Giorno 6: mia mamma teme che io mi sia ammalata. Verso le 15 di oggi è entrata in salotto e mi ha vista stirare. Era successo solo nel 2004, quando mia nonna ha voluto verificare se ero davvero fisicamente impossibilitata come sostenevo. La nonna concluse che in effetti era meglio che restassi ad almeno un metro da tutti i ferri da stiro e io, manco glielo avessi promesso, ho seguito il suggerimento giorno dopo giorno. "Che cosa...che cosa stai facendo, Claudia?". Come in tutte le migliori famiglie, il nome pronunciato per intero è segno di guai. O sintomo di grande preoccupazione. "Stiro!" ho risposto alla mia santa mamma, che, pur abituata a tutto, non era pronto a questo. "Guglielmo..." fa mia mamma, che quando sta per crollare cerca sostegno in mio padre. Il quale sta cercando di elaborare il lutto per tutte le partite che non si disputeranno per motivi di contenimento, e le fa molto caso.
"Io...sì, vedo che stiri - farfuglia la mamma - ...Tu...perché?". L'ho fatta sedere, le ho versato un bicchiere d'acqua e promesso di non farlo mai più.
Il fatto è che tutti esortano a usare bene questo tempo, a curare l'ansia dedicandosi a quelle attività che non trovano spazio nella nostra vita quotidiana. Ho pensato che allora, forse, anche per me fosse giunto il momento di stirare. Che una volta passata un'ora a passare un ferro caldo su degli abiti che non avrò occasione di indossare per chissà quanto tempo, avrei avuto qualche grande rivelazione, o l'idea per un best seller. "Allora stira queste". Con lo spirito di adattamento in dotazione a tutte le madri, la mamma ha prodotto una pila di camicie e lenzuola. Alla seconda manica mi sono accorta di aver sviluppato un principio di organi riproduttivi maschili e, indossando i leggins, ho pensato di smettere prima che il mio aspetto diventasse imbarazzante. Sono andata ad allenarmi in camera e mia madre può dormire sogni tranquilli: probabilmente non stirerò mai più. Ho sperato che la sua mania per l'ordine fosse contagiosa, ma, no, questo periodo di quarantena, non mi ha portata a scoprire alcun talento domestico.
Ah, comunque noi, a Grosseto, abbiamo un tizio che gira per la città a cavallo. In effetti, penso che se hai un cavallo in casa, per fargli fare i bisogni devi per forza portarlo fuori.
In questo trafiletto ho scelto di usare parole che associamo a quest'emergenza, senza però parlare di ciò che ci tiene blindati in casa. Nella foto: effetti della quarantena in Toscana.
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Day 6: my mom is afraid that i am sick. At about 3pm today, she entered the living room and saw me iron. It only happened in 2004, when my grandmother wanted to check if I was really physically impossible as I claimed. Grandma concluded that in fact it was better that I stay at least one meter from all the irons and I, as I promised, I followed the suggestion day after day. "What ... what are you doing, Claudia?". As in all the best families, the full name is a sign of trouble. Or a symptom of great concern. "Ironing!" I replied to my holy mother, who, although accustomed to everything, was not ready for this. "Guglielmo ..." says my mother, who, when she is about to collapse, seeks support from my father. Who is trying to process the mourning for all the games that will not be played for containment reasons, and makes a lot of attention. "I ... yes, I see that you iron - your mother mumbles - ... You ... why?". I sat her down, poured her a glass of water and promised never to do it again. The fact is that everyone urges us to use this time well, to treat anxiety by dedicating ourselves to those activities that find no place in our daily lives. I thought then, perhaps, it was time for me to iron too. That once I spent an hour passing a hot iron on clothes that I will not have the opportunity to wear for who knows how long, I would have had some great revelation, or the idea for a best seller. "Then iron these." With the spirit of adaptation provided to all mothers, mom produced a pile of shirts and sheets. On the second sleeve I realized that I had developed a principle of male reproductive organs and, wearing leggings, I thought about quitting before my appearance became embarrassing. I went to train in my room and my mother can sleep in peaceful dreams: I will probably never iron again. I hoped his mania for order was contagious, but, no, this quarantine period didn't lead me to discover any domestic talent. Ah, however, we in Grosseto have a guy who rides the city on horseback. In fact, I think that if you have a horse in the house, to make him do the needs you must necessarily take him out. In this short article I chose to use words that we associate with this emergency, without speaking of what keeps us armored in the house. In the photo: effects of the quarantine in Tuscany.
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Day 6: my mom is afraid that i am sick. At about 3pm today, she entered the living room and saw me iron. It only happened in 2004, when my grandmother wanted to check if I was really physically impossible as I claimed. Grandma concluded that in fact it was better that I stay at least one meter from all the irons and I, as I promised, I followed the suggestion day after day. "What ... what are you doing, Claudia?". As in all the best families, the full name is a sign of trouble. Or a symptom of great concern. "Ironing!" I replied to my holy mother, who, although accustomed to everything, was not ready for this. "Guglielmo ..." says my mother, who, when she is about to collapse, seeks support from my father. Who is trying to process the mourning for all the games that will not be played for containment reasons, and makes a lot of attention. "I ... yes, I see that you iron - your mother mumbles - ... You ... why?". I sat her down, poured her a glass of water and promised never to do it again. The fact is that everyone urges us to use this time well, to treat anxiety by dedicating ourselves to those activities that find no place in our daily lives. I thought then, perhaps, it was time for me to iron too. That once I spent an hour passing a hot iron on clothes that I will not have the opportunity to wear for who knows how long, I would have had some great revelation, or the idea for a best seller. "Then iron these." With the spirit of adaptation provided to all mothers, mom produced a pile of shirts and sheets. On the second sleeve I realized that I had developed a principle of male reproductive organs and, wearing leggings, I thought about quitting before my appearance became embarrassing. I went to train in my room and my mother can sleep in peaceful dreams: I will probably never iron again. I hoped his mania for order was contagious, but, no, this quarantine period didn't lead me to discover any domestic talent. Ah, however, we in Grosseto have a guy who rides the city on horseback. In fact, I think that if you have a horse in the house, to make him do the needs you must necessarily take him out. In this short article I chose to use words that we associate with this emergency, without speaking of what keeps us armored in the house. In the photo: effects of the quarantine in Tuscany.
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