Between 1952-1966, I diligently noted Harriet's exquisite manipulation of Ozzie, Ricky and David to her bidding. I admired her calm manner, her problem-solving brilliance, her hair. I was intrigued that she dressed up to stay home, and as long as food was on the table and clean laundry in dresser drawers, her day was spent in mystery. I especially liked how Harriet's family worshipped her.

Worship by others appealed to me. As the second born of six and the eldest girl, I was a self-anointed queen by the age of ten. By 15, I was royalty with attitude.

Gifted as I was at bossing my siblings, I was less than a scholastic success. Finding math too difficult to tolerate, I simply stopped doing it. Like many GRITS (Girls Raised In The South), I planned to marry Prince Charming and let him do math for me.

In 1966, I entered the University of Southern Hospitality with the goal of acquiring my MRS. Degree. But my quest for a breadwinner was sidelined in '68, when I was introduced to bell-bottoms and the Rolling Stones.

Tuned in to the Sixties, I nonetheless rejected the rhetoric of the newly organized National Organization of Women. While NOW encouraged me to get out of the kitchen and into the boardroom, I remained committed to marrying a man with a job so I could quit mine and become a full-time wife and mother. I was a hippie on a mission when I met the father of my future children. I knew he was "the one" on our first date, when he figured the tip for our dinner in his head.

Three years later, I married my "Ozzie." With Harriet as my role model, I re-created a Fifties household in which to raise a family. Never mind the year was 1975.

I enjoyed being a homemaker because it allowed me to express my particular talent: caretaking. When not tending to the comfort and laundry of others, I took a hint from Harriet and spent the day pursuing an interest all my own: writing.

And so it was in 1999 that I purchased several old aprons to inspire me as I wrote an article about a piece of classic vintage clothing. That quirky notion - that I wasn't the only one who felt a connection to the universal symbol for mothering - evolved into Apron Chronicles: A Patchwork of American Recollections, a traveling exhibit made up of stories, portraits and 200 vintage aprons.

During the five years I've listened to people share their apron memories, I've worked toward further interpreting the contributors and their stories into a creative venture complementary to the exhibit.

The Apron Memories collection is inspired by the dearest people and by aprons, which don't hold us back; they take us back.