For good or for bad, the school I went to as a kid didn’t teach housekeeping and wifely skills. The first form of interest I ever showed regarding those subjects happened at my grandmother’s house, one afternoon, as I watched my granny doing some needlework. Immediately I got my hands to that labour. I spent a considerable amount of childhood hours replicating the models and patterns of magazines. I’m a good learner.

Later on, I changed the needles, yarns, color threads and fabrics for science –then i switched to music, then back to study, then to flamenco, then to love. Back to basics, they say; I recently put my hands back on the needles. It was inevitable to think about two things:

1. The feminine nature of the labour I was performing: maybe it’s the Greeks’ fault, but the iconic power of Penelope and her weaving is undeniable. Threading her will and hope during 20 years of faithful wait, keeping herself for a husband lost at war. Waiting and hoping always seem to be feminine qualities.
2. The therapeutic attributes of the act of weaving –it’s really amazing how the output threads match one’s own state of humour, emotions, or soul… A misterious corolary of the law of conservation of energy might suggest that you do not just weave a scarf; you actually dream, and tell a story, and caress, and hug, or even kiss the neck of someone.

I’m sooo girl.