The celery root and butternut squash are waiting to be peeled. There are meringues to make for Massacre in an Snowstorm. I need to clear the library basket and magazine rack out of the living room to make a space for the Christmas tree that my husband and three of the boys are cutting down right now. (I hope. I forgot to remind my husband to get cash, because most farmers don't take credit cards.)
I am playing Daniel Pinkham's Christmas Cantata and when it is over I will put in Carols from Trinity, to keep us company while we steep prunes and apricots in brandy (they'll go in the goose tomorrow) and make a quick batch of candy.
The dragon mitts still need to have their ends woven in, and there will be a great festival of wrapping at some point. (If you call it a festival, it feels less like drudgery.) I have certainly been more prepared for other Christmases than I am for this one. But it doesn't really matter: what matters is hope fulfilled and love incarnate, and those are independent of my degree of preparation. Merry Christmas to you!