Here is a corner of the tablecloth I unearthed yesterday from the slag heap that is my closet, and today I'm feeling better about the prospect of cutting it up to make an apron. The trip through the washer did it good, but it is still very heavily stained in some areas. It does not fit my table. The color scheme, ah, doesn't lend itself to anything else in my home (what was up with 50s design, when a spring scene like this would be rendered in these colors?). As an apron, it will get use and will not be forgotten. Making it will connect me with others in the project. That's the plan. I wish I had a pattern for an Aunt Bea style apron (I searched a few minutes to find you a picture -- you know, Aunt Bea, from the Andy Griffith show -- but weirdly am not finding one). It's the kind of apron that has arm holes (rather than straps), and really covers your whole front (to protect the dress you'd be wearing if you were Aunt Bea) -- more like a smock, I guess.
This isn't quite it (and these women are no Aunt Bea's, that's for sure), but something kinda sorta along these lines:
Well, these are a little fussier than what I was picturing, but I can't quite find the exact thing. That happens to me a lot -- I get some very specific picture in my mind and then can't find the like, so I don't know if I'm drawing from imagination rather than memory. Does it ever happen to you that you can't quite sort out if something really happened or you dreamed it? I've had times when I've seen a friend, or co-worker, or family member, even, and thought -- ohhhh, I'm really upset with this person; but then when I stop to think about why, I realize it was something that happened in a dream so I can just calm down. Maybe it's just more proof of my own weirdness.