For the longest time, I needed an apron. I spend a substantial amount of time in the kitchen, and going apron-less was proving hard on my clothes. The aprons I already owned were of the stiff, canvass, men's grill-out style. They bunched around my waist and were too big around the neck. They're simply not comfortable to leave on for any task besides cooking, so I tended to take them off during a break in the kitchen action, then forgot to put them back on when I went in to finish up. I needed a nice woman's apron -- one with full coverage, soft fabric, and a narrower waist. One that I could leave on all day if need be. But there were two problems. First, I couldn't find anything for sale that seemed to fit my needs. Second, I had a mental block: it seemed so 1950's
house-wifey to wear something like that! To make matters worse, I often wear long skirts, so I needed one with a full skirt to properly protect my clothes. Forget 1950's housewife, think Amish farm wife! Eek!
The I attended Friends General Conference Summer Gathering. I
participated in a week-long workshop (run by
Robin M.) that addressed, among other things, ways in which contemporary Friends can find new meaning in the practices of early Quakers. One of the peculiarities of early Friends was that they did not celebrate holidays. Partly this was because of the pagan origin of many holidays, but also it reflected their belief that
every day was sacred, that
every act and
every moment should bring us closer to The Light, to God.
Now, in practice, I'm not very good at remembering the sacredness of mundane moments. Not many people are. This is why we create rituals and yes, even holidays -- to remind us of the sacredness of life and this moment. Yet there is danger in ritual as well. Early Friends were harsh critics of "empty forms": rituals that were performed mindlessly out of duty or habit. Rather than sacred, such rote rituals were a denial of the Living Spirit within. Thus, to the extent that Quakers had rituals at all, they tended to serve some practical purpose as well. For example, plain clothing, without extraneous trim or complicated styling, reminded them of their faith, but also served to simplify their morning routine, ostensibly leaving more mental space for God and more money for good causes.
Thinking about early Quakers and the sacredness of daily life provided me with a shift in my frame of reference. Ruining my clothing was wasteful and
inconsistent with the testimonies of
simplicity and
stewardship, but that wasn't quite enough to get me past my cultural hang-ups about aprons. The concept of every day being sacred was the clincher. I would make the apron myself, and both the making of it and the wearing of it would be a sacred act.
When I put on my apron, I'm reminded of why I do so -- to be a good steward of my clothing, sure, but also to provide
sustenance for my family, to cook (as often as possible) in a way that is
consistent with my ecological and community values, and to remember to make mental room for the Sacred, the Divine, even in the most mundane of tasks. Who'd have thought an apron could do all that?
I still feel a tad house-
wifey when I wear it. (I'm thankful I'm not called to wear it outside the house!) Yet, in truth, the slight discomfort is probably a good thing. Without it, I wouldn't remember all that the apron signifies.
Photo credit: Brianna Charlot
