I did, I finished it. It was not a quick project! But I desperately wanted to finish it by the end of the day on Christmas (knowing, of course, how quickly I am "over" Christmas the minute it passes, though I try not to be). When I was a kid, we always opened all of our presents on Christmas morning, rushed to mass, then retreated to whatever corners we could find at home and delved quietly into our new books, clothes, and craft stuff for several long hours before going to our grandma's for dinner. Every year for several years I would lie on my bed and draw something on Christmas afternoon -- for a long time, it was pictures from Camelot in colored pencil. I'd forgotten about this little tradition until Sunday: Andy unfortunately had to be at the hospital; our house was recovering from our party the night before, its prognosis poor (i.e.: I couldn't bring myself to really put everything back in order yet, feeling incomparably lazy); and I settled into the quiet, silver hours to finish my wreath, something just for me. It felt so much like those old afternoons spent drawing, thinking about the year, the special quiet magic of the day. I think some of that spirit found its way into the wreath. I didn't finish it until it had long been dark outside. I wished I had remembered to stitch a tiny "2005" into one of the leaves, for posterity. I guess it's not officially too late; we still have four more days of the year.