Mending and ironing are simple tasks. Tedious, but in some cases rewarding. I spent today doing both. It seemed like my world, and the world in general, had become so muddled and torn that doing something tactile, something I could control, would make a difference, at least to me. And maybe a difference to the keeping of this home, this house, this place where we live and breathe, and create a safe and somewhat serene place for family and friends.
One of the things I came across in the ironing basket, which has sat, neglected, for so long, was a tea towel. I'm not sure why they are called tea towels, because in my whole life long (and it's long) I have only ever known them to be used to dry dishes or hands, or pick up hot pots.