Baby It's Cold Outside

The day has come at last. It's Wednesday, my last working day this year, which also happens to be the day my father was released from hospital. He's home now, safe and sound, and what more could one ask for?
Although my holidays have officially started, I still act and feel like a roadrunner (or to put it simply: a bloody fool). I had to take a book back to the library in the afternoon, and I'm still hunting for presents. As a result, I crossed the city in all directions. All right, don't judge me, especially because this year I bought a lot of presents well in advance (like in September). The only presents missing are those I have to make (bake) myself. And I can't decide which recipe to choose. Last Thursday I made gingerbread the amount of which could feed a legion, but now miraculously it has disappeared, so I have to start over again, though this time I won't make that much because there are no more language groups to feed. In addition, I'm still contemplating the idea of apple jam with orange. The recipe seems simple all right, but what will it turn out like? Besides, I haven't found proper mini jars yet. And of course nobody wants to lose face in front of the potential mother-in-law, who is a hundred times more experienced and more confident in the kitchen. But then I don't have any other ideas, plus this is the cheapest. (Daddy-in-law will get a super-expensive brand of coffee, stupid and toady as I am. In this family, the father is the feared one, so to speak.)
Other than that, nothing important has happened so far. Each night when I came home a message was waiting for me with a bunch of minor intern tasks in it. There goes your look-gorgeous-for-Christmas sleeping schedule. I am grateful for the time I can spare for washing my hair.
I've finished the first volume of Der Zauberberg, so I've arrived at the last part of the glorious road to finishing my one-book-a-week quest. Just 500 more pages to go, baby.