way except one: the sugar is … sugar. My body seemed to breathe thinking not of the sugar or the container, but at the name: Nanny. Why do I feel relieved when I hear her name?  Perhaps my cousin Chip put it best: “Nanny = Unconditional love.”  Our grandmother accepted completely AND with open arms. The love. 

I thought I learned love and trust from Pop, and of course, I did.  Pop taught among so many things: how to effectively mess with others, how to use tobacco when fishing, a general orneriness, how to place a bid at auction, and very importantly: where Chief Conowingo was buried.

Nanny.  Nanny is love.  Nanny needs her apron to say, “Come. Just like you are. You are you. I love all of you.”  I think of her embracing hands; as kids, her hands are on our hands, guiding the roll dough into balls; her hands are beside ours, pointing to the next square to sew; and her hands are beneath ours, allowing 7-year-old hands to paint her fingernails.

As grand-ones, my cousins and I ate all her lipsticks (and by we, I

mean Meghan); she loved us anyway. Sara shaved a bald spot into her bangs on a dare, attempted to cover it with Nanny’s fancy powder. Regardless, Nanny loved. Erin broke Nanny’s wooden spoon playing Miss Hannigan in the attic with us orphans – who slept on Nanny’s quilting fabric “cots” while eating stolen pop tarts and cheese curls, and I think Nanny loved us even more – if that’s even possible. Thinking of pop tarts, Chip nearly burned the house down cooking pop tarts in the microwave IN their wrapper.  Nanny just let the smoke out the door. And, speaking of burning, I recall a distinct iron mark on the living room carpet (Tina)?

Yes, Pop taught us the art of most of these antics, but Nanny allowed the fun, cleaned up the fun, and ran rescue missions and interference. I remember the giggles the time Pop called the house phone from the dairy. Sara and Beth locked him in with his bestie Tom K. And how many times did Nanny clean the straw off the flannels hung in the mud room? She put up with manure covered piggies of those who went pie walking with Richie. I never heard Nanny fuss over water fights, and they were epic! She protected those who refused to allow dirt to touch them (Kristin). Nanny even put up with: swimming in the mud puddle by the barn; missing rose hand cream from the marble top stand; us kids returning

with more walking sticks than borrowed for Pop adventures; Beth crashing the Pinto into the green house because Pop let her drive at 12; a pony in the kitchen; a fawn in the living room; missing raw rolls (lots of missing raw rolls); homemade coffee cake - sans the crumble topping; pie eaten before dinner; mouths full of tootsie pops and Hubba Bubba; and the 55 people around her table at Christmas.

She never wavered in love. Not once. Nanny loved through service, cooking, hosting, hugs, teaching, and passing on rich tradition. Nanny was love: a gift to carry forward,

a legacy of love: loving ourselves, loving family, and loving all sorts of antics and eccentricities.  Now, we have a choice to wear that apron, Nanny’s apron that says – come on in, especially you weirdos, you are you, I love all of what makes you – you, with wide open arms.

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Tie on your apron........

I wish you people who adore you, places that bring you joy, and sheer love and acceptance. If I could create this retreat for you, I would make a physical version and a mental version, complete with nostalgia like a sugar dish and a banner announcing "no judgement."

When I have Nanny on my mind, and I’m wrapped in her arms, I can rest my head; I can breathe. Where is your soft place to land? Who has loved you in your un~lovable~ness? Go to them, in person, or in your head.

A mind swimming with self-hatred refuses to allow any alternative; a phoenix finds their sugar dish and their apron. They decide to leave the cave, morphing from one burned so badly, to a human who walks out into the light, smears their cheeks with ashes, and keeps walking. Finally, the ascent: rising to become one who loves with complete abandon because of their acquaintance with despair.