My love is confusing. All mixed up.

That can be nourishing.

Like soup.

Yesterday, we, mended this old hand broom. It was here, by the fireplace, when we moved in.  The straw was falling out, probably because we were using it so much.  I  got some old string and a tapestry needle (big eye, blunt end) and began repair. The Man looked and said, "No, that's not the way to do it. Let me try."  I snapped back with, "What? Like I don't know about stitching?"  He responded, as he mostly does, "It's not a contest."  He stitched it back in place after wrapping the top tightly with some old wire.  "I learned this in grade school."  he said.  I trimmed the ends and added the cloth without saying anything.  In those moments, Love grew beyond ourselves.

And the little broom is useful again.

I have a lot of emails to catch up on from these last few days.

And more snow is coming.

A few days away and then I will be back with some new thought catching.