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Eco123 Revista da Economia e Ecologia
Tuesday, 14th Abril 2020
by Dina Adão
I’ve been at home going on for four weeks now. Perhaps because I’ve been using objects for purposes they weren’t designed for, they have started to clog up, to turn themselves off, to break. My hands – the ultimate extensions of my thoughts – have been my greatest allies. I’ve learned how to connect the ballcock in my flush toilet, how to unblock the sink and bathroom pipes, and how to seal off the leaks from the shower with silicone. But I still lack the proper wall plugs for the premiere of the use of my Ikea drill in the hope of resolving the issue of the pantry shelf, which decided to mix olive oil and pasta together in its theatrical fall to the floor.
The dishes have also suffered the wear and tear of everyday life. And even though I think we treat one another with great familiarity, they’re always trying to make an escape for an irreversible divorce. As for the glasses, the matter has been more serious. Few escape my lack of dexterity. So, when I decided to make my last visit to my parents, in anticipation of the restrictions imposed by the State of Emergency, I decided to go up to the attic and dig out some items from my trousseau, which I never got round to using. The boxes, so many of them, offered me a glimpse of my adolescent bad taste when it came to tableware. The glasses, in turn, saved me, sleeping, as they were, clad in newspapers – always my favourite wrapping paper. Feeling them, and guessing they were made for wine because they had such a tall stem, I rescued just two glasses: I don’t need more.
They turned out to be strong, shiny and big. Naked, and with the wrapping paper removed, they invited me to take a trip into the past. I stretch out the paper, smoothing it over the table, and read: Algarve123 – No. 314 – 06/05/2004 – 12/05/2004. In three seconds, I’m 30 years old again, and I’m hopelessly in love. How a tiny detail of home economics can overtake us, bring us aromas, images, words and even people we once loved and who are no longer with us.
It seems cruel that the subject of household management, so intrinsically rooted in the hands of women since the 1940s, has been so widely ignored on the shelves of today’s libraries.
With her great wisdom and practicality, my mother always taught me how to make fishcakes with the leftover fish, wrapped in egg, boiled potatoes and parsley, or how to choose the most beautiful end-of-line fabrics, for making pencil cases or bags for the bread. And it is to that knowledge that I return now. Lying on the table are four fabric cuttings: portrait perfect in keeping with the youtube film. I no longer have the sewing machine, that’s for sure, but, once again, I have my hands as my greatest allies. Today, with the skill and ingenuity my mother taught me, I will make our own face masks from a shopping bag that came from a shoe store.
Again, I think about the originality that we can give to the objects that surround us when we allow ourselves to recreate simplicity. I can’t help feeling a certain pride in the heritage that I carry within myself, and that I try to pass on to my daughter, in small gestures capable of making a big difference.
