Word: aprons
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...like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies," is turned from soliloquy into colloquy, as the operatic Byron croons to one of his lady loves, "You walk in beauty," etc. Chuckles even broke out in the audience when Byron's friend, Thomas Moore, stepped to the stage apron to sing, "Remember that genius that gleamed in his verse." The tune turned out to be that for Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms. True, the real Thomas Moore wrote that old favorite, but he might just have had a different, more intimate kind of apron in mind...
...morning in the kitchen, making roly-poly puddings and custard, toads-in-the-hole, and blancmange. If I go through the kitchen about lunchtime the greed walls are sweating fiercely, little runnels of steam trickling down near the stove, and Mrs. Aslett shuffles around in her pink apron, flushed and almost cheerful in her work...
...such differences, environmental influence is suggested by the fact that children who think analytically most often prove to have mothers who have encouraged initiative and exploration, while youngsters who think globally have generally been tied to their mother's apron strings. In Western society, of course, it is usually boys who are urged toward adventure. Herein, perhaps-there is no proof -lies an explanation for the apparent male capacity to think analytically...
...been a new awareness in the others: she is somebody to be reckoned with. It has made a change in her husband: he is more available to discussion, even argument, more willing to listen, even give way. He hasn't-and isn't about to-become an apron-tied caricature, a grocery-lugging, mop-wielding, cooking-and-diapering paragon, but he can now see the Victorian darkness overshadowing her days, can see that time is of the essence, for her, as well as for himself. The long hours in front of the brilliant panorama of the Rose Bowl...
...early 19th century silver samovars; from a 5th century B.C. Scythian wood-and-gold finial of a stylized griffin's head, to new figurines that are apparently the Russian equivalent of those excruciating ashtrays one is offered in Texas airports. Mother Russia has dumped the contents of her apron into the Corcoran, and the result is a heterogeneous pile of modern kitsch, late czarist elegance and early barbaric splendor, mingled with the beautifully wrought and unpretentious products of pre-Revolutionary folk artists. The less said about official post-Revolutionary folk art the better: it is characterized (except for some...