Aprons symbolize lost opportunity and subjugation of spirit and intellect to me. I remember too well my mother and our neighbourhood's women, swathed in aprons, performing some household task or another while their bright intellects faded for lack of stimulation. All of these women had held meaningful positions as teachers, nurses, marketing associates, retail buyers, or designers before their marriages. The mores of the times dictated women lost their positions when they married, took their husbands' names, and slipped into domestic anonymity. Peggy, Rae, Irene, Doris, Louise, and Dorothy volunteered their time and thoughts for good causes, looked after each other's children and each other, created a community from strangers living in identical brick bungalows, and kept hearth and home stable through depression, war, and boom times. They wore aprons six full days a week, and donned them again upon returning from church on Sunday. What dreams, hopes, wishes, and ideas were kept tied in by those apron strings?

Gretchen Alexander, Peggy's daughter

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