God enters human history to be with us, Emmanuel.
We feast Him in our human ways.
Last night's Mass at the Abbey was lovely, and we spent about an hour with the monks afterward in the refectory, celebrating. A late night, and I was up fairly early this morning to walk the dog, finish filling stockings, and start the breakfast. Then a lull, when I sat and read and also went out with the dog again, before getting dinner up and running.
Now we're all basically comatose. But it's been a good day. My mother and brother have been here, when we thought they wouldn't be, and we've had a jolly time, even Dora.
What I wound up wearing to Mass last night:
To dress for church after cooking all day, I merely took off the Sierra dress I was wearing over my Fiona, added this re-dyed cranberry-red cardigan and my very old but much-beloved silk velour scarf, and I was ready to go.
Today:
Same cardigan with my Wool& Audrey dress, charcoal merino tights, Birkenstock Madeiras, because my feet were hurting. I like minimalist shoes for walking, but for a LOT of standing, as in the kitchen cooking a holiday dinner for ten . . . give me Birkenstocks.
We have eaten ham and roasted baby potatoes and brussels sprouts and green beans and oyster pie and baked apples and egg nog and fruit tart and candy and cookies, and my son's girlfriend just suggested to him that they go for a walk so that they wouldn't get blood clots.
In fact, between the last sentence and this one, I've been out to walk the dog, and now am ready to pass out.